Kurosh met a few days before. He offers them some advice and help and gives them his business card. We lay down on the grass nearby and smoke a cigarette. Kurosh touches my leg almost by accident.
"Are you crazy cuddling up so close in broad daylight in public?" I protest and pull myself back a little.
"But people think we're married."
"But we're not. Don't put me in such predicaments."
"Don't worry. I know just about everyone in this town. Nothing will happen."
"What consolation. Don't forget that I'm German, and the relationship between our countries isn't exactly at its best."
"But what does that have to do with us?"
"Who knows in this strange country. I don't want to get into any trouble anyway."We are still lying close together, even though we avoiding touching. His casual attitude and unconcerned mien attract me. He has something of the naive behavior of an American youth on a summer's day. His slender body is stretched out beside me, his eyes are closed, and the cigarette glows unsmoked between his fingers. He is unusually large for an Iranian, and his skin is very dark. He could also be an especially tall Algerian, I think, or perhaps from Kashmir? He blinks at me, and I play with a lock of hair under my headscarf.
"How long are you staying?"
"Maybe a few days. A week at the most. I came to see friends in Tehran. They'll be there next week."

"Iranian friends? Tell me about them."
"Kurosh! There's a man in a uniform over there looking at us!"
Kurosh looks over at the man discreetly. No danger, he gestures. That's a soldier, not part of the Committee. I'm lying on my stomach and have propped myself up on my arms to get a better view. After awhile I turn around and see the man coming toward us from another direction.
"The guy wants something from us. Please get up, don't turn around, and let's go slowly and discreetly."
"Damn. He's looking at us and making a sign for us to come to him. Let's go! Don't look."
"What do we say if he asks any questions?"
"That we met in India, and you're just passing through."
"That's ridiculous. The stamps in our passports show that we were there at different times."
"Then you're one of my customers."
"As though you're allowed to lay in the park with customers."
A piercing stare at my back. More than twenty paces to the street. I start to get hot.
"Shoot. He's calling for us. Don't turn around. We'll act like we don't understand him."
It's lucky that Kurosh wears glaring western clothes. His tight jeans and the little backpack are the perfect disguise. The moment we reach the sidewalk, he waves down a Peykan that stops right in front of us. My heart is racing. A moment later we are sitting