We sat on a platform too and a waiter came over, hopping over the stream. Darius ordered the usual things, chelo kebab, yogurt and cucumber, radishes, doogh. He leaned back on one elbow, looking around at the other customers.

When the food came Tony took a bite and said, “I can’t eat this, my stomach feels funny.”

“Maybe it’s from those almonds,” I said.

“Doesn’t he like it? Shall I order something else?” Darius viewed Tony with hurt eyes. He pushed the rice and the kebab towards Tony and said, “Good, good.”

Tony pointed to his stomach.

“He’s a little sick,” I said.

“Does he want a beer?”

Tony said yes, he did.

Darius and I ate the food while Tony sipped the beer.

“See that chenar tree?” Darius said, pointing to a hollow tree about six feet in diameter, off the road. “An old man lives in it. He just sits there most of the time and meditates. Children come and talk with him or harass him but he just roosts there like a bird.”

“What does he do in the winter?”

“He wraps a thick sheepskin coat around him—anyway he has the protection of the tree. He’s probably up there right now, looking out. Sometimes I wish I could do that, get away from everyone—Ziba, father—and be on my own completely.”

“Why don’t you move out and get a place of your own?”

“Ziba would kill herself if I just moved out.” His face became a little wistful. “Sometimes I wish I could travel, see the world, like you have.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Obligations, maybe laziness.” He sighed. “Life!”

“Life is what you make it to be,” I said.

“As if any of us could choose anything.”

“You want to spend the rest of your life living the way you are now?”

He shrugged. “This is just philosophical talk.”

“What are you discussing so seriously?” Tony asked.

“Nothing specific.”

“The least you could do is translate.”

“I have been translating most of the time.” My words sounded more abrupt than I had meant them to be.

He became sullen. Then he said, “You know I don’t like to travel. You could try to be more pleasant.”

“Is something wrong?” Darius asked.

“No,” I said, and fell into silence. After a while I turned to Tony, “You’ve been ruining everything for me since you came here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shall we leave?” Darius asked, sensing the argument.

“That’s a good idea,” I said.

Darius signalled to the waiter to bring the check. Then he said, unexpectedly, “It must be hard to live with someone who doesn’t know your language. He doesn’t even pronounce your name right.”

“I don’t think these things matter.” I sounded defensive, I knew.

“When the gap between two people is too deep it can drown each of them.” He made a descriptive gesture with his hands.

I saw a gap and myself drowning in it.

The waiter came over. Darius insisted on paying, and we left.