Simon & Schuster Temple Folk (Bilal Aaliyah, Englisch), Sonstige Literatur

1. Blue BLUE In the early hours before the dawn, the women of the Muslim Girls Training class stood single file on the sidewalk, waiting to board the Trailways charter bus headed to Chicago. A pair of streetlamps at the corner of Prospect and Main funneled soft light onto their frames-dressed in peacoats with long white skirts and headscarves that matched the light drift of snow. They inched along, moving toward the yellow-orange light that filtered a halo from the top half of the coach. Slowly, they ascended the steps and filed down the aisle to their seats. The others shivered, waiting outside, eager to get out of the cold, eager in the awareness that soon they were headed to the Saviours' Day celebration where they would behold the Messenger of the Lost-Found Nation-the maker of men and reformer of women-the seal of the prophets, up close and in person. They were greeted at the top of the steps by the captain, Sister Lucinda. She was tall and handsome with café-au-lait skin, a commanding air, and bright, green eyes that looked softly upon the women as they passed. In the singsong voice of a grade-school teacher, she offered each one a greeting of "Salaam," checked her name from the list, and pointed to her assigned seat. Where Sister Lucinda managed the entrance, Sister Memphis-her lieutenant-was positioned at the rear of the line. She had her hands folded behind her back and paced slow, observing the women. The MGT had their thoughts about her, but fearful of the consequences of exposing them in their rawest form-lest word travel back to Sister Memphis-they were careful to hide their gossip behind half-hearted concern, mostly about her appearance. They couldn't be all the way sure but said that, from the look of her eyes, something had to be out of sorts with her health. Standing before them that early morning, they bulged uncomfortably as she scanned the women, examining them for undone shoelaces, strange odors, and buttons fastened in the wrong places. Sister Guadeloupe, a twenty-five-year-old nurse in training, said it must have been a problem with her thyroid that set her eyes to protruding that way. "Nothing that daily glasses of beet juice and a little bit of iodine couldn't help," she said. Sister Memphis had skin like charcoal, with prominent lips always pursed tight until the moment she started in on some poor MGT. Then she'd expose her brilliant teeth-the canines like little daggers-and her mouth would open wide as a Venus flytrap, ready to snap off their heads at the slightest offense. The women's anxieties had only multiplied over the last two months since Sister Memphis's husband, James 17X, had gone away. Out on a walk, some of the MGT saw him at the entrance of the high-rise where they lived, loading a Chevy pickup truck with all of his belongings. He caught eyes with them, then shook his head like he'd seen something foul, and that's how they knew his Nation days were over. They couldn't have known the challenges-how over the past months, James had grown more vocal with Sister Memphis in his private denunciations of the Messenger. He said he was ready to leave the Nation for good and asked her if she would leave with him. "It would just be me and you," he said. "We can go somewhere and build a little house, make us a family. Me, you, and our children, with a clean slate and the whole world open to us." He was a decent man who liked peace in the home, who sometimes picked wildflowers that grew near the construction site where he earned a living and brought the prettiest blossoms to her. Despite it all, she dismissed his invitation and, quick as mercury, sent him on his way. His going had pained her, though she was not in the least conflicted ab.