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the room with a teenaged Punjabi boy who； I later learned from one of the nurses； had broken his leg when
he had slipped off the roof of a moving bus。 His leg was in a cast； raised and held bytongs strapped to several weights。
Sohrab s bed was next to the window； the lower half lit by the late…morning sunlight streaming through the rectangular panes。 A uniformed security guard was standing at the window； munching on cooked watermelon seeds……Sohrab was under twenty…four hours…a…day suicide watch。 Hospital protocol； Dr。 Nawaz had informed me。 The guard tipped his hat when he saw me and left the room。
Sohrab was wearing short…sleeved hospital pajamas and lying on his back； blanket pulled to his chest； face turned to the window。 I thought he was sleeping； but when I scooted a chair up to his bed his eyelids fluttered and opened。 He looked at me； then looked away。 He was so pale； even with all the blood they had given him； and there was a large purple bruise in the crease of his right arm。
How are you？ I said。
He didn t answer。 He was looking through the window at a fenced…in sandbox and swing set in the hospital garden。 There was an arch…shaped trellis near the playground； in the shadow of a row of hibiscus trees； a few green vines climbing up the timber lattice。 A handful of kids were playing with buckets and pails in the sand box。 The sky was a cloudless blue that day； and I saw a tiny jet leaving behind twin white trails。 I turned back to Sohrab。 I spoke to Dr。 Nawaz a few minutes ago and he thinks you ll be discharged in a couple of days。 That s good news； nay？
Again I was met by silence。 The Punjabi boy at the other end of the room stirred in his sleep and moaned something。 I like your room； I said； trying not to look at Sohrab s bandaged wrists。 It s bright； and you have a view。 Silence。 A few more awkward minutes passed； and a light sweat formed on my brow； my upper lip。 I pointed to the untouched bowl of green pea aush on his nightstand； the unused plastic spoon。 You should try to eat some thing。 Gain your quwat back； your strength。 Do you want me to help you？
He held my glance； then looked away； his face set like stone。 His eyes were still lightless； I saw； vacant； the way I had found them when I had pulled him out of the bathtub。 I reached into the paper bag between my feet and took out the used copy of the Shah namah I had bought at the Persian bookstore。 I turned the cover so it faced Sohrab。 I used to read this to your father when we were children。 We d go up the hill by our house and sit beneath the pomegranate。。。 I trailed off。 Sohrab was looking through the window again。 I forced a smile。 Your father s favorite was the story of Rostam and Sohrab and that s how you got your name； I know you know that。 I paused； feeling a bit like an idiot。 Any way； he said in his letter that it was your favorite too； so I thought I d read you some of it。 Would you like that？
Sohrab closed his eyes。 Covered them with his arm； the one with the bruise。
I flipped to the page I had bent in the taxicab。 Here we go； I said； wondering for the first tim