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I can； he said。 He turned to Sohrab。 As for you； I ll pick you up this evening。 Don t tire Amir agha too much。
But Sohrab had wandered to the window； where a half…dozen pigeons strutted back and forth on the sill； pecking at wood and scraps of old bread。
IN THE MIDDLE DRAWER of the dresser beside my bed； I had found an old _National Geographic_ magazine； a chewed…up pencil； a b with missing teeth； and what I was reaching for now； sweat pouring down my face from the effort： a deck of cards。 I had counted them earlier and； surprisingly； found the deck plete。 I
asked Sohrab if he wanted to play。 I didn t expect him to answer； let alone play。 He d been quiet since we had fled Kabul。
But he turned from the window and said； The only game I know is panjpar。
I feel sorry for you already； because I am a grand master at panjpar。 World renowned。
He took his seat on the stool next to me。 I dealt him his five cards。 When your father and I were your age； we used to play this game。 Especially in the winter； when it snowed and we couldn t go outside。 We used to play until the sun went down。
He played me a card and picked one up from the pile。 I stole looks at him as he pondered his cards。 He was his father in so many ways： the way he fanned out his cards with both hands； the way he squinted while reading them； the way he rarely looked a person in the eye。
We played in silence。 I won the first game； let him win the next one； and lost the next five fair and square。 You re as good as your father； maybe even better； I said； after my last loss。 I used to beat him sometimes； but I think he let me win。 I paused before saying； Your father and I were nursed by the same woman。
I know。
What。。。 what did he tell you about us？
That you were the best friend he ever had； he said。
I twirled the jack of diamonds in my fingers； flipped it back and forth。 I wasn t such a good friend； I m afraid； I said。 But I d like to be your friend。 I think I could be a good friend to you。 Would that be all right？ Would you like that？ I put my hand on his arm； gingerly； but he flinched。 He dropped his cards and pushed away on the stool。 He walked back to the window。 The sky was awash with streaks of red and purple as the sun set on Peshawar。 From the street below came a succession of honks and the braying of a donkey； the whistle of a policeman。 Sohrab stood in that crimson light； forehead pressed to the glass； fists buried in his armpits。
AISHA HAD A MALE ASSISTANT help me take my first steps that night。 I only walked around the room once； one hand clutching the wheeled IV stand； the other clasping the assistant s fore arm。 It took me ten minutes to make it back to bed； and； by then； the incision on my stomach throbbed and I d broken out in a drenching sweat。 I lay in bed； gasping； my heart hammering in my ears； thinking how much I missed my wife。
Sohrab and I played panjpar most of the next day； again in silence。 And the day after that。 We hardly spoke； just played panjpar； me propped in bed； he on the three…legged stool； our routine broken only by my taking a walk around the