At the supermarket, the prices had climbed again. A yogurt costs 210,000 Tomans — about a dollar and a half. I told myself, skip the yogurt, today. buy Doogh instead. Only 40,000 Tomans (24 cents). That will do. When I get home, I should clean the yard. I probably won’t have the time.

My sister is still at the computer, lost in her games. I don’t blame her. In days like these, the hope of even leaving her room has almost died. When her fingers hit the keys, she looks happy, but the way she stays hunched over that desk, day and night, feels like surrender.

Sometimes she snaps at me too — why do you keep fighting so hard? But I have no choice. I have to stay alive.

Yesterday I started carving a stone. I know the work is hard, yet I’m sure a few hours of careful cutting will make something worth looking at.

I’ve always wanted to put the old designs of ancient Iran onto stone. That’s why I chose the figure of an Persian soldier.

Carving stone by hand is far harder and slower than ordinary stone cutting. Still, if I can sell it for a fair price, the extra effort might be worth it. Manual stone carving is my work.

These days people have almost no money left to buy anything. When I finished, I went out into the little garden to check the fig tree.

Thick figs hang high on the upper branches. If I can climb the trunk, there must be at least a kilo or two up there. Then I won’t need to buy fruit this week.

I take the risk and go after the big yellow ones.

I manage to pick a good amount, but the fig leaves scrape my bare arms hard. Damn things — I’m badly allergic to them. I remind myself to shower later. First, though, I should take some figs to my sister. I bring her the fruit. She says, “While you were gone your phone rang. Your coworker called.”

Then she yawns. “Why do you keep struggling? Just let it go, man.”

And her eyes go straight back to the screen. I pick up the phone and call him. He answers and says he needs to drop by the workshop for a small job.

I say yes at once. I take the stones I have just finished, hoping one of them might catch his eye and he will buy. He is a young goldsmith. His merchant father supports him in every way. Our money situations are nothing alike, but we have been good friends.

He arrives. His eyes pass over the stones without much interest. He has brought one of his own and asks me to drill a hole in it.

While I work the drill, his gaze falls on the stone where I carved the Persian soldier.

His eyes light up.

“How much for this one?” I tell him I haven’t set a price yet, but pieces like these usually sell for more than a million Tomans — (almost 6 dollars).

He shakes his head. “No way. Too high.”

I think to myself: “he likes it. Let’s sell it”.

“All right. It’s my first real carving and I still don’t have much experience. Take it for 500,000 Tomans — (about 3 dollars).”

 I do the quick math in my head: “with that money I can buy two yogurts and two bottles of doogh.”

For now, that is enough.

Maybe if I spend more hours on the stones… if I do more carvings…

Though I will also have to think about buying better tools…

The moment he transfers the money…