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.”
费萨尔擦去唇边的汗水。“我清楚你告诉安德鲁先生的情况。”他说，脸上出现两个酒窝，泛起狡狺的微笑。他转向索拉博。“肯定就是这个少年惹起所有的麻烦吧？”他用法尔西语说。
“这是索拉博。”我说，“索拉博，他是费萨尔先生，我跟你说过的那个律师。”
索拉博从他的床上滑下来，跟费萨尔握手。“你好。”他低声说。“你好，索拉博。”费萨尔说，“你知道自己的名字来自一个了不起的战士吗？”
索拉博点点头，爬回床上，继续侧身躺着看电视。
“我不知道你的法尔西语说得这么好，”我用英语说，“你在喀布尔长大吗？”
“不是，我在卡拉奇[Karachi，巴基斯坦南部城市]出生，但在喀布尔生活了好几年。沙里诺区，靠近哈吉雅霍清真寺。”费萨尔说。“实际上，我在伯克利 [Berkeley，美国加州城市]长大。1960年代后期，我爸爸在那儿开了间唱片店。自由恋爱，染了领带的衬衫，你叫得出来的全都有。”他身体前倾，“我去过伍德斯托克音乐节 [Woodstock，位于纽约州东南，每年8月举办民谣和摇滚音乐节].”“太帅了！”我说。费萨尔哈哈大笑，又开始冒汗珠了。 “反正，”我继续说，“我跟安德鲁先生说得差不多了，省略掉一两件事，也许三件。我会完完整整告诉你。”
他舔了一根手指，翻到空白页，把笔帽打开。“那最好了，阿米尔。我们何不用英语交谈，免得外面的人听到？”
“好的。”