and I love Esfahan, but I hate this damned Islamic Republic, these mullahs who wreck my life and all these people who just let it happen."
We take a taxi the rest of the way and arrive at the school in a few minutes. A group of young men is standing and waiting in front of the building and greets Kurosh. He introduces me as a "relative from Germany". I'm a teacher, he explains. "Why didn't he ask me before?" I think. Inside, too, I only see young men.
"This is a men's school," a teacher with an Austrian accent answers my question. He spent most of his life in Salzburg, studied and taught there and has finally returned to his Persian home in his old age.
"Before it was closed in the eighties, this was the Goethe Institute," he tells me. "Under the Shah, there were coed classes, then came segregation, and since the Goethe Institute was officially banned this has been a private language school for men. But our materials still come from the German headquarters."
The teacher begins the lesson. All the students repeat his words in chorus like I've seen in oriental movies. If a single student is supposed to answer something, he gets up out of his chair. Soon, the young men's curiosity gets the better of them, and I am asked to say something in German. With the teacher's permission, I try to take over the lesson, put the books aside and practice a vernacular greeting with them. In brief role-playing sessions, we practice a few sentences, and soon everyone is relaxed.

sentences, and soon everyone is relaxed. They eagerly repeat my words, but they are still very clumsy when formulating their own ideas. When I try in Farsi to clarify some confusion, they goggle at me. Kurosh practically bursts with excitement about his German "cousin".
"Why are you learning German?" I finally ask the young men. Because none of them answers at first, I try another tack.
"Do you know Germans? Have you ever talked to a German?"
"My father has a business carpet."
"A carpet business."
"Excuse me, yes. He has customers of Germany."
"I understand. He has German customers. Do you work in that business?"
"Yes, of course."
"I speak with touristses," says another.
"I want work with visitor," announces the next one.
"Who has been to Germany before?"
When no hands go up, I ask, "Who would like to go to Germany someday?"
Two men cautiously raise their hands, and Kurosh winks at me.
It is already way past ten when the lesson is over.
"Let's go have a drink together. My friends can drive us out to a nice tea house if you like."
Before I can think about it, I find myself in a car with four young men and wonder if I've taken