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was very brave and he was always rescuing me from trouble； standing up for me。 So one day the bad man hurt your father instead。 He hurt him in a very bad way； and I。。。 I couldn t save your father the way he had saved me。
Why did people want to hurt my father？ Sohrab said in a wheezy little voice。 He was never mean to anyone。
You re right。 Your father was a good man。 But that s what I m trying to tell you； Sohrab jan。 That there are bad people in this world； and sometimes bad people stay bad。 Sometimes you have to stand up to them。 What you did to that man is what I should have done to him all those years ago。 You gave him what he deserved； and he deserved even more。
Do you think Father is disappointed in me？
I know he s not； I said。 You saved my life in Kabul。 I know he is very proud of you for that。
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt。 It burst a bubble of spittle that had formed on his lips。 He buried his face in his hands and wept a long time before he spoke again。 I miss Father； and Mother too； he croaked。 And I miss Sasa and Rahim Khan sahib。 But sometimes I m glad they re not 。。。 they re not here anymore。
Why？ I touched his arm。 He drew back。
Because…… he said； gasping and hitching between sobs； because I don t want them to see me。。。 I m so dirty。 He sucked in his breath and let it out in a long； wheezy cry。 I m so dirty and full of sin。
You re not dirty； Sohrab； I said。
Those men……
You re not dirty at all。
……they did things。。。 the bad man and the other two。。。 they did things。。。 did things to me。
You re not dirty； and you re not full of sin。 I touched his arm again and he drew away。 I reached again； gently； and pulled him to me。 I won t hurt you； I whispered。 I promise。 He resisted a lit tle。 Slackened。 He let me draw him to me and rested his head on my chest。 His little body convulsed in my arms with each sob。
A kinship exists between people who ve fed from the same breast。 Now； as the boy s pain soaked through my shirt； I saw that a kinship had taken root between us too。 What had happened in that room with Assef had irrevocably bound us。
I d been looking for the right time； the right moment； to ask the question that had been buzzing around in my head and keep ing me up at night。 I decided the moment was now； right here； right now； with the bright lights of the house of God shining on us。
Would you like to e live in America with me and my wife？
He didn t answer。 He sobbed into my shirt and I let him。
FOR A WEEK； neither one of us mentioned what I had asked him； as if the question hadn t been posed at all。 Then one day； Sohrab and I took a taxicab to the Daman…e…Koh Viewpoint……or the hem of the mountain。 Perched midway up the Margalla Hills； it gives a panoramic view of Islamabad； its rows of clean； tree…lined avenues and white houses。 The driver told us we could see the presidential palace from up there。 If it has rained and the air is clear； you can even see past Rawalpindi； he said。 I saw his eyes in his rearview mirror； skipping from Sohrab to me； back and forth； back and forth。 I saw my own face too。 It wasn t as swollen as before； but it had taken on a yellow tint from my assortment of fading bruises。
We sat on a bench in one of the picnic areas； in the shade of a gum tree。 It was a warm day； the sun perched high in a topaz blue sky。 On benches nearby； families snacked on samosas and pakoras。 Somewhere； a radio played a Hindi song I thought I remembered from an old movie； maybe Pakeeza。 Kids； many of them Sohrab s age； chased soccer balls； giggling； yelling。 I thought about the orphanage in Karteh…Seh； thought about the rat that had scurried between my feet in Zaman s office。 My chest tightened with a surge of unexpected anger at the way my countrymen were destroying their own land。
What？ Sohrab asked。 I forced a smile and told him it wasn t important。
We unrolled one of the hotel s bathroom towels on the picnic table and played panjpar on it。 It felt good being there； with my half brother s son； playing
cards； the warmth of the sun patting the back of my neck。 The song ended and another one started； one I didn t recognize。
Look； Sohrab said。 He was pointing to the sky with his cards。 I looked up； saw a hawk circling in the broad seamless sky。 Didn t know there were hawks in Islamabad； I said。
Me neither； he said； his eyes tracing the bird s circular flight。 Do they have them where you live？
San Francisco？ I guess so。 I can t say I ve seen too many； though。
Oh； he said。 I was hoping he d ask more； but he dealt another hand and asked if we could eat。 I opened the paper bag and gave him his meatball sandwich。 My lunch consisted of yet another cup of blended bananas and oranges……I d rented Mrs。 Fayyaz s blender for the week。 I sucked through the straw and my mouth filled with the sweet； blended fruit。 Some of it dripped from the corner of my lips。 Sohrab handed me a napkin and watched me dab at my lips。 I smiled and he smiled back。
Your father and I were brothers； I said。 It just came out。 I had wanted to tell him the night we had sat by the mosque； but I hadn t。 But he had a right to know； I didn t want to hide anything anymore。 Half brothers； really。 We had the same father。
Sohrab stopped chewing。 Put the sandwich down。 Father never said he had a brother。
That s because he didn t know。
Why didn t he know？
No one told him； I said。 No one told me either。 I just found out recently。
Sohrab blinked。 Like he was looking at me； really looking at me； for the very first time。 But why did people hide it from Father and you？
You know； I asked myself that same question the other day。 And there s an answer； but not a good one。 Let s just say they didn t tell us because your father and I。。。 we weren t supposed to be brothers。
Because he was a Hazara？
I willed my eyes to stay on him。 Yes。
Did your father； he began； eyeing his food； did your father love you and my father equally？
I thought of a long ago day at Ghargha Lake； when Baba had allowed himself to pat Hassan on the back when Hassan s stone had outskipped mine。 I pictured Baba in the hospital room； beaming as they removed the bandages from Hassan s lips。 I think he loved us equally but differently。
Was he ashamed of my father？
No； I said。 I think he was ashamed of himself。
He picked up his sandwich and nibbled at it silently。
WE LEFT LATE THAT AFTERNOON； tired from the heat； but tired in a pleasant way。 All the way back； I felt Sohrab watching me。 I had the driver pull over at a store that sold calling cards。 I gave him the money and a tip for running in and buying me one。
That night