in Peshawar； anyhow。
Next to me； Sohrab was flipping through the pages of the old National Geographic。
WE GOT THE MONEY from the bank。 The manager； a paunchy man with sweat patches under his arms； kept flashing smiles and telling me that no one in the bank had touched the money。
Absolutely nobody； he said gravely； swinging his index finger the same way Armand had。
Driving through Peshawar with so much money in a paper bag was a slightly frightening experience。 Plus； I suspected every bearded man who stared at me to be a Talib killer； sent by Assef。 Two things pounded my fears： There are a lot of bearded men in Peshawar； and everybody stares。
What do we do with him？ Farid said； walking me slowly from the hospital accounting office back to the car。 Sohrab was in the backseat of the Land Cruiser； looking at traffic through the rolled…down window； chin resting on his palms。
He can t stay in Peshawar； I said； panting。
Nay； Amir agha； he can t； Farid said。 He d read the question in my words。 I m sorry。 I wish I……
That s all right； Farid； I said。 I managed a tired smile。 You have mouths to feed。 A dog was standing next to the truck now； propped on its rear legs； paws on the truck s door； tail wagging。 Sohrab was petting the dog。 I guess he goes to Islamabad for now； I said。
I SLEPT THROUGH almost the entire four…hour ride to Islamabad。 I dreamed a lot； and most of it I only remember as a hodge podge of images； snippets of visual memory flashing in my head like cards in a Rolodex： Baba marinating lamb for my thirteenth birthday party。 Soraya and I making love for the first time； the sun rising in the east； our ears still ringing from the wedding music； her henna…painted hands laced in mine。 The time Baba had taken Hassan and me to a strawberry field in Jalalabad……the owner had told us we could eat as much as we wanted to as long as we bought at least four kilos……and how we d both ended up with bellyaches。 How dark； almost black； Hassan s blood had looked on the snow； dropping from the seat of his pants。 Blood is a powerful thing； bachem。 Khala Jamila patting Soraya s knee and saying； God knows best； maybe it wasn t meant to be。 Sleeping on the roof of my father s house。 Baba saying that the only sin that mattered was theft。 When you tell a lie； you steal a man s right to the truth。 Rahim Khan on the phone； telling me there was a way to be good again。 A way to be good again。。。
TWENTY…FOUR
If Peshawar was the city that reminded me of what Kabul used to be； then Islamabad was the city Kabul could have bee someday。 The streets were wider than Peshawar s； cleaner； and lined with rows of hibiscus and flame trees。 The bazaars were more organized and not nearly as clogged with rickshaws and pedestrians。 The architecture was more elegant too； more modern； and I saw parks where roses and jasmine bloomed in the shadows of trees。
Farid found a small hotel on a side street running along the foot of the Margalla Hills。 We passed the famous Shah Faisal Mosque on the way there； reputedly the biggest mosque in the world； with its giant concrete girders and soaring minarets。 Sohrab perked up at the sight of the mosque； leaned out of the window and looked at it until Farid turned a corner。
THE HOTEL ROOM was a vast improvement over the one in Kabul where Farid and I had stayed。 The sheets were clean； the carpet vacuumed； and the bathroom spotless。 There was shampoo； soap； razors for shaving； a bathtub； and towels that smelled like lemon。 And no bloodstains on the walls。 One other thing： a television set sat on the dresser across from the two single beds。
Look！ I said to Sohrab。 I turned it on manually……no remote……and turned the dial。 I found a children s show with two fluffy sheep puppets singing in Urdu。 Sohrab sat on one of the beds and drew his knees to his chest。 Images from the
TV reflected in his green eyes as he watched； stone…faced； rocking back and forth。 I remembered the time I d promised Hassan I d buy his family a color TV when we both grew up。
I ll get going； Amir agha； Farid said。
Stay the night； I said。 It s a long drive。 Leave tomorrow。
Tashakor； he said。 But I want to get back tonight。 I miss my children。 On his way out of the room； he paused in the doorway。 Good…bye； Sohrab jan； he said。 He waited for a reply； but Sohrab paid him no attention。 Just rocked back and forth； his face lit by the silver glow of the images flickering across the screen。
Outside； I gave him an envelope。 When he tore it； his mouth opened。
I didn t know how to thank you； I said。 You ve done so much for me。
How much is in here？ Farid said； slightly dazed。
A little over two thousand dollars。
Two thou…… he began。 His lower lip was quivering a little。 Later； when he pulled away from the curb； he honked twice and waved。 I waved back。 I never saw him again。
I returned to the hotel room and found Sohrab lying on the bed； curled up in a big C。 His eyes were closed but I couldn t tell if he was sleeping。 He had shut off the television。 I sat on my bed and grimaced with pain； wiped the cool sweat off my brow。 I wondered how much longer it would hurt to get up； sit down； roll over in bed。 I wondered when I d be able to eat solid food。 I wondered what I d do with the wounded little boy lying on the bed； though a part of me already knew。
There was a carafe of water on the dresser。 I poured a glass and took two of Armand s pain pills。 The water was warm and bitter。 I pulled the curtains； eased myself back on the bed； and lay down。 I thought my chest would rip open。 When the pain dropped a notch and I could breathe again； I pulled the blanket to my chest and wai