“Yes.” I placed a finger under his chin, turned his face up to mine. “There is one other thing, Sohrab.” “What?” “Well, Mr. Faisal thinks that it would really help if we could... if we could ask you to stay in a home for kids for a while.” “Home for kids?” he said, his smile fading. “You mean an orphanage?” “It would only be for a little while.” “No,” he said. “No, please.” “Sohrab, it would be for just a little while. I promise.” “You promised you’d never put me in one of those places, Amir agha,” he said. His voice was breaking, tears pooling in his eyes. I felt like a prick. “This is different. It would be here, in Islamabad, not in Kabul. And I’d visit you all the time until we can get you out and take you to America.” “Please! Please, no!” he croaked. “I’m scared of that place. They’ll hurt me! I don’t want to go.” “No one is going to hurt you. Not ever again.” “Yes they will! They always say they won’t but they lie. They lie! Please, God!” I wiped the tear streaking down his cheek with my thumb. “Sour apples, remember? It’s just like the sour apples,” I said softly. “No it’s not. Not that place. God, oh God. Please, no!” He was trembling, snot and tears mixing on his face. “Shhh.” I pulled him close, wrapped my arms around his shaking little body. “Shhh. It’ll be all right. We’ll go home together. You’ll see, it’ll be all right.” His voice was muffled against my chest, but I heard the panic in it. “Please promise you won’t! Oh God, Amir agha! Please promise you won’t!” How could I promise? I held him against me, held him tightly, and rocked badk and forth. He wept into my shirt until his tears dried, until his shaking stopped and his frantic pleas dwindled to indecipherable mumbles. I waited, rocked him until his breathing slowed and his body slackened. I remembered something I had read somewhere a long time ago: That’s how children deal with terror. They fall asleep. I carried him to his bed, set him down. Then I lay in my own bed, looking out the window at the purple sky over Islamabad. “是的，”我伸了一根手指在他下巴，把他的臉轉過來，“還有一件事，索拉博。” “什麼事？” “嗯，費薩爾先生那會很有幫助，如果我們……如果我們能讓你在一間爲孩子準備的房子待上一陣。” “爲孩子準備的房間？”他的笑容消失了，“你是說孤兒院嗎？” “只是待上一陣。” “不，”他說， “別這樣，求求你。” “索拉博，那只是很短的時間，我保證。” “你向我保證過永遠不讓我去那些地方，阿米爾老爺。”他說。他聲音顫抖，淚如泉涌。我一陣心痛。 “那不同的。就在這兒，在伊斯蘭堡，不是在喀布爾。我會每天去探望你，直到我們能夠離開，把你帶去美國。” “求求你！求求你！別這樣！”他哽咽着，“我很怕那些地方。他們傷害我！我不想去。” “沒有人會傷害你。再也不會了。” “他們會的！他們總是說他們不會，但他們說謊！他們說謊！求求你，真主啊！ ” 我用拇指抹去他臉上的淚痕。“酸蘋果，記得嗎？這就像一個酸蘋果。”我輕聲說。 “不，它不是。不要那些地方。天，天啦！求求你，別這樣！”他渾身顫抖，涕泗俱下。 “噓。”我把他拉近，抱着他顫抖的身體。“噓。會沒事的。我們會一起回家。你會看到的，沒事的。” 他的聲音被我的胸膛悶住，但我能聽到話裏的痛苦。“求求你答應我你不會這麼做！天啊，阿米爾老爺！求求你答應我你不會！” 我如何能答應呢？我抱着他，緊緊抱着，前後搖晃。他的淚水滴進我的衣裳，直到淚流乾了，直到不再顫抖了，直到驚恐的哀求變成聽不清的喃喃自語。我等着，搖着他，直到他呼吸緩下來，身體鬆弛。我想起曾經從某個地方看來的一句話：孩子們就是這樣對付恐懼：他們睡覺。 我抱他上牀，把他放下。然後我躺在自己牀上，望着窗外伊斯蘭堡上方紫色的天空。
