Pfaw. The cafeteria smelled of sulfur. The venting was broken. Ineptitude was in full flower. Not once did he get to praise the homeland without its displaying its blooming idiocy. He shook the briefcase a little. Out came the reliable click. At least someone in the garden had a sharp hoe.

He ordered his tasteless coffee from the little woman in the schoolgirl veil. He looked frankly into her eyes, letting her see he wanted her, a definite no-no, but she ate it up today, as she did every morning. He stopped his lingering look with a respectful smile, which delighted her most. No harm from their daily indiscretion would come to her, or him, the smile said. So she smiled too, as she always did. He shook the briefcase the second time, felt the four clicks, waved his badge past the armed cashier, and picked a table close to the door.

The cafeteria was full, and that was good. He put his coffee down, unfolded the paper, and started to read. One of his favorite stories was on the front page. President Says Iranians Men of Dialogue, Logic. Only in China could a news agency publish such a fable. A week ago, he had read, China’s Top Legislator Calls on Members to Learn Extensively. He memorized it, it was so charming. Countries in which such kindnesses could be termed news were in short supply. His American friends wanted these supportive tales. They tried so hard to seed their newspapers with them. A rare achievement, they didn’t quite realize, a society so amiably informed. He decided to tear this one out and tuck it in his pocket. That might be a nice touch when his body was found.

But he was interrupted. He had taken the last empty table, and a stranger, a ladder of a man in a brown suit, pulled out a free chair. He placed a plate of bread and yogurt on the table and sat down. They exchanged good-mornings. Pockmarks rippled the man’s skin. He jabbed the dry bread in the runny mast with impatience. Hoseyn had never been able to get down the cafeteria lavash. The yogurt was always too soupy. This man was hungry.

“What you want you can’t have, and what you have you don’t want,” the man said.

Hoseyn tensed in his chair. The guy was romping through the yogurt; he hadn’t even looked up. Maybe I’m hearing things, Hoseyn thought.

“Pardon?” Hoseyn said.

The man looked up. He nodded to the paper. Hoseyn looked at the front page again. He sped through the headlines. What you want you can’t have—there was nothing. What you have you don’t want. He searched.

“I didn’t hear you, my friend,” Hoseyn said.