We walked a while longer on the barren land and then went through a succession of narrow alleys, coming out into a wide street, lined with elegant mansion-like houses with wooden or iron doors. A man sat against a wall in the lotus position, his lips moving as he passed a rosary through his fingers. He seemed oblivious of us and his surroundings.

Then we came upon an historic garden which I knew held a famous bath inside. A premier had been murdered in the bath. Four men had come in and cut his veins while he was relaxing in the warm water. I recounted the story to Tony as we walked through the garden and the bath.

It was getting near the departure time of the bus and we began to head towards the station. We bought our tickets and then stopped in a small shop next to the booth, where leather goods and jewelry were displayed. Tony bought a silver ring with an oval carnelian on it and put it on. I bought a leather pocketbook.

The bus arrived on time. It was not as crowded as it had been when I came to Kashan. I let Tony sit by the window and I sat beside him. He began to read almost immediately.

Again the same monotonous land, broiling sky, and broken-down remnants of another civilization. A hot wind blew in through the windows. Our hair was ruffled and our faces covered with a thin layer of salt-dust. The seat became moist and sticky.

Tony kept shifting his feet. Once he got up to shake his legs. “I’m getting cramps,” he said. “This ride is endless.”

“I know, and to do it two days in a row. We should have stayed at least another day in Kashan. It was crazy to leave in such a rush.”

He turned to his book and did not respond. After a moment he put his arm around me and said, “You should take it easy when we get back. Ulcers can become dangerous, as you know.”

“If I can take it easy.”

“We should make a new schedule for ourselves.”

“I guess we could try.”

A woman sitting in front of us asked me if Tony was an American. She was pleasant, smiling, but I said curtly, “Yes,” and turned away. I felt a sadness, aware that something was lost between Tony and me and I had to work hard to get it back.

17

My father acted a bit sulky when Tony and I returned, but became more talkative as the evening wore on. He studiously avoided any mention of my mother. Nor did he try to discuss my going back to the States now that Tony was here. I told him about going to the hospital and my ulcer. He said, “That comes from worrying too much.” His tone implied “I told you so.” I shrugged, not wanting to pursue the subject.