"You see is the tip of the two towers poking through."
There was wonder in his smile. "Oh."
"Sohrab?"
"Yes."
"Have you given any thought to what I asked you before?"
His smiled faded. He rolled to his back. Laced his hands under his head. The mullahs decided that Ayub's son would go to hell after all for wearing his pants the way he did. They claimed it was in the Haddith. "I've thought about it," Sohrab said.
"And?"
"It scares me."
"I know it's a little scary," I said, grabbing onto that loose thread of hope. "But you'll learn English so fast and you'll get used to--"
"That's not what I mean. That scares me too, but..."
"But what?"
He rolled toward me again. Drew his knees up. "What if you get tired of me? What if your wife doesn't like me?"
I struggled out of bed and crossed the space between us. I sat beside him. "I won't ever get tired of you," I said. "Not ever. That's a promise. You're my nephew, remember? And Soraya jan..."
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