A Summertime Melody--Shiraz, Iran

photo by Laila Riazi

Reza sits cross-legged on a coarse Persian rug as the brightly clad city girls sticky their chins with watermelon juice. With sight of the santoor player’s handsome face, they pinch their palms to suppress laughter. How to suppress the birth of a blush deeper a red than the stripes on his shirt? Reza kisses the santoor’s keys with delicate fingers and the music purrs, twisting awake underneath honey-slivers of afternoon light. He sighs, thinking of how the girls must concentrate more on his black-marble-eyes than on the mellifluous sound pouring from the ancient instrument before him. Reza’s bare toes wiggle with the rising melody, and the city girls turn their heads away, biting their lips until they bleed.