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En Route to Persepolis H AMY MOTLAGH We are lucky on Tuesday: my father has found a man to drive us there and back, and wait in between. There are good spirits today and en route, my stepmother decides that now is a good time for vocabulary review.We re-trace what we’ve learned as the parched fields glance by, gypsy tents propped up among the wheat, their women brilliant in silks and the wealth of the tribes stacked in alangoo up their arms. Aren’t they beautiful? my stepmother asks. And mysterious? We nod. In Farsi? Gashang, we answer. Ziba. Good. And now my back becomes a study for the next lesson. She says, In Iran, it is rude to show your back to someone. If you do, you must say, Bebaksheed; poshtam bay shomast. I am sorry; my back faces you. And the polite answer is EN ROUTE TO PERSEPOLIS 23 Gol posht va roo nadarad: A flower has no back. I face forward both ways, to and from the ancient city. On the way back, I am hotter, I am told I have seen something of great importance, but the fields seem the same on both sides, where the nomads pitch their tents and their fires in the summer wheat mark the air with sorrow. 24 AMY MOTLAGH ...

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