Ayesha At Last(70)

Farzana relaxed, slightly. “What do you want?”

Tarek eyed her. He had never sought Farzana out before, not in all these years. She had become a bogeyman in his mind, the manufacturer of his greatest disappointment. But after her performance at the conference meeting, he had finally been able to see her for who she truly was: a pathetic caricature, a puffed-up phony who needed to be knocked off her self-righteous pedestal.

And he happened to have motive, opportunity and a great big baseball bat ready to take a swing at her perfectly choreographed life.

“I was very moved by your efficient choice of decor and theme at our last meeting.” Tarek placed a hand on his heart.

Farzana’s scowl dropped, replaced with something that might one day grow up to be a smile. Or at least a not-frown. “Young people must listen to their elders, who have experience and know better.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I have so much respect for my parents. They moved to Canada from Pakistan, leaving everything they knew and loved behind. As children, we have to acknowledge that sacrifice with absolute obedience.”

Farzana relaxed some more, the not-frown tightening into an upturned grimace. Tarek recognized his moment, gleeful. “Actually, I was hoping to run into you today. I have some disturbing information about Imam Abdul Bari, and I need to tell someone I can trust.”

Farzana pounced. “You can trust me. I only have the mosque’s best interests in mind.” They walked to the conference room for privacy, and Farzana looked eagerly at Tarek.

“Sister Farzana, I’m sure you have heard that the Toronto Muslim Assembly is nearly bankrupt. However, I recently discovered the reason for these troubling financial problems.”

Tarek drew out the moment as long as possible, closing his eyes for added emphasis, as if the words were too painful to be spoken out loud.

“Imam Abdul Bari is stealing from the mosque,” Tarek announced, his voice mournful. “He requested all the funds collected from the conference be deposited into his bank account. I don’t know what to do,” he added.

“We must catch him in the act and then expose him to the congregation as a crook,” Farzana said. “I never liked the imam. He smiles too much.”

“What a great idea,” Tarek said. “In the meantime, I’ll deposit the money into another bank account, for safekeeping.”

He watched Farzana take the bait as expected: She was always so quick to think badly of others. Tarek flexed his fingers and imagined himself gripping a baseball bat of truth. He pictured himself taking a swing and shattering Farzana’s biggest secret, straight into the wide-open sunshine.

TAREK returned to the mosque a few days later at sunset. He made sure to wait by the entrance of the prayer hall for Khalid and rearranged his expression into one of delighted surprise when he spotted the taller man.

“Assalamu Alaikum, Khalid,” he said, shaking his hand. “I’m so happy I bumped into you.” Tarek suggested they grab coffee and discuss the conference details. With less than a week to go, there was still a lot to do. After the prayer, they made their way across the street to a Tim Hortons coffee shop.

“How long have you been running these conferences?” Khalid asked Tarek after they’d ordered their drinks and donuts.

“This will be my fifth year. I recognized a real need in the Muslim community to discuss ideas with other stakeholders,” Tarek said. “That’s why we started the summer conference, to attract the youth. I only hope we can help with the Toronto Muslim Assembly’s financial problems.”

Khalid looked bleak. “Over five hundred people pre-registered, but I don’t know if it’s enough. We need a miracle to save the mosque.”

“Please make sure all the registration proceeds are deposited to the Muslims in Action bank account.”

Khalid looked confused. “The imam said the registration money should be deposited into the mosque account, so we could pay our debts immediately.”

Tarek shook his head. “I’m afraid for tax purposes, the money must first go into my organization’s account. Otherwise it won’t be a charitable tax write-off. I cleared all this with your mother, and since she’s on the executive board, I’m sure it will be fine with the imam as well.”

Khalid frowned. “I need to double-check with Abdul Bari,” he said.

Tarek examined Khalid. He was so tightly wound that all he needed was a little push. “Congratulations on your engagement,” he said casually. “Hafsa is a special girl.”

Khalid nodded, still frowning. “I think the imam is in his office. I should talk with him about the money right now.”

Tarek ignored him. “I’m thinking of getting married soon too. Do you know if Sister Ayesha is single?”

Khalid froze. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“I need a wife who is practical and capable. Ayesha had the best ideas for the conference during our meetings. Besides, she has a really lovely smile. I’m thinking of approaching her father.”

“Her father is dead,” Khalid blurted.

“Her mother, then.”

“I don’t think she’s on good terms with her mother either.” Khalid gulped the hot coffee, exclaiming as he scalded his tongue.

Tarek eyed Khalid like a falcon going in for the kill. “I hope I haven’t offended you. I really admire her character, and I thought I would ask your opinion. I noticed you have become close. Is she in a relationship?”