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_zakat_；　give　the　money　to　someone　in　need；　okay？　No　sheep　killing。　
Six　weeks　later；　a　man　named　Martin　Greenwalt　called　from　New　York　and　offered　to　represent　me。　I　only　told　Soraya　about　it。　　But　just　because　I　have　an　agent　doesn　t　mean　I　ll　get　published。　If　Martin　sells　the　novel；　then　we　ll　celebrate。　
A　month　later；　Martin　called　and　informed　me　I　was　going　to　be　a　published　novelist。　When　I　told　Soraya；　she　screamed。
We　had　a　celebration　dinner　with　Soraya　s　parents　that　night。　Khala　Jamila　made　kofta……meatballs　and　white　rice……and　white　ferni。　The　general；　a　sheen　of　moisture　in　his　eyes；　said　that　he　was　proud　of　me。　After　General　Taheri　and　his　wife　left；　Soraya　and　I　celebrated　with　an　expensive　bottle　of　Merlot　I　had　bought　on　the　way　home……the　general　did　not　approve　of　women　drinking　alcohol；　and　Soraya　didn　t　drink　in　his　presence。
　I　am　so　proud　of　you；　　she　said；　raising　her　glass　to　mine。　　Kaka　would　have　been　proud　too。　
　I　know；　　I　said；　thinking　of　Baba；　wishing　he　could　have　seen　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