attractive back of his head. He cursed in Farsi, seemed to ask me something, and when he finally turned around, I saw his astounded eyes in the semidarkness.
"Why don't you answer?" I took his hands, pulled him close to me and sank into the warmth of a kiss.
It is almost eleven o'clock when I put the notebook aside. The water is now chatting with his colleagues, and I ask him for the check. Soon I will be meeting Kurosh at the roundabout in front of the bridge, then we are going to the bus station to buy a ticket to Tehran.
As I wait for him, a young couple addresses me.
"Excuse me, madam. You also live in our hotel, right?"
"Yes, at reception I saw you arrive yesterday. How are you?"
"How are you? Are you OK?"
"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"
"We're fine, thank you. You are too? We would like to ask you something.""Please, go ahead."
"We would like to take a picture of you. We come from a city in Kurdistan. Foreign visitors never come there. We're on our honeymoon and would like to have a picture of you."
"Congratulations on your wedding."
"Thank you."
We take each other's pictures and ask a passer-by to take a picture of us together. Kurosh arrives punctually as always, and soon we are sitting close together in a taxi. He touches my knee and asks in a whisper when he will finally get to see it.

"Naughty boy! This isn't Europe or Goa."
"Too bad."
"And when do I get to see yours?"
He begins pulling up his pant leg, and I laugh out loud. The driver is looking in the rearview mirror more than at the road, but he seems to be a congenial guy who does not mind driving a handicapped romantic couple through the city. Each window in his car sports stickers with the clothing regulations for women. In the beginning of my trip I always thought that this signaled an especially eager morality enforcer, but by now I have realized that it is simply to conform to the letter of the law and avoid monitoring and trouble. I found the largest number of these stickers in the "Louis XIV cafe" where the wealthy and the amoral youth meet. How long and slender his legs are, calves well formed and extremely feminine despite their hairiness. His entire body suggests a surprisingly delicate frame and seems almost tender. But it is full of strength. A ball of energy, Kurosh is rarely still. Sometimes when he sees something interesting he wants to show me, he snaps around as he walks. Once he almost ran me over this way.
We reach the bus station. It is the same one I arrived at alone four years ago where no one was there to pick me up. Back then it was brand new, and Javeed and Keshwar were waiting for me at the old one. The car stops in front of the entrance, and a moment later we are standing in the hall with all the counters for the various bus lines. Everywhere ticket salesmen are calling