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he had insisted on ing out to meet us。 I m sorry； the cabbies in this town are sharks； he said in perfect English； without a trace of an accent。 They smell a foreigner； they triple their fares。
He pushed through the door； all smiles and apologies； wheezing a little and sweating。 He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and opened his briefcase； rummaged in it for a notepad and apologized for the sheets of paper that spilled on the bed。 Sitting crosslegged on his bed； Sohrab kept one eye on the muted television； the other on the harried lawyer。 I had told him in the morning that Faisal would be ing and he had nodded； almost asked some thing； and had just gone on watching a show with talking animals。
Here we are； Faisal said； flipping open a yellow legal notepad。 I hope my children take after their mother when it es to organization。 I m sorry； probably not the sort of thing you want to hear from your prospective lawyer； heh？ He laughed。
Well； Raymond Andrews thinks highly of you。
Mr。 Andrews。 Yes； yes。 Decent fellow。 Actually； he rang me and told me about
you。
He did？
Oh yes。
So you re familiar with my situation。
Faisal dabbed at the sweat beads above his lips。 I m familiar with the version of the situation you gave Mr。 Andrews； he said。 His cheeks dimpled with a coy smile。 He turned to Sohrab。 This must be the young man who s causing all the trouble； he said in Farsi。
This is Sohrab； I said。 Sohrab； this is Mr。 Faisal； the lawyer I told you about。
Sohrab slid down the side of his bed and shook hands with Omar Faisal。 Salaam alaykum； he said in a low voice。
Alaykum salaam； Sohrab； Faisal said。 Did you know you are named after a great warrior？
Sohrab nodded。 Climbed back onto his bed and lay on his side to watch TV。
I didn t know you spoke Farsi so well； I said in English。 Did you grow up in Kabul？
No； I was born in Karachi。 But I did live in Kabul for a number of years。 Shar…e…Nau； near the Haji Yaghoub Mosque； Faisal said。 I grew up in Berkeley； actually。 My father opened a music store there in the late sixties。 Free love； headbands； tiedyed shirts； you name it。 He leaned forward。 I was at Woodstock。
Groovy； I said； and Faisal laughed so hard he started sweating all over again。 Anyway； I continued； what I told Mr。 Andrews was pretty much it； save for a thing or two。 Or maybe three。 I ll give you the uncensored version。
He licked a finger and flipped to a blank page； uncapped his pen。 I d appreciate that； Amir。 And why don t we just keep it in English from here on out？
Fine。
I told him everything that had happened。 Told him about my meeting with Rahim Khan； the trek to Kabul； the orphanage； the stoning at Ghazi Stadium。
God； he whispered。 I m sorry； I have such fond memories of Kabul。 Hard to believe it s the same place you re telling me about。
Have you been there lately？
God no。
It s not Berkeley； I ll tell you that； I said。
Go on。
I told him the rest； the meeting with Assef； the fight； Sohrab and his slingshot； our escape back to Pakistan。 When I was done； he scribbled a few notes； breathed in deeply； and gave me a sober look。 Well； Amir； you ve got a tough battle ahead of you。
One I can win？
He capped his pen。 At the risk of sounding like Raymond Andrews； it s not likely。 Not impossible； but hardly likely。 Gone was the affable smile； the playful look in his eyes。
But it s kids like Sohrab who need a home the most； I said。 These rules and regulations don t make any sense to me。
You re preaching to the choir； Amir； he said。 But the fact is； take current immigration la