of the Ali Qapu Palace. A group of boys was playing soccer there. They enthusiastically ran after the ball, and one called out, "Here comes Ali Daei."
I ran to him, tried to take the ball from him and said out loud, "And I'm playing at Arminia Bielefeld in Germany next year."
Kurosh's eyes opened even wider and he could hardly contain his laughter while trying to admonish me.
"Must you draw more attention to us? Be glad that it's a little dark and not everyone can identify you as a foreigner."
In fact, we hardly ever see tourists after dark. It seems as though they don't dare be on the streets at night, missing the most beautiful part of the day. So we draw even more attention then. To mark their goal, the curious soccer players use two high-heeled women's pumps placed in the middle of the street.
"Let's take a picture of the boys." My flash aroused more curiosity, and finally I had the chance to take a very special series of pictures. For the longest time, I had wanted to photograph an Iranian family on their little motorcycles. Five people arriving at the square with their entire picnic kit were the first motif, and they laughed for the camera. We lowered in front of the great mosque to capture vehicles whizzing by on film. Kurosh laughingly kept a lookout for heavily loaded mopeds and told me in time.
Protected by semi-darkness, young girls battled with their brothers' bicycles, pedaling unsteadily from the green strip in the middle of the square to the Sheik Lotfollah Mosque. I watched them awhile and told

watched them awhile and told Kurosh how I felt the first time I saw an Iranian girl riding a bike.
"I know exactly what you mean," he answered. "My sister is also that age, and I wonder what will become of her."
Giving him my camera, I ran spiritedly into the nearby caravansary, took Kurosh's mountain bike and rode through the abandoned corridors of the bazaar, greeting the odd flabbergasted spectator. I heard Kurosh laughing behind me and the few German words he could say, "Du bist verrückt, mein Schatz! You're crazy, darling!"
This he said with his wonderfully rolling "r". I had yanked up my coat, and the wind in my face gave me the intoxicating feeling of freedom. It came from the fit of rage I had had at the sight of the uncertain girls. Freedom, what dear commodity! I had never thought that a bike ride could give me this sensation. It was almost as though I had felt it for the first time. I had the unusual feeling of not being the same woman when I got off the bicycle and gave it back to Kurosh.
"And?" he asked.
"Did anyone say anything?"
That was last night, and again I recall that remarkable feeling. It was like a revelation that flowed through me, like something I would never forget. Afterwards we walked the dark corridors together to the caravansary, and he put the bicycle back where it belonged. As he fussed over the lock, I stood over him and looked at his bent back. His muscles tensed under the shirt, and his slender neck merged into the attractive back of his head