ived by his own rules； a maverick who had disregarded or embraced societal customs as he had seen fit。
But I think a big part of the reason I didn t care about Soraya s past was that I had one of my own。 I knew all about regret。
SHORTLY AFTER BABA S DEATH； Soraya and I moved into a one…bedroom apartment in Fremont； just a few blocks away from the general and Khala Jamila s house。 Soraya s parents bought us a brown leather couch and a set of Mikasa dishes as
housewarming presents。 The general gave me an additional present； a brand new IBM typewriter。 In the box； he had slipped a note written in Farsi：
Amir jan；
I hope you discover many tales on these keys。
General Iqbal Taheri
I sold Baba s VW bus and； to this day； I have not gone back to the flea market。 I would drive to his gravesite every Friday； and； sometimes； I d find a fresh bouquet of freesias by the headstone and know Soraya had been there too。
Soraya and I settled into the routines……and minor wonders…… of married life。 We shared toothbrushes and socks； passed each other the morning paper。 She slept on the right side of the bed； I preferred the left。 She liked fluffy pillows； I liked the hard ones。 She ate her cereal dry； like a snack； and chased it with milk。
I got my acceptance at San Jose State that summer and declared an English major。 I took on a security job； swing shift at a furniture warehouse in Sunnyvale。 The job was dreadfully boring； but its saving grace was a considerable one： When everyone left at 6 P。M。 and shadows began to crawl between aisles of plastic…covered sofas piled to the ceiling； I took out my books and studied。 It was in the Pine…Sol…scented office of that furniture warehouse that I began my first novel。
Soraya joined me at San Jose State the following year and enrolled； to her father s chagrin； in the teaching track。
I don t know why you re wasting your talents like this； the general said one night over dinner。 Did you know； Amir jan； that she earned nothing but A s in high school？ He turned to her。 An intelligent girl like you could bee a lawyer； a political scientist。 And； _Inshallah_； when Afghanistan is free； you could help write the new constitution。 There would be a need for young talented Afghans like you。 They might even offer you a ministry position； given your family name。
I could see Soraya holding back； her face tightening。 I m not a girl； Padar。 I m a married woman。 Besides； they d need teachers too。
Anyone can teach。
Is there any more rice； Madar？ Soraya said。
After the general excused himself to meet some friends in Hayward； Khala Jamila tried to console Soraya。 He means well； she said。 He just wants you to be successful。
So he can boast about his attorney daughter to his friends。 Another medal for the general； Soraya said。
Such nonsense you speak！
Successful； Soraya hissed。 At least I m not like him； sitting around while other people fight the Shorawi； waiting for when the dust settles so he can move in and reclaim his posh little government position。 Teaching may not pay much； but it s what I want to do！ It s what I love； and it s a whole lot better than collecting welfare； by the way。
Khala Jamila bit her tongue。 If he ever hears you saying that； he will never speak to you again。
Don t worry； Soraya snapped； tossing her napkin on the plate。 I won t bruise his precious ego。
IN THE SUMMER of 1988； about six months before the Soviets withdrew from Afghanistan； I finished my first novel； a father…son story set in Kabul； written mostly with the typewriter the general had given me。 I sent query letters to a dozen agencie