We used the advance I had received for my novel to pay for it. IVF proved lengthy¹, meticulous², frustrating³, and ultimately unsuccessful. After months of sitting in waiting rooms reading magazines like Good Housekeeping and Reader’s Digest, after endless paper gowns and cold, sterile⁴ exam rooms lit by fluorescent⁵ lights, the repeated humiliation⁶ of discussing every detail of our sex life with a total stranger, the injections and probes and specimen⁷ collections, we went back to Dr. Rosen and his trains.

我们动用我那本小说的预付金支付了治疗费用。体外受孕繁琐冗长，令人沮丧，最终也没有成功。好几个月在候诊室翻阅诸如《时尚好管家》、《读者文摘》之类的杂志之后，穿过无数纸袍、走进一间间点着荧光灯的冰冷无菌检查室之后，一次次屈辱地跟素昧平生的人谈论我们性生活的每一个细节之后，无数次注射、探针和采集精子之后，我们回去找罗森大夫和他的火车。

He sat across from us, tapped his desk with his fingers, and used the word “adoption⁸” for the first time. Soraya cried all the way home. 他坐在我们对面，用手指敲着桌子，第一次用了“收养”这个字眼。索拉雅一路上哭着回家。

Soraya broke the news to her parents the weekend after our last visit with Dr. Rosen. We were sitting on picnic chairs in the Taheris’ backyard, grilling⁹ trout¹⁰ and sipping¹¹ yogurt dogh. It was an early evening in March 1991. Khala Jamila had watered the roses and her new honeysuckles, and their fragrance¹² mixed with the smell of cooking fish. Twice already, she had reached across her chair to caress¹³ Soraya’s hair and say, “God knows best, bachem. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

我们最后一次去拜访罗森大夫之后那个周末，索拉雅把这惊人的消息告诉她父母。我们坐在塔赫里家后院的烧烤椅子上，烤着鳟鱼，喝着酸奶。那是1991年3月的某个黄昏。雅米拉阿姨已经给她的蔷薇和新种的金银花浇过水，它们的芳香混杂着烤鱼的味道。她已经两次从椅子上伸出手，去抚摸索拉雅的头发。“只有真主最清楚。我的孩子，也许事情不是这样的。”

Soraya kept looking down at her hands. She was tired, I knew, tired of it all. “The doctor said we could adopt,” she murmured.

索拉雅一直低头看着她的双手。我知道她很疲累，厌倦了这一切。“大夫说我们可以收养一个。”她低声说。

General Taheri’s head snapped up at this. He closed the barbecue lid. “He did?”

听到这个，塔赫里将军抬起头来，给烤炉盖上盖子。“他真的这么说？”

“He said it was an option,” Soraya said.

“他说那是个选择。”索拉雅说。

We’d talked at home about adoption. Soraya was ambivalent¹⁴ at best. “I know it’s silly and maybe vain,” she said to me on the way to her parents’ house, “but I can’t help it. I’ve always dreamed that I’d hold it in my arms and know my blood had fed it for nine months, that I’d look in its eyes one day and be startled to see you or me, that the baby would grow up and have your smile or mine. Without that... Is that wrong?”

在家里我们已经就收养交换过意见，索拉雅并不想那么做。“我知道这很蠢，也许还有些虚荣，”在去她父母家的途中，她说，“可是我止不住这个念头。我总是梦想，我可以把孩子拥在怀里，知道我用血水养了他九个月，我梦想有一天，我看着他的眼睛，吃惊地看到你或我的影子。我梦想那婴儿会长大成人，笑起来像你或者像我。如果没有……这有错吗？”

“No,” I had said.

“没有。”我说。

“Am I being selfish?”

“我很自私吗？”

“No, Soraya.”

“不，索拉雅。”

“Because if you really want to do it...”

“因为如果你真的想那么做”……