whole room was watching me。 After； I felt tired； hollow。 I m sorry； I said。 Sohrab was looking at me with a frown creasing his brow。
When I could talk again； I told Farid what I needed。 Rahim Khan said they live here in Peshawar。
Maybe you should write down their names； Farid said； eyeing me cautiously； as if wondering what might set me off next。 I scribbled their names on a scrap of paper towel。 John and Betty Caldwell。
Farid pocketed the folded piece of paper。 I will look for them as soon as I can； he said。 He turned to Sohrab。 As for you； I ll pick you up this evening。 Don t tire Amir agha too much。
But Sohrab had wandered to the window； where a half…dozen pigeons strutted back and forth on the sill； pecking at wood and scraps of old bread。
IN THE MIDDLE DRAWER of the dresser beside my bed； I had found an old _National Geographic_ magazine； a chewed…up pencil； a b with missing teeth； and what I was reaching for now； sweat pouring down my face from the effort： a deck of cards。 I had counted them earlier and； surprisingly； found the deck plete。 I
asked Sohrab if he wanted to play。 I didn t expect him to answer； let alone play。 He d been quiet since we had fled Kabul。
But he turned from the window and said； The only game I know is panjpar。
I feel sorry for you already； because I am a grand master at panjpar。 World renowned。
He took his seat on the stool next to me。 I dealt him his five cards。 When your father and I were your age； we used to play this game。 Especially in the winter； when it snowed and we couldn t go outside。 We used to play until the sun went down。
He played me a card and picked one up from the pile。 I stole looks at him as he pondered his cards。 He was his father in so many ways： the way he fanned out his cards with both hands； the way he squinted while reading them； the way he rarely looked a person in the eye。
We played in silence。 I won the first game； let him win the next one； and lost the next five fair and square。 You re as good as your father； maybe even better； I said； after my last loss。 I used to beat him sometimes； but I think he let me win。 I paused before saying； Your father and I were nursed by the same woman。
I know。
What。。。 what did he tell you about us？
That you were the best friend he ever had； he said。
I twirled the jack of diamonds in my fingers； flipped it back and forth。 I wasn t such a good friend； I m afraid； I said。 But I d like to be your friend。 I think I could be a good friend to you。 Would that be all right？ Would you like that？ I put my hand on his arm； gingerly； but he flinched。 He dropped his cards and pushed away on the stool。 He walked back to the window。 The sky was awash with streaks of red and purple as the sun set on Peshawar。 From the street below came a succession of honks and the braying of a donkey； the whistle of a policeman。 Sohrab stood in that crimson light； forehead pressed to the glass； fists buried in his armpits。
AISHA HAD A MALE ASSISTANT help me take my first steps that night。 I only walked around the room once； one hand clutching the wheeled IV stand； the other clasping the assistant s fore arm。 It took me ten minutes to make it back to bed； and； by then； the incision on my stomach throbbed and I d broken out in a drenching sweat。 I lay in bed； gasping； my heart hammering in my ears； thinking how much I missed my wife。
Sohrab and I played panjpar most of the next day； again in silence。 And the day after that。 We hardly spoke； just played panjpar； me propped in bed； he on the three…legged stool； our routine broken only by my taking a walk around the room； or going to the bathroom down the hall。 I had a dream later that night。 I dreamed Assef was standing in the doorway of my hospital room； brass ball still in his eye socket。 We re the same； you and I； he was saying。 You nursed with him； but you re my twin。
I TOLD ARMAND early that next day that I was leaving。
It s still early for discharge； Armand protested。 He wasn t dressed in surgical scrubs that day； instead in a button…down navy blue suit and yellow tie。 The gel was back in the hair。 You are still in intravenous antibiotics and……
I have to go； I said。 I appreciate everything you ve done for me； all of you。 Really。 But I have to leave。
Where will you go？ Armand said。
I d rather not say。
You can hardly walk。
I can walk to the end of the hall and back； I said。 I ll b fine。 The plan was this： Leave the hospital。 Get the money fror the safe…deposit box and pay my medical bills。 Drive to the orphanage and drop Sohrab off with John and Betty Caldwell Then get a ride to Islamabad and change travel plans。 Give mysel a few more days to get better。 Fly home。
That was the plan； anyway。 Until Farid and Sohrab arrived tha morning。 Your friends； this John and Betty Caldwell； they aren in Peshawar； Farid said。
It had taken me ten minutes Just to slip into my pirhan tumban。 My chest； where they d cut me to insert the chest tube hurt when I raised my arm； and my stomach throbbed every time I leaned over。 I was drawing ragged breaths just from the effort of packing a few of my belongings into a brown paper bag。 But I d managed to get ready and was sitting on the edge of the bed when Farid came in with the news。 Sohrab sat on the bed next to me。
Where did they go？ I asked。
Farid shook his head。 You don t understand……
Because Rahim Khan said……
I went to the U。S。 consulate； Farid said； picking up my bag。 There never was a John and Betty Caldwell in Peshawar。 According to the people at the consulate； they never existed。 Not here in Peshawar； anyhow。
Next to me； Sohrab was flip