The Last of the Angels Read Online Free Page B

miracle would never have occurred. This theory seemed rather logical but did not clarify the miracle. Others responded to this theory, saying, “If we were to adopt this logic, then it would be necessary for us to proceed even a step beyond Hameed Nylon.” By this they referred to the flirtatious Englishwoman, since without her affairs with men and her fickleness, Hameed Nylon would not have been sacked. They concluded, “Such an opinion would inevitably lead us to a denial of the faith.”
    Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri was disturbed by all these views, which he considered heretical and noxious. He announced that neither the jinn nor Hameed Nylon was responsible for the miracle. God had quite simply accepted the plea of the Muslims and had caused the rain to fall abundantly on them. Truth to tell, this view appeared totally logical and was welcomed by the hearts of the inhabitants of the Chuqor neighborhood, especially since Hameed Nylon himself had joked about the idea that he had caused the miracle, saying, “If I were able to cause miracles, I would have made the English whore sleep with me.” And he meant what he said.
    The rain fell for three consecutive days without cease until low-lying houses were filled with water, the roofs of many homes collapsed, and the Khasa Su River flooded its banks, submerging the neighborhoods closest to it. People reached the point of praying again, but this time for the rain to stop. On the third day of what he termed Noah’s flood, Hameed Nylon lifted his head to inspect the sky and told his wife, who had seized the opportunity to spend most of the time in bed with him, “It seems the sky is peeing a lot, after having to hold it in for months.” His wife Fatima replied, nervously, “Don’t blaspheme, Hameed; it’s a miracle.” Then Hameed, laughing, answered, “True, it’s a miracle, but the sky should not get carried away.” During this nonstop torrential rain, Hameed Nylon remained trapped in the two upper rooms they rented in the home of his sister Nazira and her husband—the itinerant butcher Khidir Musa—who lived in a large room downstairs at the end of the courtyard with their three daughters, the eldest of whom was five and the youngest less than a year old.
    During these rainy days, Hameed Nylon only descended to the large room once. Then he sat on the carpet near a charcoal brazier with ash covering its embers, a plate of Ashrasi dates and walnuts before him. He affectionately told his sister to pour him a tumbler of tea, and then his niece Layla came to sit on his knee. Khidir Musa expressed his concern: “How will I be able to sell my lambs if this rain lasts much longer?”
    Hameed Nylon teased him, “Think of the rain as a holiday, man. Your money will last a thousand years.”
    Khidir Musa laughed, “That’s the rumor my sister Qadriya spreads about me, God curse her; she says I place dinar bills under my mattress and sleep on them, ironing them that way.”
    Hameed Nylon answered, “What’s wrong with that? They’re your dinars. Do whatever you want with them.” Then he fell silent, gazing by the lamp’s faint light at the cabinets. Their gold and silver doors were painted with red and blue peacocks, which had symmetrical tail feathers, and with larks sitting on boughs. There were flowers around the edges.
    Khidir Musa said, “There’s not much work left in Kirkuk. There are as many butchers here as grains of sand. I’m going to move to al-Hawija, where there’s not even one butcher.”
    Hameed Nylon knew that Khidir Musa craved money and that his avarice was so extreme he only rarely patronized the coffeehouse. Indeed, Hameed Nylon thought Qadriya’s assertion justified. He did not realize that the person who really ironed dinar bills was his own sister Nazira, who earned at times more than Khidir Musa—trading in fabrics and