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me。
Later that night； after Soraya fell asleep……wine always made her sleepy……I stood on the balcony and breathed in the cool summer air。 I thought of Rahim Khan and the little note of support he had written me after he d read my first story。 And I thought of Hassan。 Some day； _Inshallah_； you will be a great writer； he had said once； and people all over the world will read your stories。 There was so much goodness in my life。 So much happiness。 I wondered whether I deserved any of it。
The novel was released in the summer of that following year； 1989； and the publisher sent me on a five…city book tour。 I became a minor celebrity in the Afghan munity。 That was the year that the Shorawi pleted their withdrawal
from Afghanistan。 It should have been a time of glory for Afghans。 Instead； the war raged on； this time between Afghans； the Mujahedin； against the Soviet puppet government of Najibullah； and Afghan refugees kept flocking to Pakistan。 That was the year that the cold war ended； the year the Berlin Wall came down。 It was the year of Tiananmen Square。 In the midst of it all； Afghanistan was forgotten。 And General Taheri； whose hopes had stirred awake after the Soviets pulled out； went back to winding his pocket watch。
That was also the year that Soraya and I began trying to have a child。
THE IDEA OF FATHERHOOD unleashed a swirl of emotions in me。 I found it frightening； invigorating； daunting； and exhilarating all at the same time。 What sort of father would I make； I wondered。 I wanted to be just like Baba and I wanted to be nothing like him。
But a year passed and nothing happened。 With each cycle of blood； Soraya grew more frustrated； more impatient； more irritable。 By then； Khala Jamila s initially subtle hints had bee overt； as in Kho dega！ So！ When am I going to sing alahoo for my little nawasa？ The general； ever the Pashtun； never made any queries……doing so meant alluding to a sexual act between his daughter and a man； even if the man in question had been married to her for over four years。 But his eyes perked up when Khala Jamila teased us about a baby。
Sometimes； it takes a while； I told Soraya one night。
A year isn t a while； Amir！ she said； in a terse voice so unlike her。 Something s wrong； I know it。
Then let s see a doctor。
DR。 ROSEN； a round…bellied man with a plump face and small； even teeth； spoke with a faint Eastern European accent； some thing remotely Slavic。 He had a passion for trains……his office was littered with books about the history of railroads； model lootives； paintings of trains trundling on tracks through green hills and over bridges。 A sign above his desk read； LIFE IS A TRAIN。 GET ON BOARD。
He laid out the plan for us。 I d get checked first。 Men are easy； he said； fingers tapping on his mahogany desk。 A man s plumbing is like his mind： simple； very few surprises。 You ladies； on the other hand。。。 well； God put a lot of thought into making you。 I wondered if he fed that bit about the plumbing to all of his couples。
Lucky us； Soraya said。
Dr。 Rosen laughed。 It fell a few notches short of genuine。 He gave me a