The Rug

Romin looked away from the rugs spread before him on the floor. The walls were decorated with new and antique rugs shining with brilliance under the powerful floodlights. The dealer’s mouth was dry.
“Get me a few Bakhtiari rugs,” he mumbled to the stock boy trying not to interrupt the conversation.
“The design and pattern of nomadic rugs form in the weavers’ imagination,” he continued, helping the stock boy unroll a rug.
“They are inspired by legends and miracles recorded in ancient books.”
He stroked the rug’s surface to emphasize its softness.Romin ignored his remark. He stood up and walked to the remote end of the chamber with the Rug Dealer trailing behind. There, among the new silk pieces, hung an old rug.
“What can you tell me about this one?” he inquired, touching the rug.
“That one is an antique piece—I don’t think you can afford it,” said the dealer.
“What is so special about it?” asked Romin.
“You wouldn’t believe if I told you.”
“Try me,” he answered.
“Well, that is a flying rug.”Romin chuckled, “A flying rug, did you say, like Aladdin’s I suppose?”…

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