“The First Story: Persian is sugar.”

Nowhere in the world do they burn the wet and the dry together like in Iran. After five years of wandering and hardship, my eyes hadn’t yet fallen on the soil of Iran from the top of the ship when the voices of the Gilaki fishermen from Anzali reached my ears, singing “Balām jān, Balām jān.” They surrounded the ship like ants around a dead locust, becoming a plague for the passengers. The lives of every passenger were in the hands of a few rowers, fishermen, and porters. However, my situation was the worst among the passengers, for most of them were traders of long coats and short hats from Baku and Rasht, whose bags would not open even with a strong stick. They’d give their lives to the angel of death, but no one would see the color of their money. But I, a poor unfortunate soul, hadn’t even had the chance to change my foreign hat, which I had been wearing ever since my time in the West. These people thought we were rich or had a special privilege and, calling me “Sahib, Sahib,” surrounded me. Every piece of our luggage was treated as if it belonged to ten porters and fifteen fishermen. A great uproar broke out, and we were left bewildered and speechless, wondering how to escape the clutches of these thieves. Suddenly, the crowd parted, and two officials appeared, looking like they were part of the problem rather than the solution, along with several servants dressed in red, wearing caps with angry, grim faces and mustaches sticking out like flags in the breeze.

This passage reflects Jamalzadeh’s vivid, satirical style and his ability to capture the chaotic, often absurd realities of social interactions in Iran during that time. It also highlights his critical view of the class system and the struggles of ordinary people.