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He shrugged and said nothing。
Of course； Farid said。 I ll pick him up just before evening _namaz_。
THERE WERE THREE OTHER PATIENTS in my room。 Two older men； one with a cast on his leg； the other wheezing with asthma； and a young man of fifteen or sixteen who d had appendix surgery。 The old guy in the cast stared at us without blinking； his eyes switching from me to the Hazara boy sitting on a stool。 My roommates families……old women in bright shalwar…kameezes； children； men wearing skullcaps……shuffled noisily in and out of the room。 They brought with them pakoras； _naan_； sa；nosas； biryani。 Sometimes people just wandered into the room； like the tall； bearded man who walked in just before Farid and Sohrab arrived。 He wore a brown blanket wrapped around him。 Aisha asked him something in Urdu。 He paid her no attention and scanned the room with his eyes。 I thought he looked at me a little longer than necessary。 When the nurse spoke to him again； he just spun around and left。
How are you？ I asked Sohrab。 He shrugged； looked at his hands。
Are you hungry？ That lady there gave me a plate of biryani； but I can t eat it； I said。 I didn t know what else to say to him。 You want it？
He shook his head。
Do you want to talk？
He shook his head again。
We sat there like that for a while； silent； me propped up in bed； two pillows behind my back； Sohrab on the three…legged stool next to the bed。 I fell asleep at some point； and； when I woke up； daylight had dimmed a bit； the shadows had
stretched； and Sohrab was still sitting next to me。 He was still looking down at his hands。
THAT NIGHT； after Farid picked up Sohrab； I unfolded Rahim Khan s letter。 I had delayed reading it as long as possible。 It read：
Amirjan； _Inshallah_； you have reached this letter safely。 I pray that I have not put you in harm s way and that Afghanistan has not been too unkind to you。 You have been in my prayers since the day you left。 You were right all those years to suspect that I knew。 I did know。 Hassan told me shortly after it happened。 What you did was wrong； Amir jan； but do not forget that you were a boy when it happened。 A troubled little boy。 You were too hard on yourself then； and you still are……I saw it in your eyes in Peshawar。 But I hope you will heed this： A man who has no conscience； no goodness； does not suffer。 I hope your suffering es to an end with this journey to Afghanistan。
Amir jan； I am ashamed for the lies we told you all those years。 You were right to be angry in Peshawar。 You had a right to know。 So did Hassan。 I know it doesn t absolve anyone of anything； but the Kabul we lived in in those days was a strange world； one in which some things mattered more than the truth。
Amir jan； I know how hard your father was on you when you were growing up。 I saw how you suffered and yearned for his affections； and my heart bled for you。 But your father was a man torn between two halves； Amir jan：
you and Hassan。 He loved you both； but he could not love Hassan the way he longed to； openly； and as a father。 So he took it out on you instead……Amir； the socially legitimate hal