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he day before……and his eyes； still half open but light less。 That more than anything。 I want to forget the eyes。
Soon； sleep es and I let it take me。 I dream of things I can t remember later。
SOMEONE IS TAPPING ME on the shoulder。 I open my eyes。 There is a man kneeling beside me。 He is wearing a cap like the men behind the swinging double doors and a paper surgical mask over his mouth……my heart sinks when I see a drop of blood on the mask。 He has taped a picture of a doe…eyed little girl to his beeper。 He unsnaps his mask and I m glad I don t have to look at Sohrab s blood anymore。 His skin is dark like the imported Swiss chocolate Hassan and I used to buy from the bazaar in Shar…e…Nau； he has thinning hair and hazel eyes topped with curved eyelashes。 In a British accent； he tells me his name is Dr。 Nawaz； and suddenly I want to be away from this man； because I don t think I can bear to hear what he has e to tell me。 He says the boy had cut himself deeply and had lost a great deal of blood and my mouth begins to mutter that prayer again：
La illaha il Allah； Muhammad u rasul ullah。
They had to transfuse several units of red cells…… How will I tell Soraya？
Twice； they had to revive him……I will do _namaz_； I will do _zakat_。
They would have lost him if his heart hadn t been young and strong……
I will fast。
He is alive。
Dr。 Nawaz smiles。 It takes me a moment to register what he has just said。 Then he says more but I don t hear him。 Because I have taken his hands and I have brought them up to my face。 I weep my relief into this stranger s small； meaty hands and he says nothing now。 He waits。
THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT is L…shaped and dim； a jumble of bleeping monitors and whirring machines。 Dr。 Nawaz leads me between two rows of beds separated by white plastic curtains。 Sohrab s bed is the last one around the corner； the one nearest the nurses station where two nurses in green surgical scrubs are jotting notes on clipboards； chatting in low voices。 On the silent ride up the elevator with Dr。 Nawaz； I had thought I d weep again when I saw Sohrab。 But when I sit on the chair at the foot of his bed； looking at his white face through the tangle of gleaming plastic tubes and IV lines； I am dry…eyed。 Watching his chest rise and fall to the rhythm of the hissing ventilator； a curious numbness washes over me； the same numbness a man might feel seconds after he has swerved his car and barely avoided a head…on collision。
I doze off； and； when I wake up； I see the sun rising in a buttermilk sky through the window next to the nurses station。 The light slants into the room； aims my shadow toward Sohrab。 He hasn t moved。
You d do well to get some sleep； a nurse says to me。 I don t recognize her……there must have been a shift change while I d napped。 She takes me to another
lounge； this one just outside the ICU。 It s empty。 She hands me a pillow and a hospital…issue blanket。 I thank her and lie on the vinyl sofa in the corner of the lounge。 I fall asleep almost immediately。
I dream I am back in the lounge downstairs。 Dr。 Nawaz walks in and I rise to meet him。 He takes off