the kite runner-第1章

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by
KHALED　HOSSEINI
Riverhead　Books　…　New　York
Scanned　and　proofed　by　eReaderMan
Posted　to　alt。binaries。e…book
12/3/2005　…　Plain　Text　Version　3。5　（maybe　better）
The　author　makes　liberal　use　of　_italics_　and　I　have　missed　noting　many　of　them；　but　the　rest　of　this　text　file　should　demonstrate　good　proofing。
Copyright　（c）　2003　by　Khaled　Hosseini
Riverhead　trade　paperback
ISBN：　1…59488…000…1
This　book　is　dedicated　to
Haris　and　Farah；　both
the　_noor_　of　my　eyes；
and　to　the　children
of　Afghanistan。
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I　am　indebted　to　the　following　colleagues　for　their　advice；　assistance；　or　support：　Dr。　Alfred　Lerner；　Don　Vakis；　Robin　Heck；　Dr。　Todd　Dray；　Dr。　Robert　Tull；　and　Dr。　Sandy　Chun。　Thanks　also　to　Lynette　Parker　of　East　San　Jose　munity　Law　Center　for　her　advice　about　adoption　procedures；　and　to　Mr。　Daoud　Wahab　for　sharing　his　experiences　in　Afghanistan　with　me。　I　am　grateful　to　my　dear　friend　Tamim　Ansary　for　his　guidance　and　support　and　to　the　gang　at　the　San　Francisco　Writers　Workshop　for　their　feed　back　and　encouragement。　I　want　to　thank　my　father；　my　oldest　friend　and　the　inspiration　for　all　that　is　noble　in　Baba；　my　mother　who　prayed　for　me　and　did　nazr　at　every　stage　of　this　book　s　writing；　my　aunt　for　buying　me　books　when　I　was　young。　Thanks　go　out　to　Ali；　Sandy；　Daoud；　Walid；　Raya；　Shalla；　Zahra；　Rob；　and　Kader　for　reading　my　stories。　I　want　to　thank　Dr。　and　Mrs。　Kayoumy……my　other　parents……for　their　warmth　and　unwavering　support。
I　must　thank　my　agent　and　friend；　Elaine　Koster；　for　her　wisdom；　patience；　and　gracious　ways；　as　well　as　Cindy　Spiegel；　my　keen…eyed　and　judicious　editor　who　helped　me　unlock　so　many　doors　in　this　tale。　And　I　would　like　to　thank　Susan　Petersen　Kennedy　for　taking　a　chance　on　this　book　and　the　hardworking　staff　at　Riverhead　for　laboring　over　it。
Last；　I　don　t　know　how　to　thank　my　lovely　wife；　Roya……to　whose　opinion　I　am　addicted……for　her　kindness　and　grace；　and　for　reading；　re…reading；　and　helping　me　edit　every　single　draft　of　this　novel。　For　your　patience　and　understanding；　I　will　always　love　you；　Roya　jan。
ONE
_December　2001_
I　became　what　I　am　today　at　the　age　of　twelve；　on　a　frigid　overcast　day　in　the　winter　of　1975。　I　remember　the　precise　moment；　crouching　behind　a　crumbling　mud　wall；　peeking　into　the　alley　near　the　frozen　creek。　That　was　a　long　time　ago；　but　it　s　wrong　what　they　say　about　the　past；　I　ve　learned；　about　how　you　can　bury　it。　Because　the　past　claws　its　way　out。　Looking　back　now；　I　realize　I　have　been　peeking　into　that　deserted　alley　for　the　last　twenty…six　years。
One　day　last　summer；　my　friend　Rahim　Khan　called　from　Pakistan。　He　asked　me　to　e　see　him。　Standing　in　the　kitchen　with　the　receiver　to　my　ear；　I　knew　it　wasn　t　just　Rahim　Khan　on　the　line。　It　was　my　past　of　unatoned　sins。　After　I　hung　up；　I　went　for　a　walk　along　Spreckels　Lake　on　the　northern　edge　of　Golden　Gate　Park。　The　early…afternoon　sun　sparkled　on　the　water　where　dozens　of　miniature　boats　sailed；　propelled　by　a　crisp　breeze。　Then　I　glanced　up　and　saw　a　pair　of　kites；　red　with　long　blue　tails；　soaring　in　the　sky。　They　danced　high　above　the　trees　on　the　west　end　of　the　park；　over　the　windmills；　floating　side　by　side　like　a　pair　of　eyes　looking　down　on　San　Francisco；　the　city　I　now　call　home。　And　suddenly　Hassan　s　voice　whispered　in　my　head：　_For　you；　a　thousand　times　over_。　Hassan　the　harelipped　kite　runner。
I　sat　on　a　park　bench　near　a　willow　tree。　I　thought　about　something　Rahim　Khan　said　just　before　he　hung　up；　almost　as　an　after　thought。　_There　is　a　way　to　be　good　again_。　I　looked　up　at　those　twin　kites。　I　thought　about　Hassan。　Thought　about　Baba。　Ali。　Kabul。　I　thought　of　the　life　I　had　lived　until　the　winter　of　1975　came　and　changed　everything。　And　made　me　what　I　am　today。
TWO
When　we　were　children；　Hassan　and　I　used　to　climb　the　poplar　trees　in　the　driveway　of　my　father　s　house　and　annoy　our　neighbors　by　reflecting　sunlight　into　their　homes　with　a　shard　of　mirror。　We　would　sit　across　from　each　other　on　a　pair　of　high　branches；　our　naked　feet　dangling；　our　trouser　pockets　filled　with　dried　mulberries　and　walnuts。　We　took　turns　with　the　mirror　as　we　ate　mulberries；　pelted　each　other　with　them；　giggling；　laughing；　I　can　still　see　Hassan　up　on　that　tree；　sunlight　flickering　through　the　leaves　on　his　almost　perfectly　round　face；　a　face　like　a　Chinese　doll　chiseled　from　hardwood：　his　flat；　broad　nose　and　slanting；　narrow　eyes　like　bamboo　leaves；　eyes　that　looked；　depending　on　the　light；　gold；　green；　even　sapphire　I　can　still　see　his　tiny　low…set　ears　and　that　pointed　stub　of　a　chin；　a　meaty　appendage　that　looked　like　it　was　added　as　a　mere　afterthought。　And　the　cleft　lip；　just　left　of　midline；　where　the　Chinese　doll　maker　s　instrument　may　have　slipped；　or　perhaps　he　had　simply　grown　tired　and　careless。
Sometimes；　up　in　those　trees；　I　talked　Hassan　into　firing　walnuts　with　his　slingshot　at　the　neighbor　s　one…eyed　German　shepherd。　Hassan　never　wanted　to；　but　if　I　asked；　_really_　asked；　he　wouldn　t　deny　me。　Hassan　never　denied　me　anything。　And　he　was　deadly　with　his　slingshot。　Hassan　s　father；　Ali；　used　to　catch　us　and　get　mad；　or　as　mad　as　someone　as　gentle　as　Ali　could　ever　get。　He　would　wag　his　finger　and　wave　us　down　from　the　tree。　He　would　take　the　mirror　and　tell　us　what　his　mother　had　told　him；　that　the　devil　shone　mirrors　too；　shone　them　to　distract　Muslims　during　prayer。　　And　he　laughs　while　he　does　it；　　he　always　added；　scowling　at　his　son。
　Yes；　Father；　　Hassan　would　mumble；　looking　down　at　his　feet。　But　he　never　told　on　me。　Never　told　that　the　mirror；　like　shooting　walnuts　at　the　neighbor　s　dog；　was　always　my　idea。
The　poplar　t