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I didn t know what to say； where to look； so I gazed down at my hands。 Your old life； I thought。 My old life too。 I played in the same yard； Sohrab。 I lived in the same house。 But the grass is dead and a stranger s jeep is parked in the driveway of our house； pissing oil all over the asphalt。 Our old life is gone； Sohrab； and everyone in it is either dead or dying。 It s just you and me now。 Just you and me。
I can t give you that； I said。 I wish you hadn t……
Please don t say that。
……wish you hadn t。。。 I wish you had left me in the water。
Don t ever say that； Sohrab； I said； leaning forward。 I can t bear to hear you talk like that。 I touched his shoulder and he flinched。 Drew away。 I
dropped my hand； remembering ruefully how in the last days before I d broken my promise to him he had finally bee at ease with my touch。 Sohrab； I can t give you your old life back； I wish to God I could。 But I can take you with me。 That was what I was ing in the bathroom to tell you。 You have a visa to go to America； to live with me and my wife。 It s true。 I promise。
He sighed through his nose and closed his eyes。 I wished I hadn t said those last two words。 You know； I ve done a lot of things I regret in my life； I said； and maybe none more than going back on the promise I made you。 But that will never happen again； and I am so very profoundly sorry。 I ask for your bakhshesh； your forgiveness。 Can you do that？ Can you forgive me？ Can you believe me？ I dropped my voice。 Will you e with me？
As I waited for his reply； my mind flashed back to a winter day from long ago； Hassan and I sitting on the snow beneath a leafless sour cherry tree。 I had played a cruel game with Hassan that day； toyed with him； asked him if he would chew dirt to prove his loyalty to me。 Now I was the one under the microscope； the one who had to prove my worthiness。 I deserved this。
Sohrab rolled to his side； his back to me。 He didn t say anything for a long time。 And then； just as I thought he might have drifted to sleep； he said with a croak； I am so khasta。 So very tired。 I sat by his bed until he fell asleep。 Something was lost between Sohrab and me。 Until my meeting with the lawyer； Omar Faisal； a light of hope had begun to enter Sohrab s eyes like a timid guest。 Now the light was gone； the guest had fled； and I wondered when it would dare return。 I wondered how long before Sohrab smiled again。 How long before he trusted me。 If ever。
So I left the room and went looking for another hotel； unaware that almost a year would pass before I would hear Sohrab speak another word。
IN THE END； Sohrab never accepted my offer。 Nor did he decline it。 But he knew that when the bandages were removed and the hospital garments returned； he was just another homeless Hazara orphan。 What choice did he have？ Where could he go？ So what I took as a yes from him was in actuality more of a quiet surrender； not so much an acceptance as an act of relinquishment by one too weary to decide； and far too tired to believe。 What he yearned for was his old life。 What he got was me and America。 Not that it was such a bad fate； everything considered； but I couldn t tell him that。 Perspective was a luxury when your head was constantly buzzing with a swarm of demons。
And so it was that； about a week later； we crossed a strip of warm； black tarmac and I brought Hassan s son from Afghanistan to America； lifting him from the certainty of turmoil and dropping him in a turmoil of uncertainty。
ONE DAY； maybe around 1983 or 1984； I was at a video store in Fremont。 I was standing in the Westerns section when a guy next to me；