When I told my friends the story, at first they fell silent.<\/p>\n
Then Dr. Nazari asked,<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shook hands with him?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n I could still feel the warmth of the man\u2019s wool\u2011gloved hand in my palm.<\/p>\n I said,<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, why? What\u2019s wrong with that?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n One of the other guys said very seriously,<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you might as well have kissed him on the cheek! Maybe you should\u2019ve handed him your money with both hands, too!\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n And everyone who was gathered that early morning in Dr. Farzin\u2019s pharmacy burst out laughing.<\/p>\n It had been a few months since I\u2019d come to City A<\/em> for my specialist service program. I was the first specialist in my field in that small southern town. The physicians\u2019 housing was located inside the compound of the town\u2019s only hospital, and they had given me the last house in the row of buildings.<\/p>\n It was midnight when I suddenly felt someone groping along the wall of my room, searching for the light switch.<\/p>\n I jumped out of bed and turned on the light.<\/p>\n A large, intimidating man stood there\u2014<\/p>\n perhaps appearing even more menacing because his head and face were wrapped in a scarf.<\/p>\n He pointed a knife at me and said,<\/p>\n \u201cGive me your money.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n Only then did I notice more details.<\/p>\n My small radio was by the door. In front of the door the air was cool, and I usually sat there at night, struggling to catch the faint signals of Radio Farda<\/em> or the BBC.<\/p>\n He had tucked the radio under his arm along with the cans of tuna and beans I had bought just the night before, which I\u2019d left beside the wall.<\/p>\n I said,<\/p>\n \u201cMoney?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n Standing opposite him, I pointed under the bed.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s there. My wallet.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n He shifted the knife and bent down to pick up the wallet. Kneeling, he set the knife on the floor and began rummaging through it. He seemed so excited that I was ready to give him everything inside just for the joy he showed.<\/p>\n Suddenly he threw the wallet back at me.<\/p>\n I was startled.<\/p>\n My mother\u2019s picture was inside, and apparently the poor man had been struck by guilt after seeing it\u2014as if jolted by electricity. He looked at me pleadingly:<\/p>\n \u201cYou open it and take out the money yourself.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n So I did.<\/p>\n I began to wonder if I was having one of those absurd dreams that usually followed my daytime daydreams\u2014those that turned my sleep into a one\u2011man cinema.<\/p>\n He asked,<\/p>\n \u201cYou from Tehran, kid?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cYes\u2014with your permission,\u201d I said politely.<\/p>\n He said,<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re lying. You look like you\u2019re from around here.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n I said, \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n