The narrative uses pathos when Lilia portrays Mr. Pirzada as rather pitiful and sympathetic on Halloween night. As she sets out to trick-or-treat, he worries for her safety and betrays his own vulnerability:
He looked suddenly tired and small, standing there in his splayed, stockinged feet, and his eyes contained a panic I had never seen before.
The description is poignant in its unexpectedness. Up to this point, Mr. Pirzada has been cast as a confident, theatrical cross between uncle and playmate. He delivers candies, wears silk ties, and makes fun of his own status as a “refugee” in Indian territory. Yet in this scene, the man with his “rotund elegance,” grand gestures, and playful offerings of food has suddenly been reduced to a panicked, “small” figure fretting away in their foyer. The character who once captured her imagination and seized her affections, Lilia realizes, wields little actual control over the world around him. Mr. Pirzada’s seven daughters may not be alive; the fate of his home and family are the whims of battle tactics and distant diplomatic negotiations. The “panic” that Lilia observes only intensifies this sense of helplessness, adding desperation to an already pitiful portrait. In what is another step towards maturity, Lilia recognizes the helplessness of her favorite person amid the scale of the geopolitical forces that burden him. In turn, she recruits readerly sympathies in this moment of new awareness.