“I grew up in the U.S., Amir. If America taught me anything, it’s that quitting is right up there with pissing in the Girl Scouts’ lemonade jar. But, as your lawyer, I have to give you the facts,” he said. “Finally, adoption agencies routinely send staff members to evaluate the child’s milieu, and no reasonable agency is going to send an agent to Afghanistan.” I looked at Sohrab sitting on the bed, watching TV, watching us. He was sitting the way his father used to, chin resting on one knee. “I’m his half uncle, does that count for anything?” “It does if you can prove it. I’m sorry, do you have any papers or anyone who can support you?” “No papers,” I said, in a tired voice. “No one knew about it. Sohrab didn’t know until I told him, and I myself didn’t find out until recently. The only other person who knows is gone, maybe dead.” “What are my options, Omar?” “I’ll be frank. You don’t have a lot of them.” “Well, Jesus, what can I do?” Omar breathed in, tapped his chin with the pen, let his breath out. “You could still file an orphan petition, hope for the best. You could do an independent adoption. That means you’d have to live with Sohrab here in Pakistan, day in and day out, for the next two years. You could seek asylum on his behalf. That’s a lengthy process and you’d have to prove political persecution. You could request a humanitarian visa. That’s at the discretion of the attorney general and it’s not easily given.” He paused. “There is another option, probably your best shot.” “What?” I said, leaning forward. “You could relinquish him to an orphanage here, then file an orphan petition. Start your I-600 form and your home study while he’s in a safe place.” “What are those?” “I’m sorry, the 1-600 is an INS formality. The home study is done by the adoption agency you choose,” Omar said. “It’s, you know, to make sure you and your wife aren’t raving lunatics.” “I don’t want to do that,” I said, looking again at Sohrab. “I promised him I wouldn’t send him back to an orphanage.” “Like I said, it may be your best shot.”We talked a while longer. Then I walked him out to his car, an old VW Bug. The sun was setting on Islamabad by then, a flaming red nimbus in the west. I watched the car tilt under Omar’s weight as he somehow managed to slide in behind the wheel. He rolled down the window. “Amir?” “我在美國長大，阿米爾。如果說美國讓我學到什麼東西，那就是，認輸簡直就像在女童軍[Girl Scouts，美國女童軍是世界上最大的專門服務於女孩的組織，成員多爲成年義工，旨在幫助女孩提高使她們終身受益的素質]的檸檬水罐裏面撒尿一樣不可原諒。可是，身爲你的律師，我必須把事實告訴你。”他說，“最後一點，收養機構會定期派人前去評估那個孩子所處的環境，而沒有正常的機構會派人去阿富汗。” 我看見索拉博坐在那兒，看着電視和我們。他的坐姿跟他父親過去一樣，膝蓋抵着下巴。 “我是他伯父，難道這沒有用嗎？” “如果你能證明，它會起作用。很抱歉，你有什麼證明文件或者什麼證人嗎？” “沒有文件，”我用虛脫的聲音說，“沒有人知道這回事。索拉博也是我說了他才知道的，而我自己也是最近才發現這個祕密。惟一知道的那個人已經走了，也許死了。” “嗯。” “我該怎麼辦，奧馬爾？” “我會坦誠相告，你的選擇不多。” “天哪，我能做什麼？” 奧馬爾吸氣，用鋼筆敲打下巴，然後把氣呼出來。“你還是填一份收養申請表，期待最好的結果。你可以做獨立的收養。也就是說，你得和索拉博一起生活在巴基斯坦，日復一日，捱過兩年，你可以替他申請政治庇護。那是個漫長的過程，你得證明他受到政治迫害。你也可以申請人道主義簽證。那得由檢察總長審覈，很難得到。”他頓了頓，“還有個選擇，也許是你最好的辦法了。” “什麼？”我靠近身體問。 “你可以把他重新送進這兒的恤孤院，然後填收養申請表。讓他們審覈你的I一 600表格和你的家庭，把孩子留在安全的地方。” “那是什麼？” “很抱歉，I一600表格是移民局的官方文件。家庭評估由你選擇的收養機構執行。”奧馬爾說，“你知道，那是要確保你和你的妻子沒有精神病。” “我不想那麼做。”我說，看了一眼索拉博，“我答應過他，不再讓他進恤孤院。” “正如我所說的，那是你最好的選擇。”我們又談了一會，然後我送他上車，一輛舊大衆甲殼蟲。當時伊斯蘭堡巳近黃昏，一輪紅日掛在西邊。奧馬爾不知道使了什麼法子，居然能擠到車裏去，我看見他上車的時候車身一沉。他搖下車窗：“阿米爾？”
