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as　Farzana　cooked　in　the　kitchen。　And　every　morning；　Hassan　placed　a　flower　on　the　little　mound　by　the　sweetbrier　bushes。
In　early　1990；　Farzana　became　pregnant　again。　It　was　that　same　year；　in　the　middle　of　the　summer；　that　a　woman　covered　in　a　sky　blue　burqa　knocked　on　the　front　gates　one　morning。　When　I　walked　up　to　the　gates；　she　was　swaying　on　her　feet；　like　she　was　too　weak　to　even　stand。　I　asked　her　what　she　wanted；　but　she　would　not　answer。
　Who　are　you？　　I　said。　But　she　just　collapsed　right　there　in　the　driveway。　I　yelled　for　Hassan　and　he　helped　me　carry　her　into　the　house；　to　the　living　room。　We　lay　her　on　the　sofa　and　took　off　her　burqa。　Beneath　it；　we　found　a　toothless　woman　with　stringy　graying　hair　and　sores　on　her　arms。　She　looked　like　she　had　not　eaten　for　days。　But　the　worst　of　it　by　far　was　her　face。　Someone　had　taken　a　knife　to　it　and。。。　Amir　jan；　the　slashes　cut　this　way　and　that　way。　One　of　the　cuts　went　from　cheekbone　to　hairline　and　it　had　not　spared　her　left　eye　on　the　way。　It　was　grotesque。　I　patted　her　brow　with　a　wet　cloth　and　she　opened　her　eyes。　　Where　is　Hassan？　　she　whispered。
　I　m　right　here；　　Hassan　said。　He　took　her　hand　and　squeezed　it。
Her　good　eye　rolled　to　him。　　I　have　walked　long　and　far　to　see　if　you　are　as　beautiful　in　the　flesh　as　you　are　in　my　dreams。　And　you　are。　Even　more。　　She　pulled　his　hand　to　her　scarred　face。　　Smile　for　me。　Please。　
Hassan　did　and　the　old　woman　wept。　　You　smiled　ing　out　of　me；　did　anyone　ever　tell　you？　And　I　wouldn　t　even　hold　you。　Allah　forgive　me；　I　wouldn　t　even　hold　you。　
None　of　us　had　seen　Sanaubar　since　she　had　eloped　with　a　band　of　singers　and　dancers　in　1964；　just　after　she　had　given　birth　to　Hassan。　You　never　saw　her；　Amir；　but　in　her　youth；　she　was　a　vision。　She　had　a　dimpled　smile　and　a　walk　that　drove　men　crazy。　No　one　who　passed　her　on　the　street；　be　it　a　man　or　a　woman；　could　look　at　her　only　once。　And　now。。。
Hassan　dropped　her　hand　and　bolted　out　of　the　house。　I　went　after　him；　but　he　was　too　fast。　I　saw　him　running　up　the　hill　where　you　two　used　to　play；　his　feet　kicking　up　plumes　of　dust。　I　let　him　go。　I　sat　with　Sanaubar　all　day　as　the　sky　went　from　bright　blue　to　purple。　Hassan　still　had　not　e　back　when　night　fell　and　moonlight　bathed　the　clouds。　Sanaubar　cried　that　ing　back　had　been　a　mistake；　maybe　even　a　worse　one　than　leaving。　But　I　made　her　stay。　Hassan　would　return；　I　knew。
He　came　back　the　next　morning；　looking　tired　and　weary；　like　he　had　not　slept　all　night。　He　took　Sanaubar　s　hand　in　both　of　his　and　told　her　she　could　cry　if　she　wanted　to　but　she　needn　t；　she　was　home　now；　he　said；　home　with　her　family。　He　touched　the　scars　on　her　face；　and　ran　his　hand　through　her　hair。
Hassan　and　Farzana　nursed　her　back　to　health。　They　fed　her　and　washed　her　clothes。　I　gave　her　one　of　the　guest　rooms　upstairs。　Sometimes；　I　would　look　out　the　window　into　the　yard　and　watch　Hassan　and　his　mother　kneeling　together；　picking　tomatoes　or　trimming　a　rosebush；　talking。　They　were　catching　up　on　all　the　lost　years；　I　suppose。　As　far　as　I　know；　he　never　asked　where　she　had　been　or　why　she　had　left　and　she　never　told。　I　guess　some　stories　do　not　need　telling。
It　was　Sanaubar　who　delivered　Hassan　s　son　that　winter　of　1990。　It　had　not　started　snowing　yet；　but　the　winter　winds　were　blowing　through　the　yards；　bending　the　flowerbeds　and　rustling　the　leaves。　I　remember　Sanaubar　came　out　of　the　hut　holding　her　grandson；　had　him　wrapped　in　a　wool　blanket。　She　stood
beaming　under　a　dull　gray　sky　tears　streaming　down　her　cheeks；　the　needle…cold　wind　blowing　her　hair；　and　clutching　that　baby　in　her　arms　like　she　never　wanted　to　let　go。　Not　this　time。　She　handed　him　to　Hassan　and　he　handed　him　to　me　and　I　sang　the　prayer　of　Ayat…ul…kursi　in　that　little　boy　s　ear。
They　named　him　Sohrab；　after　Hassan　s　favorite　hero　from　the　_Shahnamah_；　as　you　know；　Amir　jan。　He　was　a　beautiful　little　boy；　sweet　as　sugar；　and　had　the　same　temperament　as　his　father。　You　should　have　seen　Sanaubar　with　that　baby；　Amir　jan。　He　became　the　center　of　her　existence。　She　sewed　clothes　for　him；　built　him　toys　from　scraps　of　woo