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the kite runner-第129部分
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Mr。 Andrews。 Yes; yes。 Decent fellow。 Actually; he rang me and told me about
you。
He did?
Oh yes。
So you re familiar with my situation。
Faisal dabbed at the sweat beads above his lips。 I m familiar with the version of the situation you gave Mr。 Andrews; he said。 His cheeks dimpled with a coy smile。 He turned to Sohrab。 This must be the young man who s causing all the trouble; he said in Farsi。
This is Sohrab; I said。 Sohrab; this is Mr。 Faisal; the lawyer I told you about。
Sohrab slid down the side of his bed and shook hands with Omar Faisal。 Salaam alaykum; he said in a low voice。
Alaykum salaam; Sohrab; Faisal said。 Did you know you are named after a great warrior?
Sohrab nodded。 Climbed back onto his bed and lay on his side to watch TV。
I didn t know you spoke Farsi so well; I said in English。 Did you grow up in Kabul?
No; I was born in Karachi。 But I did live in Kabul for a number of years。 Shar…e…Nau; near the Haji Yaghoub Mosque; Faisal said。 I grew up in Berkeley; actually。 My father opened a music store there in the late sixties。 Free love; headbands; tiedyed shirts; you name it。 He leaned forward。 I was at Woodstock。
Groovy; I said; and Faisal laughed so hard he started sweating all over again。 Anyway; I continued; what I told Mr。 Andrews was pretty much it; save for a thing or two。 Or maybe three。 I ll give you the uncensored version。
He licked a finger and flipped to a blank page; uncapped his pen。 I d appreciate that; Amir。 And why don t we just keep it in English from here on out?
Fine。
I told him everything that had happened。 Told him about my meeting with Rahim Khan; the trek to Kabul; the orphanage; the stoning at Ghazi Stadium。
God; he whispered。 I m sorry; I have such fond memories of Kabul。 Hard to believe it s the same place you re telling me about。
Have you been there lately?
God no。
It s not Berkeley; I ll tell you that; I said。
Go on。
I told him the rest; the meeting with Assef; the fight; Sohrab and his slingshot; our escape back to Pakistan。 When I was done; he scribbled a few notes; breathed in deeply; and gave me a sober look。 Well; Amir; you ve got a tough battle ahead of you。
One I can win?
He capped his pen。 At the risk of sounding like Raymond Andrews; it s not likely。 Not impossible; but hardly likely。 Gone was the affable smile; the playful look in his eyes。
But it s kids like Sohrab who need a home the most; I said。 These rules and regulations don t make any sense to me。
You re preaching to the choir; Amir; he said。 But the fact is; take current immigration laws; adoption agency policies; and the political situation in Afghanistan; and the deck is stacked against you。
I don t get it; I said。 I wanted to hit something。 I mean; I get it but I don t get it。
Omar nodded; his brow furrowed。 Well; it s like this。 In the aftermath of a disaster; whether it be natural or man…made……and the Taliban are a disaster; Amir; believe me……it s always difficult to ascertain that a child is an orphan。 Kids get displaced in refugee camps; or parents just abandon them because they can t take care of them。 Happens all the time。 So the INS won t grant a visa unless it s clear the child meets the definition of an eligible orphan。 I m sorry; I know it sounds ridiculous; but you need death certificates。
You ve been to Afghanistan; I said。 You know how improbable that is。
I know; he said。 But let s suppose it s clear that the child has no surviving parent。 Even then; the INS thinks it s good adoption practice to place the child with someone in his own country so his heritage can be preserved。
What heritage? I said。 The Taliban have destroyed what heritage Afghans had。 You saw what they did to the giant Buddhas in Bamiyan。
I m sorry; I m telling you how the INS works; Amir; Omar said; touching my arm。 He glanced at Sohrab and smiled。 Turned back to me。 Now; a child has to be legally adopted according to the laws and regulations of his own country。 But when you have a country in turmoil; say a country like Afghanistan; government offices are busy
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