83The Imam enjoyed walking along the mosque’s second floor corridor bracketed by classrooms where children studied the language and theology of Islam. Classes would be emptying soon, surrounding him with ebullient faces and spirited voices of the young charges. As he started toward a stairway where he customarily reminded children not to run, Gregor Nazyr appeared in his path.
“I heard about your little speech at the aquiqah. I told you not to interfere.”
“I want you to take your things and leave. Immediately.”
Nazyr erupted in laughter. “I didn’t know you were so funny.”
“I have spoken with the congregation,” the Imam said. “There is nothing for you here.”
The Chechen’s face hardened as the dismissal bell rang. He bent forward, his breath warm on Nuri’s neck.
“Do not interfere.” Naz
