We went into our room and started getting ready for bed, although I was quite sure I would not be sleeping much that night.

“What’s that noise?” I asked François.

“What noise?”

“Listen,” I said.

We could hear a distinct rumbling that was getting louder and louder. François opened the door, then immediately shut it. “It’s nothing,” he said.

François has many talents, but lying is not one of them.

By the time I got to the door, I could hear the distinct chanting of a large, angry crowd. “Judges paid off! Judges paid off!”

The protest went on well into the night. I could not fall asleep, knowing that if the mobs stormed our dinky hotel room, my only weapon was a collection of conch shells. I tried to imagine how my parents would be contacted to claim our bodies. “It was a violent incident involving a beauty pageant,” they would be told. It was a long night, during which my husband slept like a log.

If I Were a Rich Man

If I Were a Rich Man

In Abadan, we never had to think about money, not because we were rich, but because the National Iranian Oil Company took care of all our needs. Employees received free furnished housing; the size and amenities were based on years of experience and education. Plumbing problems, electrical problems, and leaky roofs were fixed free of charge. Schools, doctors, and even buses cost nothing. For entertainment, everyone converged at the local clubhouse for bingo, swimming, movies, and concerts. Except for food, it was all free of charge. The club also held Persian New Year celebrations, Christmas parties, and even an annual bal masqué with an award given for best costume. My parents and Aunt Sedigeh and Uncle Abdullah always dressed up as villagers, and every year they didn’t win. In 1957, an employee of the fire department won with his rendition of a spaceship passenger.

As an engineer with a graduate degree, my father was entitled to a three-bedroom house with a huge backyard complete with a vegetable garden and chickens. Each day, I made my rounds, verifying whether the carrots, corn, radishes, or green beans were ready to eat. Afterward, I checked for insects, keeping track of all the creatures that shared our garden. My mother found my interest in bugs an odd and somewhat disturbing hobby for a little girl. My daughter shares that fascination with things that creep and crawl, and I tell her that a career in entomology awaits her.