Sohrab emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. He had barely said a dozen words since the meeting with Raymond Andrews and my attempts at conversation had only met with a nod or a monosyllabic reply. He climbed into bed, pulled the blanket to his chin. Within minutes, he was snoring. I wiped a circle on the fogged-up mirror and shaved with one of the hotel’s old-fashioned razors, the type that opened and you slid the blade in. Then I took my own bath, lay there until the steaming hot water turned cold and my skin shriveled up. I lay there drifting, wondering, imagining... OMAR FAISAL WAS CHUBBY, dark, had dimpled cheeks, black button eyes, and an affable, gap-toothed smile. His thinning gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore a brown corduroy suit with leather elbow patches and carried a worn, overstuffed briefcase. The handle was missing, so he clutched the briefcase to his chest. He was the sort of fellow who started a lot of sentences with a laugh and an unnecessary apology, like I’m sorry, I’ll be there at five. Laugh. When I had called him, he had insisted on coming out to meet us. “I’m sorry, the cabbies in this town are sharks,” he said in perfect English, without a trace of an accent. “They smell a foreigner, they triple their fares.” He pushed through the door, all smiles and apologies, wheezing a little and sweating. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and opened his briefcase, rummaged in it for a notepad and apologized for the sheets of paper that spilled on the bed. Sitting crosslegged on his bed, Sohrab kept one eye on the muted television, the other on the harried lawyer. I had told him in the morning that Faisal would be coming and he had nodded, almost asked some thing, and had just gone on watching a show with talking animals. “Here we are,” Faisal said, flipping open a yellow legal notepad. “I hope my children take after their mother when it comes to organization. I’m sorry, probably not the sort of thing you want to hear from your prospective lawyer, heh?” He laughed. “Well, Raymond Andrews thinks highly of you.” “Mr. Andrews. Yes, yes. Decent fellow. Actually, he rang me and told me about you.” “He did?” “Oh yes.” “So you’re familiar with my situation.” 幾分鐘後，索拉博從浴室出來。自從與安德魯會面之後，他說過的話幾乎不超過十來個單詞，我每次試圖跟他交談，他總是點點頭，或者用一個字回答我。他爬上牀，把毯子拉到下巴。沒過幾分鐘，他呼呼睡去。 我抹開水汽迷濛的鏡子，用旅館的舊式刮鬍刀刮臉。你得把它打開，然後把刀片裝進去。接着我洗澡，躺在浴缸裏面，直到冒着汽的熱水變冷，讓我的皮膚起雞皮疙瘩。我躺在那兒漂浮着、思索着、想像着……奧馬爾?費薩爾皮膚很暗，矮矮胖胖，臉上有酒窩，黑色的大眼睛，還有和藹的笑容，露出來的齒縫很大。他稀疏的頭髮在後面梳成馬尾，穿着棕色燈芯絨西裝，手肘的位置上有幾塊毛皮補丁，還帶着個鼓鼓的破舊公文包。公文包的提手不見了，所以他將其抱在胸前。他是一見面就笑着說很多話而且過分客套的人，比如說“對不起，我將會在五點在那兒 ”之類的。我打電話給他，聽到他的笑聲，他執意要出來會晤我們。“很抱歉，這個城市裏面的出租車跟鯊魚一樣，”他的英語說得很棒，沒有任何口音，“一旦嗅到外國人的味道，就會多要三倍車費。” 他推開門，臉帶微笑，道歉連連，稍微有點喘氣和流汗。他用手帕擦額頭，打開公文包，亂翻着找記事本，爲把文件扔得滿牀都是不停道歉。索拉博盤膝坐在牀上，一邊看着消掉聲音的電視，一邊看着那個手忙腳亂的律師。那天早晨我跟他說過費薩爾要來，他點點頭，似乎想問些什麼，但只是走開去看一個有動物在說話的電視節目。 “找到了。”費薩爾說，翻開一本黃色的法律記事本。“就安排事物的能力而言，我希望我的孩子像他們的媽媽。很抱歉，也許這不是你所想要從你未來的律師口裏聽到的，對吧？”他哈哈大笑。 “嗯，雷蒙德?安德魯對你評價很高。” “安德魯先生。是的，是的，那個傢伙人很好。實際上，他打過電話給我，把你的事情告訴我了。” “真的嗎？” “哦，是的。” “那麼你清楚我的情況了。”
