- You ready?
- Yeah. Let's go.
- Is that what I think it is?
- I think so.
- You nervous?
- As long as they spelled my name right.
- You want a moment alone with it?
- I want you right here with me.
There it is.
There it is.
Your baby.
I'll get it.
Hello?
Hello?
You should come home.
Home?
I don't know if now's such a good time.
It's a very bad time,
but you should come.
There is a way to be good again, Amir.
Amir jan.
Hassan! Hassan!
Omar! Omar! Omar!
Omar!
Amir.
Amir jan.
Baba.
Ali.
Ali.
A pack of those.
- Is that your car?
- Yeah.
- Beautiful car.
- Thanks.
Richard Hidalgo.
Erin Hill.
Denise Hawking.
Damon Hooper.
June Kitagawa.
- Hi.
- Hello.
- Tonight I'm very happy.
- Well, that's good.
- Tonight I drink with my son.
- Hi.
How are you, my friend?
Let's have a drink with us.
- What you like to drink?
- Scotch.
- Three Scotch, please.
- I'll have a beer instead. Thanks.
- Budweiser?
- Sure.
Please.
My son, the college graduate.
- It's just community college.
- It's college.
And someday, Dr. Amir!
- You know I want to write.
- Write?
I don't want to be a doctor.
Cheers.
One more, sir.
So instead of being doctor
and saving lives,
he wants make up stories.
Beautiful! Beautiful shot!
You see that shot?
A pitcher of beer for gentlemen, please.
Cheers. My son,
he graduates college today.
- Way to go, man. Congratulations.
- Thank you.
Fuck the Russia!
- Fuck the Russia!
- Fuck Russia.
- Four, so that's $6.
- Okay.
Amir jan.
A story.
- How much?
- $160.
Not bad.
- You want a Coke?
- Sure. Be careful.
Of what?
I won't.
- Hi.
- Hi.
- Is General Sahib here today?
- Yeah, he went that way.
Will you tell him that I stopped by
to pay my respects?
I will.
Thank you. Oh, and my name's Amir.
In case you need to know,
so you can tell him that I stopped by.
To pay my respects.
- I'll go now. Sorry to disturb you.
- Oh, no, no, you didn't.
Good.
Can I ask what you're reading?
Have you read it?
It's a sad story.
I heard you write.
Would you like to read
one of my stories?
I'd like that.
Great.
- How much for this?
- $5.
- I'll give you three.
- Okay.
Thank you.
- You're not much of a haggler.
- I know.
I brought you something.
- You remembered.
- Of course.
- For your granddaughter?
- My granddaughter.
- Impossible.
- Thank you very much.
Here you go. Thank You.
- Have a good day.
- You're welcome.
Amir.
What's wrong?
Nothing.
The General?
You okay?
You all right?
Have you been coughing?
Yes.
Where are you from?
I grew up in Michigan.
Came out here for medical school.
Once you get used to
that California sunshine...
- But your family?
- My family.
We're originally from Russia.
I'm sorry.
- How are you feeling?
- The same.
We have your results back.
Wait outside for me.
"The citizens of Kabul
were skeletons now,
"skeletons selling naswar
in the night market,
"skeletons drinking cups of strong tea,
''skeletons playing cards
in the moonlight.
''They greeted me as I passed,
teeth clacking together in their jaws.
"'Salaam, brother,' they said.
'''Welcome home.'''
It's sort of a work in progress.
It's called The Sultans of Kabul.
Good title.
Keep going.
That's the end.
That's not an ending.
It's my story.
I get to end it how I want.
It's not Dr. Amani's decision.
I'm really sorry.
You better go back inside
or your father will come after me.
Your story made me cry.
You read it?
Our secret?
Yeah.
Our secret.
Can I do anything else for you?
Then I wonder
if you'd do something for me.
Okay. Good luck.
Hello?
- About what?
- About what?
Okay. Okay. I'm on my way.
You do want to get married?
- To me, I mean.
- Of course I do.
It's just... I want to tell you something,
something you need to know.
I don't want us to start with secrets.
We lived in Virginia
before we came here.
We left because
I ran away with an Afghan man.
I was 18.
I guess I thought I was being rebellious.
We lived together for almost a month.
All the Afghans in Virginia
were talking about it.
My father eventually found us.
He showed up at the door
and he made me come home.
I was hysterical,
and I told him I hated him.
We moved out to California
a few weeks later.
I didn't talk to my father
for a very long time. And now...
Now I feel like he's the reason
why I'm here.
Does what I told you bother you?
A little.
Does it bother you enough
to change your mind?
No.
Not even close.
I'd marry you tonight if I could.
What do you see?
The rest of my life.
- They're so funny.
- They were crazy.
That's a funny picture.
They're so cute.
- Amir jan?
- Right here, Baba.
It will not be easy.
But you must come, Amir.
You're a good man.
You all right?
I have to go to Pakistan.
Pakistan?
Rahim Khan is very sick.
Your father's friend?
Is it safe right now?
What about the book tour?
There wouldn't be any books
if not for Rahim Khan.
It's terrible what's happening
in your country.
Afghani people and Pakistani people,
they are like brothers.
Muslim have to help Muslim.
They call this area Afghan Town.
Sometimes it feels like Peshawar
is a suburb of Kabul.
This way.
Amir jan.
Amir jan.
''For Rahim Khan,
who listened to my stories
''before I knew how to write them.''
This is a great honor, Amir.
Let me take you home with me.
I can find you a good doctor.
They're coming up with new treatments
all the time.
Amir, Amir, Amir.
I see America has infused you
with her optimism.
But there is such a thing as God's will.
I didn't bring you here
to complain about my health.
Forgive me, Amir jan.
Forgive me for what I have to tell you.
Hassan is dead.
How?
You know I watched over
your father's house after you left.
But none of the caretakers I hired
lasted more than a year.
Some were dishonest, some lazy.
So a few years ago I went to Hazarajat
and brought Hassan
and his family home with me.
His wife, Farzana, and his son, Sohrab.
It was so good to have them there.
Hassan kept the house
from falling apart.
And Farzana cooked the meals.
But when my health began to fail,
well, there isn't a hospital in
Afghanistan that can help me,
so I came here.
A few weeks after I left,
the Taliban came to the house.
Hassan told them that he was looking
after the house for me, but...
They said that he was a liar and a thief
like all the other Hazaras.
And they ordered him to leave
with his family by nightfall.
So they took him to the street
and ordered him to kneel
and shot him in the back of the head.
Farzana came screaming
and attacked them and...
They shot her, too.
And the boy?
Sohrab?
He is in an orphanage
in Karteh Seh.
Hassan sent this to me a week
before he died.
It's for you.
He taught himself to read and write.
He didn't want to send you a letter
until he could do it properly.
Amir,
you need to go back to Kabul.
I've arranged for a driver.
He's a good man.
I can't go back to Kabul.
Can't you pay someone here to go?
I'll pay for it if it's a matter of money.
It's not about money.
You are a storyteller.
Some part of you
has always known this story.
Ali's first wife was from Jaghori.
What does that
have to do with anything?
After five years she left him childless,
and married a man from Khost.
She bore that man three daughters.
Do you understand
what I'm trying to tell you?
Ali was sterile.
But he had Hassan.
He raised Hassan. He didn't father him.
Your father loved you both
because you were both his sons,
- and Sohrab...
- No.
- He lied to me.
- He lied to both of you.
And now there is a way
to be good again.
"In the name of God,
the merciful, the compassionate,
"Amir agha, with my deepest respects.
"My wife and son and I
pray this letter finds you in fine health,
"and in the light of God's good graces.
"I'm hopeful that one day I will hold
one of your letters in my hands
"and read of your life in America.
"I am trying to learn English.
It's such a tricky language.
"But one day, agha. I miss your stories.
"I've included a picture of me
and my son, Sohrab.
"He's a good boy.
"Rahim Khan and I
taught him how to read and write,
"so he doesn't grow up
stupid like his father.
"And can he shoot
with that slingshot you gave me!
"But I fear for him, Amir agha.
"The Afghanistan of our youth
is long dead.
"Kindness is gone from the land,
and you cannot escape the killings.
"Always the killings.
"I dream that God will guide us
to a better day.
"I dream that my son will grow up
to be a good person,
"a free person,
"an important person.
"I dream that flowers will bloom
in the streets of Kabul again,
"and music will play
in the samovar houses,
"and kites will fly in the skies.
"And I dream that someday
you will return to Kabul
"to revisit the land of our childhood.
"If you do, you'll find
an old faithful friend waiting for you.
"May God be with you always.
"Hassan."
Hello?
Hi.
- Did I wake you up?
- No.
You all right?
I have to tell you a story.
What's his name?
Stop playing with it.
You know what the Taliban will do to
you if they see you are clean-shaven?
So what brings you back
to Afghanistan?
Come to sell off your father's land,
pocket the money?
I'm not here to sell anything.
I'm going to Kabul to find a boy.
A boy?
This boy?
This Hazara boy?
Yeah.
What he means to you?
His father meant a lot to me.
He's the man in the photo.
He's dead now.
It was a friend of yours?
He was my brother.
You've always been a tourist here.
You just didn't know it.
- What happened to the trees?
- The Russians chopped them down.
You know what they're doing?
He's selling his leg?
He can get good money for it.
Feed your kids for a couple of weeks.
- What's that smell?
- Diesel.
The power's always going off
so people use generators.
Pull over here.
Nothing that you remember
has survived.
Sohrab?
Sohrab?
Sohrab?
Sohrab?
- Missed you.
- Missed you, too.
You don't look so bad.
I don't think he's looked at me once.
Give him time.
Amir jan.
- Amir?
- It's all right.
You see, General Sahib,
my father slept with his servant's wife.
And she bore him a son named Hassan.
Hassan is dead now.
That boy sleeping in the other room
is Hassan's son.
He's my nephew.
That's what you tell people
when they ask.
And one more thing, General Sahib.
You will never again refer to him
as ''a Hazara boy'' in my presence.
He has a name, and it's Sohrab.
- It felt so real.
- Thank you.
My pleasure. Thank you.
Look. Look at that.
Excuse me a second.
I'd like that kite, please.
What are you doing,
you can't hold it right?
I'm sorry!