The first story_s9:persian is sugar

Without paying any attention to Ramazan, the foreigner continued with his thoughts, saying, “Revolution without evolution is something that can’t even be imagined! We, the youth, must take responsibility for guiding the people. I’ve written a long article on this subject, where I clearly demonstrate that no one dares to rely on others, and each person should serve their country according to their capabilities. This is the path to progress! But unfortunately, our words don’t reach the people. Lamartine says it well…”

The philosopher began reciting some French poetry, which, by chance, I had once heard before and knew was from the French poet Victor Hugo, not Lamartine. Ramazan, hearing these absurd and strange words, was completely lost and quickly ran to the back of the prison, starting to cry. Soon, a crowd gathered outside the door, and the voice of the Sheikh, sounding much like the infamous voice of Hassan Shamir, echoed through the air. He shouted, “What’s your problem? Are they pulling at your rear? Stop this nonsense! If you don’t stop this Jewish and gypsy talk, I hope they come and shut you up!”

Ramazan, in a pitiful tone, began to beg, saying, “Oh, Muslim, what is my sin? If I am a thief, cut off my hand; if I am guilty, beat me with a stick, take my nails, slam my ears into the door, blind me, burn my skin with wax—but for the sake of God and the Prophet, save me from this madness and these devils! I am buried with three companions in a grave, one of whom is a foreigner, and when you look at him, you should repent, for he looks like a predator. The other two don’t even speak a word of our language, they are both possessed, and if they get it in their heads, they might strangle me. Who will answer for this before God?”

Poor Ramazan could no longer speak, the lump in his throat choking him as he began to sob. The same familiar, harsh voice from behind the door echoed again, bombarding him with insults. My heart ached for Ramazan. I stepped forward, placed my hand on his shoulder, and said, “Son, I’m not a foreigner, I don’t care about what any foreigner has done! I’m Iranian, and I am your religious brother. Why have you lost your courage? What has happened? You are a young man, why are you acting like this?”