1If Peshawar was the city that reminded me of what Kabul used to be, then islamabad was the city Kabul could have become someday. The streets were wider than Peshawar's, cleaner, and lined with rows of hibiscus and flame trees. the bazaars were more organized and not nearly as clogged with rickshaws and pedestrians. The architecture was more elegant too, more modern, and I saw parks where roses and jasmine bloomed in the shadows of trees.

2Farid found a small hotel on a side street running along the foot of the margalla Hills. We passed the famous Shah Faisal Mosque on the way there, reputedly the biggest mosque in the world, with its giant concrete girders and soaring minarets. Sohrab perked up at the sight of the mosque, leaned out of the window and looked at it until Farid turned a corner.

3THE HOTEL ROOM was a vast improvement over the one in Kabul where Farid and I had stayed. The sheets were clean, the carpet vacuumed, and the bathroom spotless. There was shampoo, soap, razors for shaving, a bathtub, and towels that smelled like lemon. And no bloodstains on the walls. One other thing: a television set sat on the dresser across from the two single beds.

4"Look!" I said to Sohrab. I turned it on manually-no remote-and turned the dial. I found a children's show with two fluffy sheep puppets singing in Urdu.

5Sohrab sat on one of the beds and drew his knees to his chest. Images from the TV reflected in his green eyes as he watched, stone-faced, rocking back and forth. I remembered the time I'd promised Hassan I'd buy his family a color tV when we both grew up.

6"I'll get going, Amir agha," Farid said.

7"Stay the night," I said. "It's a long drive. Leave tomorrow."

8"Tashakor," he said. "But I want to get back tonight. I miss my children." on his way out of the room, he paused in the doorway. "Good-bye, Sohrab jan," he said. He waited for a reply, but Sohrab paid him no attention. Just rocked back and forth, his face lit by the silver glow of the images flickering across the screen.

9Outside, I gave him an envelope. When he tore it, his mouth opened.

10"I didn't know how to thank you," I said. "You've done so much for me."

11"How much is in here?" Farid said, slightly dazed.

12"A little over two thousand dollars."

13"Two thou-" he began. His lower lip was quivering a little. Later, when he pulled away from the curb, he honked twice and waved. I waved back. I never saw him again.

14I returned to the hotel room and found Sohrab lying on the bed, curled up in a big C. His eyes were closed but I couldn't tell if he was sleeping. He had shut off the television. I sat on my bed and grimaced with pain, wiped the cool sweat off my brow. I wondered how much longer it would hurt to get up, sit down, roll over in bed. I wondered when I'd be able to eat solid food. I wondered what I'd do with the wounded little boy lying on the bed, though a part of me already knew.

15There was a carafe of water on the dresser. I poured a glass and took two of Armand's pain pills. The water was warm and bitter. I pulled the curtains, eased myself back on the bed, and lay down. I thought my chest would rip open. when the pain dropped a notch and I could breathe again, I pulled the blanket to my chest and waited for Armand's pills to work.

16WHEN I WOKE UP, the room was darker. The slice of sky peeking between the curtains was the purple of twilight turning into night. The sheets were soaked and my head pounded. I'd been dreaming again, but I couldn't remember what it had been about.

17My heart gave a sick lurch when I looked to Sohrab's bed and found it empty I called his name. The sound of my voice startled me. It was disorienting, sitting in a dark hotel room, thousands of miles from home, my body broken, calling the name of a boy I'd only met a few days ago. I called his name again and heard nothing. I struggled out of bed, checked the bathroom, looked in the narrow hallway outside the room. He was gone.

18I locked the door and hobbled to the manager's office in the lobby, one hand clutching the rail along the walkway for support. There was a fake, dusty palm tree in the corner of the lobby and flying pink flamingos on the wallpaper. I found the hotel manager reading a newspaper behind the Formica-topped check¬ in counter. I described Sohrab to him, asked if he'd seen him. He put down his paper and took off his reading glasses. He had greasy hair and a square-shaped little mustache speckled with gray. He smelled vaguely of some tropical fruit I couldn't quite recognize.

19"Boys, they like to run around," he said, sighing. "I have three of them. All day they are running around, troubling their mother." He fanned his face with the newspaper, staring at my jaws.

20"I don't think he's out running around," I said. "And we're not from here. i'm afraid he might get lost."

21He bobbed his head from side to side. "Then you should have kept an eye on the boy, mister."

22I know," I said. "But I fell asleep and when I woke up, he was gone.

23"Boys must be tended to, you know."

24"Yes," I said, my pulse quickening. How could he be so oblivious to my apprehension? He shifted the newspaper to his other hand, resumed the fanning.

25"They want bicycles now"

26"Who?"

27"My boys," he said. "They're saying, 'Daddy, Daddy, please buy us bicycles and we'll not trouble you. Please, Daddy!" He gave a short laugh through his nose. "Bicycles. Their mother will kill me, I swear to you."

28I imagined Sohrab lying in a ditch. Or in the trunk of some car, bound and gagged. I didn't want his blood on my hands. Not his too. "Please..." I said. I squinted. Read his name tag on the lapel of his short-sleeve blue cotton shirt.

29"Mr. Fayyaz, have you seen him?"

30"The boy?"

31I bit down. "Yes, the boy! The boy who came with me. Have you seen him or not, for God's sake?"

32The fanning stopped. His eyes narrowed. "No getting smart with me, my friend. I am not the one who lost him."

33That he had a point did not stop the blood from rushing to my face.

34"You're right. I'm wrong. My fault. Now, have you seen him?"

35"Sorry," he said curtly. He put his glasses back on. Snapped his newspaper open.

36"I have seen no such boy."

37I stood at the counter for a minute, trying not to scream. As I was exiting the lobby, he said, "Any idea where he might have wandered to?"

38"No," I said. I felt tired. Tired and scared.

39"Does he have any interests?" he said. I saw he had folded the paper. "My boys, for example, they will do anything for American action films, especially with that Arnold ??WThatsanegger--"

40"The mosque!" I said. "The big mosque." I remembered the way the mosque had jolted Sohrab from his stupor when we'd driven by it, how he'd leaned out of the window looking at it.

41"Shah Faisal?"

42"Yes. Can you take me there?"

43"Did you know it's the biggest mosque in the world?" he asked.

44"No, but-"

45"The courtyard alone can fit forty thousand people."

46"Can you take me there?"

47"It's only a kilometer from here," he said. But he was already pushing away from the counter.

48"I'll pay you for the ride" I said.

49He sighed and shook his head. "Wait here." He disappeared into the back room, returned wearing another pair of eyeglasses, a set of keys in hand, and with a short, chubby woman in an orange sari trailing him. She took his seat behind the counter. "I don't take your money," he said, blowing by me. "I will drive you because I am a father like you."

50I THOUGHT WE'D END UP DRIVING around the city until night fell. I saw myself calling the police, describing Sohrab to them under Fayyaz's reproachful glare. I heard the officer, his voice tired and uninterested, asking his obligatory questions. And beneath the official questions, an unofficial one: Who the hell cared about another dead Afghan kid? But we found him about a hundred yards from the mosque, sitting in the half-full parking lot, on an island of grass. Fayyaz pulled up to the island and let me out. "I have to get back," he said.

51"That's fine. We'll walk back," I said. "Thank you, Mr. Fayyaz. Really."

52He leaned across the front seat when I got out. "Can I say something to you?"

53"Sure."

54In the dark of twilight, his face was just a pair of eyeglasses reflecting the fading light. "The thing about you Afghanis is that... well, you people are a little reckless."

55I was tired and in pain. My jaws throbbed. And those damn wounds on my chest and stomach felt like barbed wire under my skin. But I started to laugh anyway.

56"What... what did I..." Fayyaz was saying, but I was cackling by then, full- throated bursts of laughter spilling through my wired mouth.

57"Crazy people," he said. His tires screeched when he peeled away, his tail- lights blinking red in the dimming light.

58"You GAVE ME A GOOD SCARE," I said. I sat beside him, wincing with pain as I bent.

59He was looking at the mosque. Shah Faisal Mosque was shaped like a giant tent. Cars came and went; worshipers dressed in white streamed in and out. We sat in silence, me leaning against the tree, Sohrab next to me, knees to his chest. We listened to the call to prayer, watched the building's hundreds of lights come on as daylight faded. The mosque sparkled like a diamond in the dark. It lit up the sky, Sohrab's face.

60"Have you ever been to Mazar-i-Sharif?" Sohrab said, his chin resting on his kneecaps.

61"A long time ago. I don't remember it much."

62"Father took me there when I was little. Mother and Sasa came along too. father bought me a monkey from the bazaar. Not a real one but the kind you have to blow up. It was brown and had a bow tie."

63"I might have had one of those when I was a kid."

64"Father took me to the Blue Mosque," Sohrab said. "I remember there were so many pigeons outside the masjid, and they weren't afraid of people. they came right up to us. Sasa gave me little pieces of _naan_ and I fed the birds. soon, there were pigeons cooing all around me. That was fun."

65"You must miss your parents very much," I said. I wondered if he'd seen the Taliban drag his parents out into the street. I hoped he hadn't.

66"Do you miss your parents?" he asked, resting his cheek on his knees, looking up at me.

67"Do I miss my parents? Well, I never met my mother. My father died a few years ago, and, yes, I do miss him. Sometimes a lot."

68"Do you remember what he looked like?"

69I thought of Baba's thick neck, his black eyes, his unruly brown hair. sitting on his lap had been like sitting on a pair of tree trunks. "1 remember what he looked like," I said. "What he smelled like too."

70"I'm starting to forget their faces," Sohrab said. "Is that bad?"

71"No," I said. "Time does that." I thought of something. I looked in the front pocket of my coat. Found the Polaroid snap shot of Hassan and Sohrab. "Here," I said.

72He brought the photo to within an inch of his face, turned it so the light from the mosque fell on it. He looked at it for a long time. I thought he might cry, but he didn't. He just held it in both hands, traced his thumb over its surface. I thought of a line I'd read somewhere, or maybe I'd heard someone say it: There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood. He stretched his hand to give it back to me.

73"Keep it," I said. "It's yours."

74"Thank you." He looked at the photo again and stowed it in the pocket of his vest. A horse-drawn cart clip-clopped by in the parking lot. Little bells dangled from the horse's neck and jingled with each step.

75"I've been thinking a lot about mosques lately," Sohrab said.

76"You have? What about them? "

77He shrugged. "Just thinking about them." He lifted his face, looked straight at me. Now he was crying, softly, silently. "Can I ask you something, Amir agha?"

78"Of course."

79"Will God..." he began, and choked a little. "Will God put me in hell for what I did to that man?"

80I reached for him and he flinched. I pulled back. "Nay. Of course not," I said. I wanted to pull him close, hold him, tell him the world had been unkind to him, not the other way around.

81His face twisted and strained to stay composed. "Father used to say it's wrong to hurt even bad people. Because they don't know any better, and because bad people sometimes become good."

82"Not always, Sohrab."

83He looked at me questioningly.

84"The man who hurt you, I knew him from many years ago," I said. "I guess you figured that out that from the conversation he and I had. He... he tried to hurt me once when I was your age, but your father saved me. Your father was very brave and he was always rescuing me from trouble, standing up for me. So one day the bad man hurt your father instead. He hurt him in a very bad way, and I... I couldn't save your father the way he had saved me."

85"Why did people want to hurt my father?" Sohrab said in a wheezy little voice. "He was never mean to anyone."

86"You're right. Your father was a good man. But that's what I'm trying to tell you, Sohrab jan. That there are bad people in this world, and sometimes bad people stay bad. Sometimes you have to stand up to them. What you did to that man is what I should have done to him all those years ago. You gave him what he deserved, and he deserved even more."

87"Do you think Father is disappointed in me? "

88"I know he's not," I said. "You saved my life in Kabul. I know he is very proud of you for that."

89He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. It burst a bubble of spittle that had formed on his lips. He buried his face in his hands and wept a long time before he spoke again. "I miss Father, and Mother too," he croaked. "And I miss sasa and Rahim Khan sahib. But sometimes I'm glad they're not... they're not here anymore."

90"Why?" I touched his arm. He drew back.

91"Because--" he said, gasping and hitching between sobs, "because I don't want them to see me... I'm so dirty." He sucked in his breath and let it out in a long, wheezy cry. "I'm so dirty and full of sin."

92"You're not dirty, Sohrab," I said.

93"Those men-"

94"You're not dirty at all."

95"-they did things... the bad man and the other two... they did things... did things to me."

96"You're not dirty, and you're not full of sin." I touched his arm again and he drew away. I reached again, gently, and pulled him to me. "I won't hurt you," I whispered. "I promise." He resisted a little. Slackened. He let me draw him to me and rested his head on my chest. His little body convulsed in my arms with each sob.

97A kinship exists between people who've fed from the same breast. Now, as the boy's pain soaked through my shirt, I saw that a kinship had taken root between us too. What had happened in that room with Assef had irrevocably bound us.

98I'd been looking for the right time, the right moment, to ask the question that had been buzzing around in my head and keeping me up at night. I decided the moment was now, right here, right now, with the bright lights of the house of god shining on us.

99"Would you like to come live in America with me and my wife?"

100He didn't answer. He sobbed into my shirt and I let him.

101FOR A WEEK, neither one of us mentioned what I had asked him, as if the question hadn't been posed at all. Then one day, Sohrab and 1 took a taxicab to the Daman-e-Koh Viewpoint--or "the hem of the mountain." Perched midway up the Margalla Hills, it gives a panoramic view of Islamabad, its rows of clean, tree- lined avenues and white houses. The driver told us we could see the presidential palace from up there. "If it has rained and the air is clear, you can even see past rawalpindi," he said. I saw his eyes in his rearview mirror, skipping from Sohrab to me, back and forth, back and forth. I saw my own face too. It wasn't as swollen as before, but it had taken on a yellow tint from my assortment of fading bruises.

102We sat on a bench in one of the picnic areas, in the shade of a gum tree. It was a warm day, the sun perched high in a topaz blue sky. On benches nearby, families snacked on samosas and pakoras. Somewhere, a radio played a Hindi song I thought I remembered from an old movie, maybe Pakeeza. Kids, many of them Sohrab's age, chased soccer balls, giggling, yelling. I thought about the orphanage in Karteh-Seh, thought about the rat that had scurried between my feet in Zaman's office. My chest tightened with a surge of unexpected anger at the way my countrymen were destroying their own land.

103"What?" Sohrab asked. I forced a smile and told him it wasn't important.

104We unrolled one of the hotel's bathroom towels on the picnic table and played panjpar on it. It felt good being there, with my half brother's son, playing cards, the warmth of the sun patting the back of my neck. The song ended and another one started, one I didn't recognize.

105"Look," Sohrab said. He was pointing to the sky with his cards. I looked up, saw a hawk circling in the broad seamless sky. "Didn't know there were hawks in Islamabad," I said.

106"Me neither," he said, his eyes tracing the bird's circular flight. "Do they have them where you live?"

107"San Francisco? I guess so. I can't say I've seen too many, though."

108"Oh," he said. I was hoping he'd ask more, but he dealt another hand and asked if we could eat. I opened the paper bag and gave him his meatball sandwich. My lunch consisted of yet another cup of blended bananas and oranges--Td rented Mrs. Fayyaz's blender for the week. I sucked through the straw and my mouth filled with the sweet, blended fruit. Some of it dripped from the corner of my lips. Sohrab handed me a napkin and watched me dab at my lips. I smiled and he smiled back.

109"Your father and I were brothers," I said. It just came out. I had wanted to tell him the night we had sat by the mosque, but I hadn't. But he had a right to know; I didn't want to hide anything anymore. "Half brothers, really. We had the same father."

110Sohrab stopped chewing. Put the sandwich down. "Father never said he had a brother."

111"That's because he didn't know."

112"Why didn't he know?"

113"No one told him," I said. "No one told me either. I just found out recently."

114Sohrab blinked. Like he was looking at me, really looking at me, for the very first time. "But why did people hide it from Father and you?"

115"You know, I asked myself that same question the other day. And there's an answer, but not a good one. Let's just say they didn't tell us because your father and I... we weren't supposed to be brothers."

116"Because he was a Hazara?"

117I willed my eyes to stay on him. "Yes."

118"Did your father," he began, eyeing his food, "did your father love you and my father equally?"

119I thought of a long ago day at Ghargha Lake, when Baba had allowed himself to pat Hassan on the back when Hassan's stone had out skipped mine. I pictured Baba in the hospital room, beaming as they removed the bandages from hassan's lips. "I think he loved us equally but differently."

120"Was he ashamed of my father?"

121"No," I said. "I think he was ashamed of himself."

122He picked up his sandwich and nibbled at it silently.

123WE LEFT LATE THAT AFTERNOON, tired from the heat, but tired in a pleasant way. All the way back, I felt Sohrab watching me. I had the driver pull over at a store that sold calling cards. I gave him the money and a tip for running in and buying me one.

124That night, we were lying on our beds, watching a talk show on TV. Two clerics with pepper gray long beards and white turbans were taking calls from the faithful all over the world. One caller from Finland, a guy named Ayub, asked if his teenaged son could go to hell for wearing his baggy pants so low the seam of his underwear showed.

125"I saw a picture of San Francisco once," Sohrab said.

126"Really?"

127"There was a red bridge and a building with a pointy top."

128"You should see the streets," I said.

129"What about them?" He was looking at me now. On the TV screen, the two mullahs were consulting each other.

130"They're so steep, when you drive up all you see is the hood of your car and the sky," I said.

131"It sounds scary," he said. He rolled to his side, facing me, his back to the tV. "

132"It is the first few times," I said. "But you get used to it."

133"Does it snow there?"

134"No, but we get a lot of fog. You know that red bridge you saw?"

135"Yes. "

136"Sometimes the fog is so thick in the morning, all you see is the tip of the two towers poking through."

137There was wonder in his smile. "Oh."

138"Sohrab?"

139"Yes."

140"Have you given any thought to what I asked you before?"

141His smiled faded. He rolled to his back. Laced his hands under his head. the mullahs decided that Ayub's son would go to hell after all for wearing his pants the way he did. They claimed it was in the Haddith. "I've thought about it, sohrab said.

142"And?"

143"It scares me."

144"I know it's a little scary," I said, grabbing onto that loose thread of hope

145"But you'll learn English so fast and you'll get used to--"

146"That's not what I mean. That scares me too, but... "

147"But what?"

148He rolled toward me again. Drew his knees up. "What if you get tired of me? What if your wife doesn't like me?"

149I struggled out of bed and crossed the space between us. I sat beside him.

150"I won't ever get tired of you, Sohrab," I said. "Not ever. That's a promise. You're my nephew, remember? And Soraya jan, she's a very kind woman. Trust me, she's going to love you. I promise that too." I chanced something. Reached down and took his hand. He tightened up a little but let me hold it.

151"I don't want to go to another orphanage," he said.

152"I won't ever let that happen. I promise you that." I cupped his hand in both of mine. "Come home with me."

153His tears were soaking the pillow. He didn't say anything for a long time. then his hand squeezed mine back. And he nodded. He nodded.

154THE CONNECTION WENT THROUGH on the fourth try. The phone rang three times before she picked it up. "Hello?" It was 7:30 in the evening in Islamabad, roughly about the same time in the morning in California. That meant Soraya had been up for an hour, getting ready for school.

155"It's me," I said. I was sitting on my bed, watching Sohrab sleep.

156"Amir!" she almost screamed. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

157"I'm in Pakistan."

158"Why didn't you call earlier? I've been sick with tashweesh! My mother's praying and doing nazr every day."

159"I'm sorry I didn't call. I'm fine now." I had told her I'd be away a week, two at the most. I'd been gone for nearly a month. I smiled. "And tell Khala Jamila to stop killing sheep."

160"What do you mean 'fine now'? And what's wrong with your voice? "

161"Don't worry about that for now. I'm fine. Really. Soraya, I have a story to tell you, a story I should have told you a long time ago, but first I need to tell you one thing."

162"What is it?" she said, her voice lower now, more cautious.

163"I'm not coming home alone. I'm bringing a little boy with me." I paused.

164"I want us to adopt him."

165"What?"

166I checked my watch. "I have fifty-seven minutes left on this stupid calling card and I have so much to tell you. Sit some where." I heard the legs of a chair dragged hurriedly across the wooden floor.

167"Go ahead," she said.

168Then I did what I hadn't done in fifteen years of marriage: I told my wife everything. Everything. I had pictured this moment so many times, dreaded it, but, as I spoke, I felt something lifting off my chest. I imagined Soraya had experienced something very similar the night of our khastegari, when she'd told me about her past.

169By the time I was done with my story, she was weeping.

170"What do you think?" I said.

171"I don't know what to think, Amir. You've told me so much all at once."

172I realize that.

173I heard her blowing her nose. "But I know this much: You have to bring him home. I want you to."

174"Are you sure?" I said, closing my eyes and smiling.

175"Am I sure?" she said. "Amir, he's your qaom, your family, so he's my qaom too. Of course I'm sure. You can't leave him to the streets." There was a short pause. "What's he like?"

176I looked over at Sohrab sleeping on the bed. "He's sweet, in a solemn kind of way."

177"Who can blame him?" she said. "I want to see him, Amir. I really do."

178"Soraya?"

179"Yeah."

180"Dostet darum." I love you.

181"I love you back," she said. I could hear the smile in her words. "And be careful."

182"I will. And one more thing. Don't tell your parents who he is. If they need to know, it should come from me."

183"Okay. "

184We hung up.

185THE LAWN OUTSIDE the American embassy in Islamabad was neatly mowed, dotted with circular clusters of flowers, bordered by razor-straight hedges. The building itself was like a lot of buildings in Islamabad: flat and white. We passed through several road blocks to get there and three different security officials conducted a body search on me after the wires in my jaws set off the metal detectors. When we finally stepped in from the heat, the air-conditioning hit my face like a splash of ice water. The secretary in the lobby, a fifty-something, lean¬ faced blond woman, smiled when I gave her my name. She wore a beige blouse and black slacks-the first woman I'd seen in weeks dressed in something other than a burqa or a shalwar-kameez. She looked me up on the appointment list, tapping the eraser end of her pencil on the desk. She found my name and asked me to take a seat.

186"Would you like some lemonade?" she asked.

187"None for me, thanks," I said.

188"How about your son?"

189"Excuse me?"

190"The handsome young gentleman," she said, smiling at Sohrab.

191"Oh. That'd be nice, thank you."

192Sohrab and I sat on the black leather sofa across the reception desk, next to a tall American flag. Sohrab picked up a magazine from the glass-top coffee table. He flipped the pages, not really looking at the pictures.

193

194"Sorry? "

195"You're smiling."

196"I was thinking about you," I said.

197He gave a nervous smile. Picked up another magazine and flipped through it in under thirty seconds.

198"Don't be afraid," I said, touching his arm. "These people are friendly. relax." I could have used my own advice. I kept shifting in my seat, untying and retying my shoelaces. The secretary placed a tall glass of lemonade with ice on the coffee table. "There you go."

199Sohrab smiled shyly. "Thank you very much," he said in English. It came out as "Tank you wery match." It was the only English he knew, he'd told me, that and "Have a nice day."

200She laughed. "You're most welcome." She walked back to her desk, high heels clicking on the floor.

201"Have a nice day," Sohrab said.

202RAYMOND ANDREWS was a short fellow with small hands, nails perfectly trimmed, wedding band on the ring finger. He gave me a curt little shake; it felt like squeezing a sparrow. Those are the hands that hold our fates, I thought as sohrab and I seated our selves across from his desk. A _Les Miserables_ poster was nailed to the wall behind Andrews next to a topographical map of the U.S. A pot of tomato plants basked in the sun on the windowsill.

203"Smoke?" he asked, his voice a deep baritone that was at odds with his slight stature.

204"No thanks," I said, not caring at all for the way Andrews's eyes barely gave Sohrab a glance, or the way he didn't look at me when he spoke. He pulled open a desk drawer and lit a cigarette from a half-empty pack. He also produced a bottle of lotion from the same drawer. He looked at his tomato plants as he rubbed lotion into his hands, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. then he closed the drawer, put his elbows on the desktop, and exhaled. "So," he said, crinkling his gray eyes against the smoke, "tell me your story."

205I felt like Jean Valjean sitting across from Javert. I reminded myself that I was on American soil now, that this guy was on my side, that he got paid for helping people like me. "I want to adopt this boy, take him back to the States with me," I said.

206"Tell me your story," he repeated, crushing a flake of ash on the neatly arranged desk with his index finger, flicking it into the trash can.

207I gave him the version I had worked out in my head since I'd hung up with soraya. I had gone into Afghanistan to bring back my half brother's son. I had found the boy in squalid conditions, wasting away in an orphanage. I had paid the orphanage director a sum of money and withdrawn the boy. Then I had brought him to Pakistan.

208"You are the boy's half uncle?"

209"Yes. "

210He checked his watch. Leaned and turned the tomato plants on the sill.

211"Know anyone who can attest to that?"

212"Yes, but I don't know where he is now."

213He turned to me and nodded. I tried to read his face and couldn't. I wondered if he'd ever tried those little hands of his at poker.

214"I assume getting your jaws wired isn't the latest fashion statement," he said. We were in trouble, Sohrab and I, and I knew it then. I told him I'd gotten mugged in Peshawar.

215"Of course," he said. Cleared his throat. "Are you Muslim?"

216"Yes."

217"Practicing?"

218"Yes." In truth, I didn't remember the last time I had laid my forehead to the ground in prayer. Then I did remember: the day Dr. Amani gave Baba his prognosis. I had kneeled on the prayer rug, remembering only fragments of verses I had learned in school.

219"Helps your case some, but not much," he said, scratching a spot on the flawless part in his sandy hair.

220"What do you mean?" I asked. I reached for Sohrab's hand, intertwined my fingers with his. Sohrab looked uncertainly from me to Andrews.

221"There's a long answer and I'm sure I'll end up giving it to you. You want the short one first?"

222"I guess," I said.

223Andrews crushed his cigarette, his lips pursed. "Give it up."

224"I'm sorry?"

225"Your petition to adopt this young fellow. Give it up. That's my advice to you."

226"Duly noted," I said. "Now, perhaps you'll tell me why.

227"That means you want the long answer," he said, his voice impassive, not reacting at all to my curt tone. He pressed his hands palm to palm, as if he were kneeling before the Virgin Mary. "Let's assume the story you gave me is true, though I'd bet my pension a good deal of it is either fabricated or omitted. Not that I care, mind you. You're here, he's here, that's all that matters. Even so, your petition faces significant obstacles, not the least of which is that this child is not an orphan."

228"Of course he is."

229"Not legally he isn't."

230"His parents were executed in the street. The neighbors saw it," I said, glad we were speaking in English.

231"You have death certificates?"

232"Death certificates? This is Afghanistan we're talking about. Most people there don't have birth certificates."

233His glassy eyes didn't so much as blink. "I don't make the laws, sir. Your outrage notwithstanding, you still need to prove the parents are deceased. The boy has to be declared a legal orphan."

234"But- "

235"You wanted the long answer and I'm giving it to you. Your next problem is that you need the cooperation of the child's country of origin. Now, that's difficult under the best of circumstances, and, to quote you, this is Afghanistan we're talking about. We don't have an American embassy in Kabul. That makes things extremely complicated. Just about impossible."

236

237I didn't say that.

238"He was sexually abused," I said, thinking of the bells around Sohrab's ankles, the mascara on his eyes.

239"I'm sorry to hear that," Andrews's mouth said. The way he was looking at me, though, we might as well have been talking about the weather. "But that is not going to make the INS issue this young fellow a visa."

240"What are you saying?"

241"I'm saying that if you want to help, send money to a reputable relief organization. Volunteer at a refugee camp. But at this point in time, we strongly discourage U.S. citizens from attempting to adopt Afghan children."

242I got up. "Come on, Sohrab," I said in Farsi. Sohrab slid next to me, rested his head on my hip. I remembered the Polaroid of him and Hassan standing that same way. "Can I ask you something, Mr. Andrews?"

243"Yes. "

244"Do you have children?"

245For the first time, he blinked.

246"Well, do you? It's a simple question."

247He was silent.

248"I thought so," I said, taking Sohrab's hand. "They ought to put someone in your chair who knows what it's like to want a child." I turned to go, Sohrab trailing me.

249"Can I ask you a question?" Andrews called.

250"Go ahead."

251"Have you promised this child you'll take him with you?"

252"What if I have?"

253He shook his head. "It's a dangerous business, making promises to kids." he sighed and opened his desk drawer again. "You mean to pursue this?" he said, rummaging through papers.

254"I mean to pursue this."

255He produced a business card. "Then I advise you to get a good immigration lawyer. Omar Faisal works here in Islamabad. You can tell him I sent you."

256I took the card from him. "Thanks," I muttered.

257"Good luck," he said. As we exited the room, I glanced over my shoulder. andrews was standing in a rectangle of sunlight, absently staring out the window, his hands turning the potted tomato plants toward the sun, petting them lovingly.

258"TAKE CARE," the secretary said as we passed her desk.

259"Your boss could use some manners," I said. I expected her to roll her eyes, maybe nod in that "I know, everybody says that," kind of way. Instead, she lowered her voice. "Poor Ray. He hasn't been the same since his daughter died."

260I raised an eyebrow.

261"Suicide," she whispered.

262"I know it sounds crazy, but I find myself wondering what his favorite _qurma. will be, or his favorite subject in school. I picture myself helping him with homework..." She laughed. In the bathroom, the water had stopped running. I could hear Sohrab in there, shifting in the tub, spilling water over the sides.

263"You're going to be great," I said.

264"Oh, I almost forgot! I called Kaka Sharif."

265I remembered him reciting a poem at our nika from a scrap of hotel stationery paper. His son had held the Koran over our heads as Soraya and I had walked toward the stage, smiling at the flashing cameras. "What did he say?"

266"Well, he's going to stir the pot for us. He'll call some of his INS buddies," she said.

267"That's really great news," I said. "I can't wait for you to see Sohrab."

268"I can't wait to see you," she said.

269I hung up smiling.

270ON THE TAXI RIDE back to the hotel, Sohrab rested his head on the window, kept staring at the passing buildings, the rows of gum trees. His breath fogged the glass, cleared, fogged it again. I waited for him to ask me about the meeting but he didn't.

271ON THE OTHER SIDE of the closed bathroom door the water was running. Since the day we'd checked into the hotel, Sohrab took a long bath every night before bed. In Kabul, hot running water had been like fathers, a rare commodity. Now sohrab spent almost an hour a night in the bath, soaking in the soapy water, scrubbing. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I called Soraya. I glanced at the thin line of light under the bathroom door. Do you feel clean yet, Sohrab? I passed on to soraya what Raymond Andrews had told me. "So what do you think?" I said.

272"We have to think he's wrong." She told me she had called a few adoption agencies that arranged international adoptions. She hadn't yet found one that would consider doing an Afghan adoption, but she was still looking.

273"How are your parents taking the news?"

274"Madar is happy for us. You know how she feels about you, Amir, you can do no wrong in her eyes. Padar... well, as always, he's a little harder to read. He's not saying much."