The Stolen Rug
Do you ever stand by the sink dreaming as you wash dishes? The water is warm and soothing, the Palmolive smells pleasant and comforting. As you wash the dishes, you absently stare out of the window at the birds perched on the back fence who are chattering amongst themselves. That is exactly what I did today. I accidentally dropped a fork. I bent down to pick it up. I glance down at the machine-made Persian rug beneath my feet and I smile to myself. I had bought it many years ago, perhaps when we bought the house.
Before we escaped from Iran because of the Revolution, before all the problems started, businessmen from all over Europe and the US would come to Iran, attempting to do business there, for Iran was booming. My father and my ex-husband represented many of the foreign companies. Their representatives would comment about the corruption and bribery in Iran. The Europeans were subtle and polite about it. The Americans, on the other hand, were highly offensive in their outspoken comments, to the point of being quite insulting. Almost all of them spoke about the integrity and the honesty of the American people compared to the dishonesty of the Iranians. They painted an image of the streets that were so fine one could imagine them to be paved in gold. If we weren’t avid travelers, we may have believed them. We did believe them when they spoke of the honesty and the freedom and justice for all! I tried to explain that bribery was the norm. We did not consider tipping someone extra as being dishonest. It just made life easier. But it was no use. Western and Middle Eastern mentalities are entirely opposite each other. So I shrugged and let it be. To each his own.
The revolution came and things drastically changed. We were forced to flee from Iran. We settled here in New York. Very quickly, we learned that if our country was corrupt and prone to bribery, the States were even more so. The scale of the dishonesty there boggled our minds. After we were fleeced from a part of our money, we very soon learned to become vigilant and defend what was ours. From being a soft-spoken person, I soon turned into a person who spoke her mind, a person who would not hesitate to brutally state my opinions if need be. However, it was a long and painful process, but I am proud to say, I got there.
Back to the rug. As I glanced at it, I decided it needs a little airing and shaking, just as we did back home. People would place their carpets on the road so the cars could drive over them and rid them of the dust. We would hang the smaller ones out on a balcony. No one stole them. It was a common practice. So here I was in New York; I picked up the rug, shook it, and hung it over the railings leading to the front door to air. I went inside and closed the door. A short while later the doorbell rang. A very elegant woman stood at the door. In front of the house, in the latest model Cadillac, in the driver’s seat was her husband. They both looked at me.
“Are you looking to throw the rug out?” she asked.
“No. I was airing it on the railing,” I replied. She apologized and headed to the car. I went back in. Ten minutes or so later I opened the front door to bring in the rug. There she was again. She was bent down. The fingers of her heavily jeweled hand were firmly clutching the rug. On seeing me, she gave a little jump.
“I think I dropped my ring here. I was looking for it,” she stammered. I leaned forward and firmly pulled the rug from her greedy hands. “I don’t think so,” I said grimly. I went in and slammed the door in her face!
I began shaking. I was not shaking because the rug was valuable, for it certainly was not. I was shaking because all those many years ago American businessmen used to come to our country and shamelessly accuse us of all types of dishonesty and here was this prosperous looking, very well-dressed elegant woman riding in the latest model expensive car trying to steal my rug! At least in Iran when they stole it was because of need and not because of greed.