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g。 This is my wife； Rahim Khan； Hassan said proudly。 Her name is Farzana jan。 She was a shy woman； so courteous she spoke in a voice barely higher than a whisper and she would not raise her pretty hazel eyes to meet my gaze。 But the way she was looking at Hassan； he might as well have been sitting on the throne at the _Arg_。
When is the baby ing？ I said after we all settled around the adobe room。 There was nothing in the room； just a frayed rug； a few dishes； a pair of mattresses； and a lantern。
_Inshallah_； this winter； Hassan said。 I am praying for a boy to carry on my father s name。
Speaking of Ali； where is he？
Hassan dropped his gaze。 He told me that Ali and his cousin……who had owned the house……had been killed by a land mine two years before； just outside of Bamiyan。 A land mine。 Is there a more Afghan way of dying； Amir jan？ And for some crazy reason； I became absolutely certain that it had been Ali s right leg……his twisted polio leg……that had finally betrayed him and stepped on that land mine。 I was deeply saddened to hear Ali had died。 Your father and I grew up together； as you know； and Ali had been with him as long as I could remember。 I remember when we were all little； the year Ali got polio and almost died。 Your father would walk around the house all day crying。
Farzana made us shorwa with beans； turnips； and potatoes。 We washed our hands and dipped fresh _naan_ from the tandoor into the shorwa……it was the best meal I had had in months。 It was then that I asked Hassan to move to Kabul with me。 I told him about the house； how I could not care for it by myself anymore。 I told him I would pay him well； that he and his _khanum_ would be fortable。 They looked to each other and did not say anything。 Later； after we had washed our hands and Farzana had served us grapes； Hassan said the village was his home now； he and Farzana had made a life for themselves there。
And Bamiyan is so close。 We know people there。 Forgive me； Rahim Khan。 I pray you understand。
Of course； I said。 You have nothing to apologize for。 I understand。
It was midway through tea after shorwa that Hassan asked about you。 I told him you were in America； but that I did not know much more。 Hassan had so many questions about you。 Had you married？ Did you have children？ How tall were you？ Did you still fly kites and go to the cinema？ Were you happy？ He said he had befriended an old Farsi teacher in Bamiyan who had taught him to read and write。 If he wrote you a letter； would I pass it on to you？ And did I think you would write back？ I told him what I knew of you from the few phone conversations I had had with your father； but mostly I did not know how to answer him。 Then he asked me about your father。 When I told him； Hassan buried his face in his hands and broke into tears。 He wept like a child for the rest of that night。
They insisted that I spend the night there。 Farzana fixed a cot for me and left me a glass of well water in case I got thirsty。 All night； I heard her whispering to Hassan； and heard him sobbing。
In the morning； Hassan told me he and Farzana had decid