“I grew up in the U.S., Amir. If America taught me anything, it’s that quitting is right up there with pissing in the Girl Scouts’ lemonade jar. But, as your lawyer, I have to give you the facts,” he said. “Finally, adoption agencies routinely send staff members to evaluate the child’s milieu, and no reasonable agency is going to send an agent to Afghanistan.”
I looked at Sohrab sitting on the bed, watching TV, watching us. He was sitting the way his father used to, chin resting on one knee.
“I’m his half uncle, does that count for anything?”
“It does if you can prove it. I’m sorry, do you have any papers or anyone who can support you?”
“No papers,” I said, in a tired voice. “No one knew about it. Sohrab didn’t know until I told him, and I myself didn’t find out until recently. The only other person who knows is gone, maybe dead.”
“What are my options, Omar?”
“I’ll be frank. You don’t have a lot of them.”
“Well, Jesus, what can I do?”
Omar breathed in, tapped his chin with the pen, let his breath out. “You could still file an orphan petition, hope for the best. You could do an independent adoption. That means you’d have to live with Sohrab here in Pakistan, day in and day out, for the next two years. You could seek asylum on his behalf. That’s a lengthy process and you’d have to prove political persecution. You could request a humanitarian visa. That’s at the discretion of the attorney general and it’s not easily given.” He paused. “There is another option, probably your best shot.”
“What?” I said, leaning forward.
“You could relinquish him to an orphanage here, then file an orphan petition. Start your I-600 form and your home study while he’s in a safe place.”
“What are those?”
“I’m sorry, the 1-600 is an INS formality. The home study is done by the adoption agency you choose,” Omar said. “It’s, you know, to make sure you and your wife aren’t raving lunatics.”
“I don’t want to do that,” I said, looking again at Sohrab. “I promised him I wouldn’t send him back to an orphanage.”
“Like I said, it may be your best shot.”We talked a while longer. Then I walked him out to his car, an old VW Bug. The sun was setting on Islamabad by then, a flaming red nimbus in the west. I watched the car tilt under Omar’s weight as he somehow managed to slide in behind the wheel. He rolled down the window. “Amir?”
“我在美国长大，阿米尔。如果说美国让我学到什么东西，那就是，认输简直就像在女童军[Girl Scouts，美国女童军是世界上最大的专门服务于女孩的组织，成员多为成年义工，旨在帮助女孩提高使她们终身受益的素质]的柠檬水罐里面撒尿一样不可原谅。可是，身为你的律师，我必须把事实告诉你。”他说，“最后一点，收养机构会定期派人前去评估那个孩子所处的环境，而没有正常的机构会派人去阿富汗。”
我看见索拉博坐在那儿，看着电视和我们。他的坐姿跟他父亲过去一样，膝盖抵着下巴。
“我是他伯父，难道这没有用吗？”
“如果你能证明，它会起作用。很抱歉，你有什么证明文件或者什么证人吗？”
“没有文件，”我用虚脱的声音说，“没有人知道这回事。索拉博也是我说了他才知道的，而我自己也是最近才发现这个秘密。惟一知道的那个人已经走了，也许死了。” “嗯。”
“我该怎么办，奥马尔？”
“我会坦诚相告，你的选择不多。”
“天哪，我能做什么？”
奥马尔吸气，用钢笔敲打下巴，然后把气呼出来。“你还是填一份收养申请表，期待最好的结果。你可以做独立的收养。也就是说，你得和索拉博一起生活在巴基斯坦，日复一日，挨过两年，你可以替他申请政治庇护。那是个漫长的过程，你得证明他受到政治迫害。你也可以申请人道主义签证。那得由检察总长审核，很难得到。”他顿了顿，“还有个选择，也许是你最好的办法了。”
“什么？”我靠近身体问。
“你可以把他重新送进这儿的恤孤院，然后填收养申请表。让他们审核你的I一 600表格和你的家庭，把孩子留在安全的地方。”
“那是什么？”
“很抱歉，I一600表格是移民局的官方文件。家庭评估由你选择的收养机构执行。”奥马尔说，“你知道，那是要确保你和你的妻子没有精神病。”
“我不想那么做。”我说，看了一眼索拉博，“我答应过他，不再让他进恤孤院。”
“正如我所说的，那是你最好的选择。”我们又谈了一会，然后我送他上车，一辆旧大众甲壳虫。当时伊斯兰堡巳近黄昏，一轮红日挂在西边。奥马尔不知道使了什么法子，居然能挤到车里去，我看见他上车的时候车身一沉。他摇下车窗：“阿米尔？”