Her mother had not been a believer, but she had once said, “I hope they never stop. Long after the last person has stopped believing, I hope they at least play a recording of the muezzin from every minaret.” “What good would that be, without faith?” Elmira had asked. “It isn’t about faith. It’s about place. It’s this place, remembering its particular history. Somewhere else, it’s church bells. In another place, it’s a gong. Without those differences, we could be anywhere at all. And if we are anywhere at all, nothing matters.”
