September 2001

September 2001 arrives as a world-altering rupture. On a Tuesday morning, the Twin Towers come crumbling down, and overnight, the world changes. The American flag suddenly appears everywhere, on the antennae of yellow cabs weaving around traffic, on the lapels of pedestrians walking the sidewalks in a steady stream, even on the grimy caps of San Francisco's panhandlers sitting beneath the awnings of small art galleries and open-fronted shops. Amir passes Edith, the homeless woman who plays the accordion every day on the corner of Sutter and Stockton, and spots an American flag sticker on the accordion case at her feet. This is the new reality, a world where the distant wars of Amir's childhood homeland have reached the shores of his adopted country with a force that cannot be ignored.

The War Comes Home

Soon after the attacks, America bombs Afghanistan. The Northern Alliance moves in, and the Taliban scurry like rats into the caves. Suddenly, people are standing in grocery store lines and talking about the cities of Amir's childhood: Kandahar, Herat, Mazar-i-Sharif. When Amir was very little, Baba took Hassan and him to Kunduz. He does not remember much about the trip, except sitting in the shade of an acacia tree with Baba and Hassan, taking turns sipping fresh watermelon juice from a clay pot and seeing who could spit the seeds farther. Now Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, and people sipping lattes at Starbucks are talking about the battle for Kunduz, the Taliban's last stronghold in the north. That December, Pashtuns, Tajiks, Uzbeks, and Hazaras gather in Bonn and, under the watchful eye of the UN, begin the process that might someday end over twenty years of unhappiness in their watan. Hamid Karzai's caracul hat and green chapan become famous.

Sohrab's Silence Amidst the Noise

While the world roars with war and political change, Sohrab sleepwalks through it all. He does not so much live with Amir and Soraya as occupy space. Precious little of it. Sometimes, at the market, or in the park, Amir notices how other people hardly seem to even see him, like he is not there at all. He walks as if he is afraid to leave behind footprints, moving as if not to stir the air around him. Mostly, he sleeps. Sohrab's silence is not the self-imposed silence of those with convictions, of protesters who seek to speak their cause by not speaking at all. It is the silence of one who has taken cover in a dark place, curled up all the edges and tucked them under. The silence is hard on Soraya too. Over that long-distance line to Pakistan, she had told Amir about the things she was planning for Sohrab: swimming classes, soccer, bowling league. Now she walks past Sohrab's room and catches a glimpse of books sitting unopened in the wicker basket, the growth chart unmarked, the jigsaw puzzle unassembled, each item a reminder of a life that could have been.

A New Purpose

Amir and Soraya become involved in Afghan projects, as much out of a sense of civil duty as the need for something—anything—to fill the silence upstairs, the silence that sucks everything in like a black hole. When a man named Kabir, a former Afghan ambassador to Sofia, calls and asks if Amir wants to help him with a hospital project, he says yes. The small hospital had stood near the Afghan-Pakistani border and had a small surgical unit that treated Afghan refugees with land mine injuries, but it had closed down due to a lack of funds. Amir becomes the project manager, Soraya his comanager. He spends most of his days in the study, e-mailing people around the world, applying for grants, organizing fund-raising events. He tells himself that bringing Sohrab here had been the right thing to do. The year ends with Amir and Soraya on the couch, blanket spread over their legs, watching Dick Clark on TV. People cheer and kiss when the silver ball drops, and confetti whitens the screen. In their house, the new year begins much the same way the last one had ended: in silence.