Is Hassan still in that house now？ I asked。
Rahim Khan raised the teacup to his parched lips and took a sip。 He then fished an envelope from the breast pocket of his vest and handed it to me。 For you。
I tore the sealed envelope。 Inside； I found a Polaroid photograph and a folded letter。 I stared at the photograph for a full minute。
A tall man dressed in a white turban and a green…striped chapan stood with a little boy in front of a set of wrought…iron gates。 Sunlight slanted in from the left； casting a shadow on half of his rotund face。 He was squinting and smiling at the camera； showing a pair of missing front teeth。 Even in this blurry Polaroid； the man in the chapan exuded a sense of self…assuredness； of ease。 It was in the way he stood； his feet slightly apart； his arms fortably crossed on his chest； his head titled a little toward the sun。 Mostly； it was in the way he smiled。 Looking at the photo； one might have concluded that this was a man who thought the world had been good to him。 Rahim Khan was right： I would have recognized him if I had bumped into him on the street。 The little boy stood bare foot； one arm wrapped around the man s thigh； his shaved head resting against his father s hip。 He too was grinning and squinting。
I unfolded the letter。 It was written in Farsi。 No dots were omitted； no crosses forgotten； no words blurred together……the handwriting was almost childlike in its neatness。 I began to read：
In the name of Allah the most beneficent； the most merciful； Amir agha； with my deepest respects；
Farzana jan； Sohrab； and I pray that this latest letter finds you in good health and in the light of Allah s good graces。 Please offer my warmest thanks to Rahim
Khan sahib for carrying it to you。 I am hopeful that one day I will hold one of your letters in my hands and read of your life in America。 Perhaps a photograph of you will even grace our eyes。 I have told much about you to Farzana jan and Sohrab； about us growing up together and playing games and running in the streets。 They laugh at the stories of all the mischief you and I used to cause！
Amir agha；
Alas the Afghanistan of our youth is long dead。 Kindness is gone from the land and you cannot escape the killings。 Always the killings。 In Kabul； fear is everywhere； in the streets； in the stadium； in the markets； it is a part of our lives here； Amir agha。 The savages who rule our watan don t care about human decency。 The other day； I acpanied Farzana Jan to the bazaar to buy some potatoes and _naan_。 She asked the vendor how much the potatoes cost； but he did not hear her； I think he had a deaf ear。 So she asked louder and suddenly a young Talib ran over and hit her on the thighs with his wooden stick。 He struck her so hard she fell down。 He was screaming at her and cursing and saying the Ministry of Vice and Virtue does not allow women to speak loudly。 She had a large purple bruise on her leg for days but what could I do except stand and watch my wife get beaten？ If I fought； that dog would have surely put a bullet in me； and gladly！ Then what would happen to my Sohrab？ The streets are full enough already of hungry orphans and every day I thank Allah that I am alive； not because I fear death； but because my wife has a husband and my son is not an orphan。
I wish you could see Sohrab。 He is a good boy。 Rahim Khan sahib and I have taught him to read and write so he does not grow up stupid like his father。 And can he shoot with that slingshot！ I take Sohrab around Kabul sometimes and buy him candy。 There is still a monkey man in Shar…e Nau and if we run into him； I pay him to make his monkey