ng。 Gain your quwat back； your strength。 Do you want me to help you？
He held my glance； then looked away； his face set like stone。 His eyes were still lightless； I saw； vacant； the way I had found them when I had pulled him out of the bathtub。 I reached into the paper bag between my feet and took out the used copy of the Shah namah I had bought at the Persian bookstore。 I turned the cover so it faced Sohrab。 I used to read this to your father when we were children。 We d go up the hill by our house and sit beneath the pomegranate。。。 I trailed off。 Sohrab was looking through the window again。 I forced a smile。 Your father s favorite was the story of Rostam and Sohrab and that s how you got your name； I know you know that。 I paused； feeling a bit like an idiot。 Any way； he said in his letter that it was your favorite too； so I thought I d read you some of it。 Would you like that？
Sohrab closed his eyes。 Covered them with his arm； the one with the bruise。
I flipped to the page I had bent in the taxicab。 Here we go； I said； wondering for the first time what thoughts had passed through Hassan s head when he had finally read the _Shahnamah_ for himself and discovered that I had deceived him all those times。 I cleared my throat and read。 Give ear unto the bat of Sohrab against Rostam； though it be a tale replete with tears； I began。 It came about that on a certain day Rostam rose from his couch and his mind was filled with forebodings。 He bethought him。。。 I read him most of chapter 1； up to the part where the young warrior Sohrab es to his mother； Tahmineh； the princess of Samen gan； and demands to know the identity of his father。 I closed
the book。 Do you want me to go on？ There are battles ing up； remember？ Sohrab leading his army to the White Castle in Iran？ Should I read on？
He shook his head slowly。 I dropped the book back in the paper bag。 That s fine； I said； encouraged that he had responded at all。 Maybe we can continue tomorrow。 How do you feel？
Sohrab s mouth opened and a hoarse sound came out。 Dr。 Nawaz had told me that would happen； on account of the breathing tube they had slid through his vocal cords。 He licked his lips and tried again。 Tired。
I know。 Dr。 Nawaz said that was to be expected…… He was shaking his head。
What； Sohrab？
He winced when he spoke again in that husky voice； barely above a whisper。 Tired of everything。
I sighed and slumped in my chair。 There was a band of sunlight on the bed between us； and； for just a moment； the ashen gray face looking at me from the other side of it was a dead ringer for Hassan s； not the Hassan I played marbles with until the mullah belted out the evening azan and Ali called us home； not the Hassan I chased down our hill as the sun dipped behind clay rooftops in the west； but the Hassan I saw alive for the last time； dragging his belongings behind Ali in a warm summer downpour； stuffing them in the trunk of Baba s car while I watched through the rain…soaked window of my room。
He gave a slow shake of his head。 Tired of everything； he repeated。
What can I do； Sohrab？ Please tell me。
I want…… he began。 He winced again and brought his hand to his throat as if to clear whatever was blocking his voice。 My eyes were drawn again to his wrist wrapped tightly with white gauze bandages。 I want my old life back； he breathed。
Oh； Sohrab。
I want Father and Mother jan。 I want Sasa。 I want to play with Rahim Khan sahib in the garden。 I want to live in our house again。 He dragged his forearm across his eyes。 I want my old life back。
I didn t know what to say； where to look； so I g