“No,” I said. “If we’re going to do it, we shouldn’t have any doubts at all about it, and we should both be in agreement. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby otherwise.”
She rested her head on the window and said nothing else the rest of the way.
Now the general sat beside her. “Bachem, this adoption... thing, I’m not so sure it’s for us Afghans.” Soraya looked at me tiredly and sighed.
“For one thing, they grow up and want to know who their natural parents are,” he said. “Nor can you blame them. Sometimes, they leave the home in which you labored for years to provide for them so they can find the people who gave them life. Blood is a powerful thing, bachem, never forget that.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Soraya said.
“I’ll say one more thing,” he said. I could tell he was getting revved up; we were about to get one of the general’s little speeches. “Take Amir jan, here. We all knew his father, I know who his grandfather was in Kabul and his great-grandfather before him, I could sit here and trace generations of his ancestors for you if you asked. That’s why when his father--God give him peace--came khastegari, I didn’t hesitate. And believe me, his father wouldn’t have agreed to ask for your hand if he didn’t know whose descendant you were. Blood is a powerful thing, bachem, and when you adopt, you don’t know whose blood you’re bringing into your house.
“Now, if you were American, it wouldn’t matter. People here marry for love, family name and ancestry never even come into the equation. They adopt that way too, as long as the baby is healthy, everyone is happy. But we are Afghans, bachem.”
“Is the fish almost ready?” Soraya said. General Taheri’s eyes lingered on her. He patted her knee.
“Just be happy you have your health and a good husband.”
“What do you think, Amir jan?” Khala Jamila said.