按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ved as much as his late wife was Afghanistan； his late country。 I almost screamed with frustration。 Instead； I sighed and turned to Dr。 Schneider。 I m sorry； Doctor。 This isn t going to work out。
The next pulmonologist； Dr。 Amani； was Iranian and Baba approved。 Dr。 Amani； a soft…spoken man with a crooked mustache and a mane of gray hair； told us he had reviewed the CAT scan results and that he would have to perform a procedure called a bronchoscopy to get a piece of the lung mass for pathology。 He scheduled it for the following week。 I thanked him as I helped Baba out of the office； thinking that now I had to live a whole week with this new word； mass； an even more ominous word than suspicious。 I wished Soraya were there with me。
It turned out that； like Satan； cancer had many names。 Baba s was called Oat Cell Carcinoma。 Advanced。 Inoperable。 Baba asked Dr。 Amani for a prognosis。 Dr。 Amani bit his lip； used the word grave。 There is chemotherapy； of course； he said。 But it would only be palliative。
What does that mean？ Baba asked。
Dr。 Amani sighed。 It means it wouldn t change the oute； just prolong it。
That s a clear answer； Dr。 Amani。 Thank you for that； Baba said。 But no chemo…medication for me。 He had the same resolved look on his face as the day he d dropped the stack of food stamps on Mrs。 Dobbins s desk。
But Baba……
Don t you challenge me in public； Amir。 Ever。 Who do you think you are？
THE RAIN General Taheri had spoken about at the flea market was a few weeks late； but when we stepped out of Dr。 Amani s office； passing cars sprayed grimy water onto the sidewalks。 Baba lit a cigarette。 He smoked all the way to the car and all the way home。
As he was slipping the key into the lobby door； I said； I wish you d give the chemo a chance； Baba。
Baba pocketed the keys； pulled me out of the rain and under the building s striped awning。 He kneaded me on the chest with the hand holding the cigarette。 Bas！ I ve made my decision。
What about me； Baba？ What am I supposed to do？ I said； my eyes welling up。
A look of disgust swept across his rain…soaked face。 It was the same look he d give me when； as a kid； I d fall； scrape my knees； and cry。 It was the crying that brought it on then； the crying that brought it on now。 You re twenty…two years old； Amir！ A grown man！ You。。。 he opened his mouth； closed it； opened it again； reconsidered。 Above us； rain drummed on the canvas awning。 What s going to happen to you； you say？ All those years； that s what I was trying to teach you； how to never have to ask that question。
He opened the door。 Turned back to me。 And one more thing。 No one finds out about this； you hear me？ No one。 I don t want anybody s sympathy。 Then he disappeared into the dim lobby。 He chain…smoked the rest of that day in front of the TV。 I didn t know what or whom he was defying。 Me？ Dr。 Amani？ Or maybe the God he had never believed in。
FOR A WHILE； even cancer couldn t keep Baba from the flea market。 We made our garage sale treks on Saturdays； Baba the driver and me the navigator； and set up
our display on Sundays。