e。 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 the purple sky over Islamabad。
THE SKY WAS A DEEP BLACK when the phone jolted me from sleep。 I rubbed my eyes and turned on the bedside lamp。 It was a little past 10：30 P。M。； I d been sleeping for almost three hours。 I picked up the phone。 Hello？
Call from America。 Mr。 Fayyaz s bored voice。
Thank you； I said。 The bathroom light was on； Sohrab was taking his nightly bath。 A couple of clicks and then Soraya：
Salaam！ She sounded excited。
How did the meeting go with the lawyer？
I told her what Omar Faisal had suggested。 Well； you can forget about it； she said。 We won t have to do that。
I sat up。 Rawsti？ Why； what s up？
I heard back from Kaka Sharif。 He said the key was getting Sohrab into the country。 Once he s in； there are ways of keeping him here。 So he made a few calls to his INS friends。 He called me back tonight and said he was almost certain he could get Sohrab a humanitarian visa。
No kidding？ I said。 Oh thank God！ Good ol Sharifjan！
I know。 Anyway； we ll serve as the sponsors。 It should all happen pretty quickly。 He said the visa would be good for a year； plenty of time to apply for an adoption petition。
It s really going to happen； Soraya； huh？
It looks like it； she said。 She sounded happy。 I told her I loved her and she said she loved me back。 I hung up。
Sohrab！ I called； rising from my bed。 I have great news。 I knocked on the bathroom door。 Sohrab！ Soraya jan just called from California。 We won t have to put you in the orphanage； Sohrab。 We re going to America； you and I。 Did you hear me？ We re going to America！
I pushed the door open。 Stepped into the bathroom。
Suddenly I was on my knees； screaming。 Screaming through my clenched teeth。 Screaming until I thought my throat would rip and my chest explode。
Later； they said I was still screaming when the ambulance arrived。
TWENTY…FIVE
They won t let me in。
I see them wheel him through a set of double doors and I follow。 I burst through the doors； the smell of iodine and peroxide hits me； but all I have time to see is two men wearing surgical caps and a woman in green huddling over a gurney。 A white sheet spills over the side of the gurney and brushes against grimy checkered tiles。 A pair of small； bloody feet poke out from under the sheet and I see that the big toenail on the left foot is chipped。 Then a tall； thickset man in blue presses his palm against my chest and he s pushing me back out through the doors； his wedding band cold on my skin。 I shove forward and I curse him； but he says you cannot be here； he