ed。 And his temples melted。 And his eyes receded in their sockets。
Then； one cool Sunday shortly after New Year s Day； Baba was selling a lampshade to a stocky Filipino man while I rummaged in the VW for a blanket to cover his legs with。
Hey； man； this guy needs help！ the Filipino man said with alarm。 I turned around and found Baba on the ground。 His arms and legs were jerking。
Komak！ I cried。 Somebody help！ I ran to Baba。 He was frothing at the mouth； the foamy spittle soaking his beard。 His upturned eyes showed nothing but white。
People were rushing to us。 I heard someone say seizure。 Some one else yelling； Call 911！ I heard running footsteps。 The sky darkened as a crowd gathered around us。
Baba s spittle turned red。 He was biting his tongue。 I kneeled beside him and grabbed his arms and said I m here Baba； I m here； you ll be all right； I m right here。 As if I could soothe the convulsions out of him。 Talk them into leaving my Baba alone。 I felt a wetness on my knees。 Saw Baba s bladder had let go。 Shhh； Baba jan； I m here。 Your son is right here。
THE DOCTOR； white…bearded and perfectly bald； pulled me out of the room。 I want to go over your father s CAT scans with you； he said。 He put the films up on a viewing box in the hallway and pointed with the eraser end of his pencil to the pictures of Baba s cancer； like a cop showing mug shots of the killer to the victim s family。 Baba s brain on those pictures looked like cross sections of a big walnut； riddled with tennis ball…shaped gray things。
As you can see； the cancer s metastasized； he said。 He ll have to take steroids to reduce the swelling in his brain and antiseizure medications。 And I d remend palliative radiation。 Do you know what that means？
I said I did。 I d bee conversant in cancer talk。
All right； then； he said。 He checked his beeper。 I have to go； but you can have me paged if you have any questions。
Thank you。
I spent the night sitting on a chair next to Baba s bed。
THE NEXT MORNING； the waiting room down the hall was jammed with Afghans。 The butcher from Newark。 An engineer who d worked with Baba on his orphanage。 They filed in and paid Baba their respects in hushed tones。 Wished him a swift recovery。 Baba was awake then； groggy and tired； but awake。
Midmorning； General Taheri and his wife came。 Soraya followed。 We glanced at each other； looked away at the same time。 How are you； my friend？ General Taheri said； taking Baba s hand。
Baba motioned to the IV hanging from his arm。 Smiled thinly。 The general smiled back。
You shouldn t have burdened yourselves。 All of you； Baba croaked。
It s no burden； Khanum Taheri said。
No burden at all。 More importantly； do you need anything？ General Taheri said。 Anything at all？ Ask me like you d ask a brother。
I remembered something Baba had said about Pashtuns once。 We may be hardheaded and I know we re far too proud； but； in the hour of need； believe me that there s no one you d rather have at your side than a Pashtun。
Baba shook his head on the pillow。 Your ing here has brightened my eyes。 The general smiled and squeezed Baba s hand。 How are you； Amir jan？ Do you need anything？
The way he was looking at me； the kindness in his eyes。。。 Nay thank you； General Sahib。 I m。。。 A lump shot up in my throat and my eyes teared over。 I bolted out of the room。
I wept in the hallway； by the viewing box where； the night before； I d seen the killer s face。
Baba s door opened and Soraya walked out of his room。 She stood near me。 She was wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans。 Her hair was down。 I wanted to find fort in her arms。
I m so sorry； Amir； she said。 We all knew something was wrong； but we had no idea it was this。
I blotted my eyes with my sleeve。 He didn t want anyone to know。
Do you need anything？
No。 I tried to smile。 She put her hand on mine。 Our first touch。 I took it。 Brought it to my face。 My eyes。 I let it go。 You d better go back inside。 Or your father will e after me。
She smiled and nodded。 I should。 She turned to go。 Soraya？
Yes？
I m happy you came； It means。。。 the world to me。
THEY DISCHARGED BABA two days later。 They brought in a specialist called a radiation oncologist to talk Baba into getting radiation treatment。 Baba refused。 They tried to talk me into talking him into it。 But I d seen the look on Baba s face。 I thanked them； signed their forms； and took Baba home in my Ford Torino。
That night； Baba was lying on the couch； a wool blanket covering him。 I brought him hot tea and roasted almonds。 Wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him up much too easily。 His shoulder blade felt like a bird s wing under my fingers。 I pulled the blanket back up to his chest where ribs stretched his thin； sallow skin。
Can I do anything else for you； Baba？
Nay； bachem。 Thank you。
I sat beside him。 Then I wonder if you ll do something for me。 If you re not too exhausted。
What？
I want you to go khastegari。 I want you to ask General Taheri for his daughter s hand。
Baba s dry lips stretched into a smile。 A spot of green on a wilted leaf。 Are you sure？
More sure than I ve ever been about anything。
You ve thought it over？
Balay； Baba。
Then give me the phone。 And my little notebook。
I blinked。 Now？
Then when？
I smiled。 Okay。 I gave him the phone and the little black notebook where Baba had scribbled his Afghan friends numbers。
He looked up the Taheris。 Dialed。 Brought the receiver to his ear。 My heart was doing pirouettes in my chest。
Jamila jan？ Salaam alaykum； he said。 He introduced himself。 Paused。 Much better； thank you。 It was so gracious of you to e。 He list