My father used to tell a similar story of an injured leg. In ancient times, when they harvested crops by hand, one of the tribe members would always complain of foot pain and claim he couldn't work. They believed him and tried to treat his foot, but to no avail. He kept insisting his foot wasn't getting better. One night, as he slept, they became suspicious of him. They opened the bandage on the foot he claimed was hurting and tied it to the opposite foot. When he woke up in the morning, they asked him about his foot. He grabbed the foot that had been bound and said it hurt badly. That's when they realized he was lying and gave him a good beating.
It was a harsh yet funny story that Hassan told. I am so appreciative of the fact that he feels comfortable with me in such a way that he is able to share tales of his childhood and stories that his father would bestow upon them whenever the opportunity gave way.
Hassan and I ended our visit by drinking black tea. I must say that although it has taken me time to adapt to the bitterness of black tea, I have come to appreciate the health benefits of black tea. Besides, it is not so bad when drinking it with a cube of sugar placed inside the mouth, held between the teeth. This is the customary way of drinking tea in Iran, and although we are in America, I still succomb to the adage of "when in Rome . . ." because it makes for a healthy, safe friendship no matter where or with whom you find yourself.
