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 with emergencies, and processing adoptions won’t be a top priority.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. A pounding headache was settling in just behind them.“But let’s suppose that somehow Afghanistan gets its act together,” Omar said, crossing his arms on his protruding belly. “It still may not permit this adoption. In fact, even the more moderate Muslim nations are hesitant with adoptions because in many of those countries, Islamic law, Shari’a, doesn’t recognize adoption.”
“You’re telling me to give it up?” I asked, pressing my palm to my forehead.
我把发生过的一切统统告诉他：我跟拉辛汗的会面、前往喀布尔、恤孤院、伽兹体育馆的掷石头。
“天！”他低声惊呼，“很抱歉，我在喀布尔有很多美好的回忆。很难相信你刚才告诉我的竟然是同一个地方。”
“你后来回去过吗？”
“天，没有。”
“我会告诉你，那儿不是伯克利。”我说。
“继续。”
我把剩下的都告诉他了：跟阿塞夫见面、搏斗、索拉博和他的弹弓、逃回巴基斯坦。当我说完，他飞快地写下一些东西，深深呼吸，镇定地看了我一眼：“好了，阿米尔，你前面有场艰苦的战斗。”
“我能打赢吗？”
他把笔帽装上。“就安德鲁的语气判断，希望渺茫。不是不可能，但是机会很小。”和蔼的笑容和戏谑的眼神不见了。
“可是像索拉博这样的孩子最需要有个家，”我说，“这些规章制度对我来说毫无意义。”
“我也心有戚戚，阿米尔。”他说，“但事实是，就当前的移民法、收养机构政策和阿富汗的政治局势看来，你的情况很不妙。”
“我真不理解，”我说，想找个东西揍一顿，“我是说，我明白，但是我不理解。”
奥马尔点头，双眉紧锁。“好了，就这样。灾难之后，不管天灾还是人祸——塔利班真是一场大灾难，阿米尔，相信我——一个孩子是否孤儿，总是很难判断。孩子们被遗弃在难民营，或者被双亲抛弃，因为他们无法加以照料。这些情况向来都有。所以除非孩子满足孤儿的法律定义，否则移民局不会放发签证。我很抱歉，我知道这听起来很荒唐，但你需要一纸死亡证书。”
“你在阿富汗住过，”我说，“你知道这事的可能性有多大。”
“我知道，”他说，“但让我们假设现在这个孩子父母双亡的情况弄清楚了。即使那样，移民局会认为，最好由该国的人来收养这个孩子，以便他能保持本国的文化传统。”“什么传统？”我说，“阿富汗有过的文化传统被塔利班毁掉了。你知道他们怎么对待巴米扬的大佛。”“很抱歉，我在告诉你的是移民局怎么工作，阿米尔。”奥马尔说，碰碰我的手臂。他望向索拉博，露出微笑，然后看着我。“说到这里，一个孩子必须根据他自己国家的法规被合法地收养。但假如你碰到一个乱糟糟的国家，比如说阿富汗，政府官员会忙于处理各种突发事件，处理收养事宜不会得到优先考虑。”
我叹气，揉揉眼睛。眼睛后面突突发痛。“但是让我们假设不管怎样，阿富汗人肯帮忙。”奥马尔说，双手交叉放在隆起的肚子上，“这次收养仍有可能被拒绝。实际上，就算是那些较为温和的穆斯林国家，对收养也不无疑虑，因为在多数这些国家中，穆斯林教法不赞同收养。”
“你是在叫我放弃？”我问，用手压着额头。