Nader Birjand's Lamb Stew

Nader Birjand's Lamb Stew


From a southside slum of Tehran, Iran,
my friend Nader Birjand
was up in our attic kitchen
dropping a dried lemon
into a pot of stew.
On his wrist, a gold watch
glowed in the gloom
of the little upstairs room.

"Nice watch," I said,
sniffing the stew.

"I got it last night.
I was driving my cab
when I got an intuition
that the black guy in the back seat
was going to cut my throat and rob me."

"Did the black guy say or do
anything to make you think
that he was going to cut
your throat and rob you?"

"No, he was just sitting there.
But I "knew". I had an in-tu-ition.
So I stopped the cab, dragged
him out, and took
his watch and seven dollars.

Someone who heard the screaming
called the police, who were not
on my side until they found
a butcher knife in the black
guy's inside jacket pocket."

Nader then dished me out
miniscule portions
of saffron rice and lamb stew
and talked me into doing
his homework paper
for an Art History class
which he was taking at
the Northside Community College.

I wrote a two-page paper on
Picasso's "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon",
for which Noddy Birjand and I
later received an A minus.


Harvey Goldner