the kite runner-第13章

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　You　are　right；　Agha。　But　perhaps　you　didn　t　notice　that　I　m　the　one　holding　the　slingshot。　If　you　make　a　move；　they　ll　have　to　change　your　nickname　from　Assef　　the　Ear　Eater　　to　　One…Eyed　Assef；　　because　I　have　this　rock　pointed　at　your　left　eye。　　He　said　this　so　flatly　that　even　I　had　to　strain　to　hear　the　fear　that　I　knew　hid　under　that　calm　voice。
Assef　s　mouth　twitched。　Wali　and　Kamal　watched　this　exchange　with　something　akin　to　fascination。　Someone　had　challenged　their　god。　Humiliated　him。　And；　worst　of　all；　that　someone　was　a　skinny　Hazara。　Assef　looked　from　the　rock　to　Hassan。　He　searched　Hassan　s　face　intently。　What　he　found　in　it　must　have　convinced　him　of　the　seriousness　of　Hassan　s　intentions；　because　he　lowered　his　fist。
　You　should　know　something　about　me；　Hazara；　　Assef　said　gravely。　　I　m　a　very　patient　person。　This　doesn　t　end　today；　believe　me。　　He　turned　to　me。　　This　isn　t　the　end　for　you　either；　Amir。　Someday；　I　ll　make　you　face　me　one　on　one。　　Assef　retreated　a　step。　His　disciples　followed。
　Your　Hazara　made　a　big　mistake　today；　Amir；　　he　said。　They　then　turned　around；　walked　away。　I　watched　them　walk　down　the　hill　and　disappear　behind　a　wall。
Hassan　was　trying　to　tuck　the　slingshot　in　his　waist　with　a　pair　of　trembling　hands。　His　mouth　curled　up　into　something　that　was　supposed　to　be　a　reassuring　smile。　It　took　him　five　tries　to　tie　the　string　of　his　trousers。　Neither　one　of　us　said　much　of　anything　as　we　walked　home　in　trepidation；　certain　that　Assef　and　his　friends　would　ambush　us　every　time　we　turned　a　corner。　They　didn　t　and　that　should　have　forted　us　a　little。　But　it　didn　t。　Not　at　all。
FOR　THE　NEXT　COUPLE　of　years；　the　words　_economic　development_　and　_reform_　danced　on　a　lot　of　lips　in　Kabul。　The　constitutional　monarchy　had　been　abolished；　replaced　by　a　republic；　led　by　a　president　of　the　republic。　For　a
while；　a　sense　of　rejuvenation　and　purpose　swept　across　the　land。　People　spoke　of　women　s　rights　and　modern　technology。
And　for　the　most　part；　even　though　a　new　leader　lived　in　_Arg_……the　royal　palace　in　Kabul……life　went　on　as　before。　People　went　to　work　Saturday　through　Thursday　and　gathered　for　picnics　on　Fridays　in　parks；　on　the　banks　of　Ghargha　Lake；　in　the　gardens　of　Paghman。　Multicolored　buses　and　lorries　filled　with　passengers　rolled　through　the　narrow　streets　of　Kabul；　led　by　the　constant　shouts　of　the　driver　assistants　who　straddled　the　vehicles　　rear　bumpers　and　yelped　directions　to　the　driver　in　their　thick　Kabuli　accent。　On　_Eid_；　the　three　days　of　celebration　after　the　holy　month
of　Ramadan；　Kabulis　dressed　in　their　best　and　newest　clothes　and　visited　their　families。　People　hugged　and　kissed　and　greeted　each　other　with　　_Eid　Mubarak_。　　Happy　Eid。　Children　opened　gifts　and　played　with　dyed　hard…boiled　eggs。
Early　that　following　winter　of　1974；　Hassan　and　I　were　playing　in　the　yard　one　day；　building　a　snow　fort；　when　Ali　called　him　in。　　Hassan；　Agha　sahib　wants　to　talk　to　you！　　He　was　standing　by　the　front　door；　dressed　in　white；　hands　tucked　under　his　armpits；　breath　puffing　from　his　mouth。
Hassan　and　I　exchanged　a　smile。　We　d　been　waiting　for　his　call　all　day：　It　was　Hassan　s　birthday。　　What　is　it；　Father；　do　you　know？　Will　you　tell　us？　　Hassan　said。　His　eyes　were　gleaming。
Ali　shrugged。　　Agha　sahib　hasn　t　discussed　it　with　me。　
　e　on；　Ali；　tell　us；　　I　pressed。　　Is　it　a　drawing　book？　Maybe　a　new　pistol？　
Like　Hassan；　Ali　was　incapable　of　lying。　Every　year；　he　pretended　not　to　know　what　Baba　had　bought　Hassan　or　me　for　our　birthdays。　And　every　year；　his　eyes　betrayed　him　and　we　coaxed　the　goods　out　of　him。　This　time；　though；　it　seemed　he　was　telling　the　truth。
Baba　never　missed　Hassan　s　birthday。　For　a　while；　he　used　to　ask　Hassan　what　he　wanted；　but　he　gave　up　doing　that　because　Hassan　was　always　too　modest　to　actually　suggest　a　present。　So　every　winter　Baba　picked　something　out　himself。　He　bought　him　a　Japanese　toy　truck　one　year；　an　electric　lootive　and　train　track　set　another　year。　The　previous　year；　Baba　had　surprised　Hassan　with　a　leather　cowboy　hat　just　like　the　one　Clint　Eastwood　wore　in　_The　Good；　the　Bad；　and　the　Ugly_……which　had　unseated　_The　Magnificent　Seven_　as　our　favorite　Western。　That　whole　winter；　Hassan　and　I　took　turns　wearing　the　hat；　and　belted　out　the　film　s　famous　music　as　we　climbed　mounds　of　snow　and　shot　each　other　dead。
We　took　off　our　gloves　and　removed　our　snow…laden　boots　at　the　front　door。　When　we　stepped　into　the　foyer；　we　found　Baba　sitting　by　the　wood…burning　cast…iron　stove　with　a　short；　balding　Indian　man　dressed　in　a　brown　suit　and　red　tie。
　Hassan；　　Baba　said；　smiling　coyly；　　meet　your　birthday　present。　
Hassan　and　I　traded　blank　looks。　There　was　no　gift…wrapped　box　in　sight。　No　bag。　No　toy。　Just　Ali　standing　behind　us；　and　Baba　with　this　slight　Indian　fellow　who　looked　a　little　like　a　mathematics　teacher。
The　Indian　man　in　the　brown　suit　smiled　and　offered　Hassan　his　hand。　　I　am　Dr。　Kumar；　　he　said。　　It　s　a　pleasure　to　meet　you。　　He　spoke　Farsi　with　a　thick；　rolling　Hindi　accent。
　_Salaam　alaykum_；　　Hassan　said　uncertainly。　He　gave　a　polite　tip　of　the　head；　but　his　eyes　sought　his　father　behind　him。　Ali　moved　closer　and　set　his　hand　on　Hassan　s　shoulder。
Baba　met　Hassan　s　wary……and　puzzled……eyes。　　I　have　summoned　Dr。　Kumar　from　New　Delhi。　Dr。　Kumar　is　a　plastic　surgeon。　
　Do　you　know　what　that　is？　　the　Indian　man……Dr。　Kumar……　said。
Hassan　shook　his　head。　He　looked　to　me　for　help　but　I　shrugged。　All　I　knew　was　that　you　went　to　a　surgeon　to　fix　you　when　you　had　appendicitis。　I　knew　this　because　one　of　my　classmates　had　died　of　it　the　year　before　and　the　teacher　had　told　us　they