On the first day I went to become the soldier teacher, a tiny girl with a sweet voice and that lovely southerner modesty came to meet me. She took my hand with her tiny one, encircled with a green bracelet to ward off evil, and showed me Kalou's new school; a school that had no walls and stood just a few steps away from the sea.
Hamideh said, "Excuse me sir? My name is Hamideh, Hamideh Zarei and I was in third grade last year, and Sir! This year I'm in fourth grade! Are you thirsty? Shall I bring you some water?" "No thank-you" I said, "I'm not thirsty."
Hamideh spread the news around the village that the new teacher had arrived and her voice could be heard calling out to the other children, "The new teacher is here! Come and see him!"
Hamieh brought a broom and we started cleaning up the school with the help of the children. "We didn't even have a school till last year!" said Hossein.
I start brushing the floor but Hamideh's tiny hands come and take the broom from me.
School started the next day and I appoint Hamideh as prefect. She hesitated and said "No, the boys are always prefects here; I want to be the librarian." "There's no difference between boys and girls" I told her, but she just smiles and said "Don't want to."
When Hamideh's father called today to pick up her file and take her away to the school in the city, a lump rose in my throat, but I reminded myself that Hamideh was breaking tradition by doing so, and that I should be happy.
It was our tiny school and the many visitors it drew to Kalou that made Hamideh's father agree to her continuing her studies in the big city. I remind myself that Hamideh was breaking tradition and unlike other village girls, who only finish Elementary school, was going to middle school.
I remember the day I shouted at you "Hamideh! Why has your younger brother not finished his homework?" You scowled back at teacher and said, "I don't know whether to do my own homework, give my mother (who is going to adult education classes) a dictation, or check on my naughty brother's homework!"
I remember you put your head on the table and wouldn't talk to me, but later we made up with an exchange of smiles.
I remember when an inspector came from the ministry of education and you quickly pulled off the cloth covering you broken school desk, so he would see and send a new one down to Kalou.
I remember the day I was mercilessly chased by village dogs and you saved me Hamideh, shouting at the dogs "Go away! Don't bother teacher!"
I remember the day we went to Saint Seyyed Reza's shrine and you got the key of the building from the village key-keeper, you grandfather Haj Abbas, and hung it round your neck saying it was the only key and that you'd be in trouble if it got lost.
I remember our field trip and the day I was teaching Parisa geometry. I said our school was like a square with four corners, but it would be a triangle with three when Hamideh left.
I remember the cloudy days in Kalou and Hamidehs pretty pictures, the numbered books in the library, and Hamideh's desk facing the sea so she could inform the class when their father's fishing boats returned home.
I remembered Hamideh, one of the stories of the smallest school in the world, was leaving us.