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t up。
I m sorry？
Your petition to adopt this young fellow。 Give it up。 That s my advice to you。
Duly noted； I said。 Now； perhaps you ll tell me why。
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。
Of course he is。
Not legally he isn t。
His parents were executed in the street。 The neighbors saw it； I said； glad we were speaking in English。
You have death certificates？
Death certificates？ This is Afghanistan we re talking about。 Most people there don t have birth certificates。
His 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。
But……
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 plicated。 Just about impossible。
What are you saying； that I should throw him back on the streets？ I said。
I didn t say that。
He was sexually abused； I said； thinking of the bells around Sohrab s ankles； the mascara on his eyes。
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。
What are you saying？
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。
I got up。 e 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 some thing； Mr。 Andrews？
Yes。
Do you have children？
For the first time； he blinked。
Well； do you？ It s a simple question。
He was silent。
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。
Can I ask you a question？ Andrews called。
Go ahead。
Have you promised this child you ll take him with you？
What if I have？
He 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。
I mean to pursue this。
He 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。
I took the card from him。 Thanks； I muttered。
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。
TAKE CARE； the secretary said as we passed her desk。
Your boss could use some manners； I said。 I expected her to roll her eyes； maybe nod in that I know； everybody say