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I dream I am back in the lounge downstairs。 Dr。 Nawaz walks in and I rise to meet him。 He takes off his paper mask； his hands suddenly whiter than I remembered； his nails manicured； he has
neatly parted hair； and I see he is not Dr。 Nawaz at all but Raymond Andrews； the little embassy man with the potted tomatoes。 Andrews cocks his head。 Narrows his eyes。
IN THE DAYTIME； the hospital was a maze of teeming； angled hallways； a blur of blazing…white overhead fluorescence。 I came to know its layout； came to know that the fourth…floor button in the east wing elevator didn t light up； that the door to the men s room on that same floor was jammed and you had to ram your shoulder into it to open it。 I came to know that hospital life has a rhythm； the flurry of activity just before the morning shift change； the midday hustle； the stillness and quiet of the late…night hours interrupted occasionally by a blur of doctors and nurses rushing to revive someone。 I kept vigil at Sohrab s bedside in the daytime and wandered through the hospital s serpentine corridors at night； listening to my shoe heels clicking on the tiles； thinking of what I would say to Sohrab when he woke up。 I d end up back in the ICU； by the whooshing ventilator beside his bed； and I d be no closer to knowing。
After three days in the ICU； they withdrew the breathing tube and transferred him to a ground…level bed。 I wasn t there when they moved him。 I had gone back to the hotel that night to get some sleep and ended up tossing around in bed all night。 In the morning； I tried to not look at the bathtub。 It was clean now； someone had wiped off the blood； spread new floor mats on the floor； and scrubbed the walls。 But I couldn t stop myself from sitting on its cool； porcelain edge。 I pictured Sohrab filling it with warm water。 Saw him undressing。 Saw him twisting the razor handle and opening the twin safety latches on the head； sliding the blade out； holding it between his thumb and forefinger。 I pictured him lowering himself into the water； lying there for a while； his eyes closed。 I wondered what his last thought had been as he had raised the blade and brought it down。
I was exiting the lobby when the hotel manager； Mr。 Fayyaz； caught up with me。 I am very sorry for you； he said； but I am asking for you to leave my hotel； please。 This is bad for my business； very bad。
I told him I understood and I checked out。 He didn t charge me for the three days I d spent at the hospital。 Waiting for a cab outside the hotel lobby； I thought about what Mr。 Fayyaz had said to me that night we d gone looking for Sohrab： The thing about you Afghanis is that。。。 well； you people are a little reckless。 I had laughed at him； but now I wondered。 Had I actually gone to sleep after I had given Sohrab the news he feared most？
When I got in the cab； I asked the driver if he knew any Persian bookstores。 He said there was one a couple of kilometers south。 We stopped there on the way to the hospital。
SOHRAB S NEW ROOM had cream…colored walls； chipped； dark gray moldings； and glazed tiles that might have once been white。 He shared