outskipped mine。 I pictured Baba in the hospital room； beaming as they removed the bandages from Hassan s lips。 I think he loved us equally but differently。
Was he ashamed of my father？
No； I said。 I think he was ashamed of himself。
He picked up his sandwich and nibbled at it silently。
WE LEFT LATE THAT AFTERNOON； tired from the heat； but tired in a pleasant way。 All the way back； I felt Sohrab watching me。 I had the driver pull over at a store that sold calling cards。 I gave him the money and a tip for running in and buying me one。
That night； we were lying on our beds； watching a talk show on TV。 Two clerics with pepper gray long beards and white turbans were taking calls from the faithful all over the world。 One caller from Finland； a guy named Ayub； asked if his teenaged son could go to hell for wearing his baggy pants so low the seam of his underwear showed。
I saw a picture of San Francisco once； Sohrab said。
Really？
There was a red bridge and a building with a pointy top。
You should see the streets； I said。
What about them？ He was looking at me now。 On the TV screen； the two mullahs were consulting each other。
They re so steep； when you drive up all you see is the hood of your car and the sky； I said。
It sounds scary； he said。 He rolled to his side； facing me； his back to the TV。
It is the first few times； I said。 But you get used to it。
Does it snow there？
No； but we get a lot of fog。 You know that red bridge you saw？
Yes。
Sometimes the fog is so thick in the morning； all you see is the tip of the two towers poking through。
There was wonder in his smile。 Oh。
Sohrab？
Yes。
Have you given any thought to what I asked you before？
His smiled faded。 He rolled to his back。 Laced his hands under his head。 The mullahs decided that Ayub s son would go to hell after all for wearing his pants the way he did。 They claimed it was in the Haddith。 I ve thought about it； Sohrab said。
And？
It scares me。
I know it s a little scary； I said； grabbing onto that loose thread of hope。 But you ll learn English so fast and you ll get used to……
That s not what I mean。 That scares me too； but。。。
But what？
He rolled toward me again。 Drew his knees up。 What if you get tired of me？ What if your wife doesn t like me？
I struggled out of bed and crossed the space between us。 I sat beside him。 I won t ever get tired of you； Sohrab； I said。 Not ever。 That s a promise。 You re my nephew； remember？ And Soraya jan； she s a very kind woman。 Trust me； she s going to love you。 I promise that too。 I chanced something。 Reached down and took his hand。 He tightened up a little but let me hold it。
I don t want to go to another orphanage； he said。
I won t ever let that happen。 I promise you that。 I cupped his hand in both of mine。 e home with me。
His tears were soaking the pillow。 He didn t say anything for a long time。 Then his hand squeezed mine back。 And he nodded。 He nodded。
THE CONNECTION WENT THROUGH on the fourth try。 The phone rang three times before she picked it up。 Hello？ It was 7：30 in the evening in Islamabad； roughly about the same time in the morning in California。 That meant Soraya had been up for an hour； getting ready for school。
It s me； I said。 I was sitting on my bed； watching Sohrab sleep。
Amir！ she almost screamed。 Are you okay？ Where are you？
I m in Pakistan。
Why didn t you call earlier？ I ve been sick with tashweesh！ My mother s praying and doing nazr every day。
I m sorry I didn t call。 I m fine now。 I had told her I d be away a week； two at the most。 I d been gone for