itting the way his father used to； chin resting on one knee。
I m his half uncle； does that count for anything？
It does if you can prove it。 I m sorry； do you have any papers or anyone who can support you？
No papers； I said； in a tired voice。 No one knew about it。 Sohrab didn t know until I told him； and I myself didn t find out until recently。 The only other person who knows is gone； maybe dead。
What are my options； Omar？
I ll be frank。 You don t have a lot of them。
Well； Jesus； what can I do？
Omar breathed in； tapped his chin with the pen； let his breath out。 You could still file an orphan petition； hope for the best。 You could do an independent adoption。 That means you d have to live with Sohrab here in Pakistan； day in and day out； for the next two years。 You could seek asylum on his behalf。 That s a lengthy process and you d have to prove political persecution。 You could request a humanitarian visa。 That s at the discretion of the attorney general and it s not easily given。 He paused。 There is another option； probably your best shot。
What？ I said； leaning forward。
You could relinquish him to an orphanage here； then file an orphan petition。 Start your I…600 form and your home study while he s in a safe place。
What are those？
I m sorry； the 1…600 is an INS formality。 The home study is done by the adoption agency you choose； Omar said。 It s； you know； to make sure you and your wife aren t raving lunatics。
I don t want to do that； I said； looking again at Sohrab。 I promised him I wouldn t send him back to an orphanage。
Like I said； it may be your best shot。
We talked a while longer。 Then I walked him out to his car； an old VW Bug。 The sun was setting on Islamabad by then； a flaming red nimbus in the west。 I watched the car tilt under Omar s weight as he somehow managed to slide in behind the wheel。 He rolled down the window。 Amir？
Yes。
I meant to tell you in there； about what you re trying to do？ I think it s pretty great。
He waved as he pulled away。 Standing outside the hotel room and waving back； I wished Soraya could be there with me。
SOHRAB HAD TURNED OFF THE TV when l went back into the room。 I sat on the edge of my bed； asked him to sit next to me。 Mr。 Faisal thinks there is a way I can take you to America with me； I said。
He does？ Sohrab said； smiling faintly for the first time in days。 When can we go？
Well； that s the thing。 It might take a little while。 But he said it can be done and he s going to help us。 I put my hand on the back of his neck。 From outside； the call to prayer blared through the streets。
How long？ Sohrab asked。
I don t know。 A while。
Sohrab shrugged and smiled； wider this time。 I don t mind。 I can wait。 It s like the sour apples。
Sour apples？
One time； when I was really little； I climbed a tree and ate these green； sour apples。 My stomach swelled and became hard like a drum； it hurt a lot。 Mother said that if I d just waited for the apples to ripen； I wouldn t have bee sick。 So now； whenever I really want something； I try to remember what she said about the apples。
Sour apples； I said。 _Mashallah_； you re just about the smartest little guy I ve ever met； Sohrab jan。 His ears reddened with a blush。
Will you take me to that red bridge？ The one with the fog？ he said。
Absolutely； I said。 Absolutely。
And we ll drive up those streets； the ones where all you see is the hood of the car and the sky？
Every single one of them； I said。 My eyes stung with tears and I blinked them away。
Is English hard to learn？
I say； within a year； you ll speak it as well as Farsi。
Really？
Yes。 I placed a finger under his chin； turned his face up to mine。 There is one other thing； Sohrab。
What？
Well； Mr。 Faisal thinks that it would really help if we could。。。 if we could ask you to stay in a home for kids for a while。
Home for kids？ he said； his smile fading。 You mean an orphanage？
It would only be for a little while。
No； he said。 No； please。
Sohrab； it would be for just a little while。 I promise。
You promised you d never put me in one of those places； Amir agha； he said。 His voice was breaking； tears pooling in his eyes。 I felt like a prick。
This is different。 It would be here； in Islamabad； not in Kabul。 And I d visit you all the time until we can get you out and take you to America。
Please！ Please； no！ he croaked。 I m scared of that place。 They ll hurt me！ I don t want to go。
No one is going to hurt you。 Not ever again。
Yes they will！ They always say they won t but they lie。 They lie！ Please； God！
I wiped the tear streaking down his cheek with my thumb。 Sour apples； remember？ It s just like the sour apples； I said softly。
No it s not。 Not that place。 God； oh God。 Please； no！ He was trembling； snot and tears mixing on his face。
Shhh。 I pulled him close； wrapped my arms around his shaking little body。 Shhh。 It ll be all right。 We ll go home together。 You ll see； it ll be all right。
His voice was muffled against my chest； but I heard the panic in it。 Please promise you won t！ Oh God； Amir agha！ Please promise you won t！
How could I promise？ I held him against me； held him tightly； and rocked badk and forth。 He wept into my shirt until his tears dried； until his shaking stopped and his frantic pleas dwindled to indecipherable mumbles。 I waited； rocked him until his breathing slowed and his body slackened。 I remembered something I had read somewhere a long time ago： That s how children deal with terror。 They fall asleep。
I carried him to his bed； set him down。 Then I lay in my own bed； looking out the window at th