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mean? He’s very traditional in that sense. I suppose there is a lot of good in our relationship, but your story is the kind of stuff people write books about.”
    I can tell from Zari’s restless body language that she is not comfortable talking about Doctor’s visits to her house. Is her discomfort due to wanting to see Doctor more, or because she’s not excited about her arranged marriage?
    Faheemeh smiles as Ahmed winks at me again. I know exactly what is going through his head. The next time we are alone, he will say that Zari is not really in love with Doctor and that theirs would be a marriage of convenience. This, Ahmed will argue, is a custom an educated guy like Doctor has a moral obligation to resist. What would everyone say? The promising young scholar marrying a girl his parents picked out for him before he was even born? Ahmed will try to convince me to do something stupid, like shouting from the rooftop that I’m in love with Zari, and that Doctor should step aside as her intended husband and devote his life to emancipating our country from the grip of backwardness.
     
    Later in the day, Zari tells us about her relatives and parents. Her mother was raised in an extremely religious family in Qum, one of Iran’s holiest cities. Most of the women on her mother’s side cover themselves with chadors . She has a cousin who could be a movie star if she lived in the United States or in Europe, but she wears a burqa that covers her from head to toe, like the women in Saudi Arabia. Zari calls her the “Masked Angel.”
    “The Masked Angel?” I ask. “Sounds like a great title for a movie.”
    Ahmed uses this opportunity to promote me again. “He’s seen every classic American movie ever made,” he says. “He’s like a movie encyclopedia. He knows all the actors, all the directors, and all the producers. He’ll be a great filmmaker himself someday.”
    Zari looks at me and says, “You want to be a filmmaker?”
    “I do,” I respond.
    “That’s very exciting.”
    Ahmed grins in triumph.
    “I like the American movies, too,” Zari says. “But Doctor believes Hollywood is dominated by the Jews promoting Zionism.” She adds that she doesn’t know what Zionism means but knows that it’s not good to be a Zionist.
    Faheemeh says her father is a columnist for Keyhan —the largest newspaper in Iran—and his childhood dream was to interview Walt Disney, but someone at Keyhan told him that Disney is an agent of Zionism. She admits that she doesn’t know what Zionism is either, but from the sound of it, it must be awful to be a Zionist!
    Ahmed turns his head toward me to coach me, mouthing, “Talk about Zionism! Talk about Zionism!”
    “A lot of the kingpins of the Hollywood studio system were actually Jews,” I say, taking the bait. “Zucker, Meyer, Selznick—they were all Jews, but I’m not sure they made any movies that promoted the creation of the state of Israel, which is what Zionism is about.”
    “Wow,” Ahmed says, in mock amazement. “How do you know all this? I’m always learning something new from you.”
    “May I have some water?” I ask Zari, hoping to interrupt Ahmed.
     
    Every time Zari goes inside the house to bring food and beverages, I wish I were somewhere else so that Faheemeh and Ahmed could be alone, but I don’t know where to go. Finally, Zari comes to my rescue. She calls me from inside the house. It is the first time she has called me by my name, and it sounds distinctive when she says it. Hearing my name on her lips makes me a more important person, somehow. I walk into the house and see her peeling an orange with her back to the kitchen door.
    “I wanted you to come in so they could have a little time together,” she says, as she turns to smile at me.
    “I know. What can I do to help?”
    “Nothing. Just keep me company.” She turns back and continues peeling the orange.
    The pressure is on. This is the first time I’ve been alone with her and I have no