“Plainclothes?”
“Yes. He was arrested with the protesters. He has been there since then.”
“What? Why?”
“He is Bahá’í. It’s not so good if you’re arrested and you’re Bahá’í. You know?”
I shook my head. “But Mamou and Babou aren’t Muslim. They don’t get much trouble.”
“But it’s different for Zoroastrians. The government doesn’t like Bahá’ís.”
“Oh.”
I never knew that.
I felt even more ashamed.
Sohrab had been pretty much fatherless for years, but here I was, complaining about Stephen Kellner who, while imperfect, was certainly less terrifying than the Iranian government.
“I’m really sorry, Sohrab.”
I bumped my shoulder against his, and he let out a sigh and relaxed a little.
“It’s okay, Darioush.”
I knew without him saying that it wasn’t.
Not really.
Sohrab and I sat out in the garden talking as the evening chill descended on us. The fine, dark hairs on Sohrab’s arms stood at attention. “We should go inside. It’s getting late. I think my mom already left.”
I shivered. “Okay.”
My foot had fallen asleep. It felt like I was walking on glass shards as I followed Sohrab inside.
I did feel better, though. Sohrab had that effect on people.
Everyone had left. Dad and Babou sat alone at the kitchen table, sipping tea and talking quietly.
“I don’t know,” Dad said. “It’s like he’s always making things hard on himself.”
“It’s too late to change him,” Babou said. “You can’t control him, Stephen.”
“I don’t want to control him. He’s just so stubborn.”
My ears burned. I waited for them to notice me and Sohrab standing in the doorway.
“Don’t worry so much, Stephen. At least he made friends with Sohrab. He is going to be fine.”
“You think so?”
Babou nodded.
Dad stared into his tea. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
And then he said, “I think Sohrab might be the first real friend he’s ever had.”
Deep inside my chest, a main sequence star collapsed under its own gravity.
