the kite runner-第16章

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；　and　I　was　falling　behind。
　Hassan！　Wait！　　I　yelled；　my　breathing　hot　and　ragged。
He　whirled　around；　motioned　with　his　hand。　　This　way！　　he　called　before　dashing　around　another　corner。　I　looked　up；　saw　that　the　direction　we　were　running　was　opposite　to　the　one　the　kite　was　drifting。
　We　re　losing　it！　We　re　going　the　wrong　way！　　I　cried　out。
　Trust　me！　　I　heard　him　call　up　ahead。　I　reached　the　corner　and　saw　Hassan　bolting　along；　his　head　down；　not　even　looking　at　the　sky；　sweat　soaking　through　the　back　of　his　shirt。　I　tripped　over　a　rock　and　fell……I　wasn　t　just　slower　than　Hassan　but　clumsier　too；　I　d　always　envied　his　natural　athieticism。　When　I　staggered　to　my　feet；　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　Hassan　disappearing　around　another　street　corner。　I　hobbled　after　him；　spikes　of　pain　battering　my　scraped　knees。
I　saw　we　had　ended　up　on　a　rutted　dirt　road　near　Isteqial　Middle　School。　There　was　a　field　on　one　side　where　lettuce　grew　in　the　summer；　and　a　row　of　sour　cherry　trees　on　the　other。　I　found　Hassan　sitting　cross…legged　at　the　foot　of　one　of　the　trees；　eating　from　a　fistful　of　dried　mulberries。
　What　are　we　doing　here？　　I　panted；　my　stomach　roiling　with　nausea。
He　smiled。　　Sit　with　me；　Amir　agha。　
I　dropped　next　to　him；　lay　on　a　thin　patch　of　snow；　wheezing。　　You　re　wasting　our　time。　It　was　going　the　other　way；　didn　t　you　see？　
Hassan　popped　a　mulberry　in　his　mouth。　　It　s　ing；　　he　said。　I　could　hardly　breathe　and　he　didn　t　even　sound　tired。
　How　do　you　know？　　I　said。
　I　know。　
　How　can　you　know？　
He　turned　to　me。　A　few　sweat　beads　rolled　from　his　bald　scalp。　　Would　I　ever　lie　to　you；　Amir　agha？　
Suddenly　I　decided　to　toy　with　him　a　little。　　I　don　t　know。　Would　you？　
　I　d　sooner　eat　dirt；　　he　said　with　a　look　of　indignation。
　Really？　You　d　do　that？　
He　threw　me　a　puzzled　look。　　Do　what？　
　Eat　dirt　if　I　told　you　to；　　I　said。　I　knew　I　was　being　cruel；　like　when　I　d　taunt　him　if　he　didn　t　know　some　big　word。　But　there　was　something　fascinating……albeit　in　a　sick　way……about　teasing　Hassan。　Kind　of　like　when　we　used　to　play　insect　torture。　Except　now；　he　was　the　ant　and　I　was　holding　the　magnifying　glass。
His　eyes　searched　my　face　for　a　long　time。　We　sat　there；　two　boys　under　a　sour　cherry　tree；　suddenly　looking；　really　looking；　at　each　other。　That　s　when　it　happened　again：　Hassan　s　face　changed。　Maybe　not　_changed_；　not　really；　but　suddenly　I　had　the　feeling　I　was　looking　at　two　faces；　the　one　I　knew；　the　one　that　was　my　first　memory；　and　another；　a　second　face；　this　one　lurking　just　beneath　the　surface。　I　d　seen　it　happen　before……it　always　shook　me　up　a　little。　It　just　appeared；　this　other　face；　for　a　fraction　of　a　moment；　long　enough　to　leave　me　with　the　unsettling　feeling　that　maybe　I　d　seen　it　someplace　before。　Then　Hassan　blinked　and　it　was　just　him　again。　Just　Hassan。
　If　you　asked；　I　would；　　he　finally　said；　looking　right　at　me。　I　dropped　my　eyes。　To　this　day；　I　find　it　hard　to　gaze　directly　at　people　like　Hassan；　people　who　mean　every　word　they　say。
　But　I　wonder；　　he　added。　　Would　you　ever　ask　me　to　do　such　a　thing；　Amir　agha？　　And；　just　like　that；　he　had　thrown　at　me　his　own　little　test。　If　I　was　going　to　toy　with　him　and　challenge　his　loyalty；　then　he　d　toy　with　me；　test　my　integrity。
I　wished　I　hadn　t　started　this　conversation。　I　forced　a　smile。　　Don　t　be　stupid；　Hassan。　You　know　I　wouldn　t。　
Hassan　returned　the　smile。　Except　his　didn　t　look　forced。　　I　know；　　he　said。　And　that　s　the　thing　about　people　who　mean　everything　they　say。　They　think　everyone　else　does　too。
　Here　it　es；　　Hassan　said；　pointing　to　the　sky。　He　rose　to　his　feet　and　walked　a　few　paces　to　his　left。　I　looked　up；　saw　the　kite　plummeting　toward　us。　I　heard　footfalls；　shouts；　an　approaching　melee　of　kite　runners。　But　they　were　wasting　their　time。　Because　Hassan　stood　with　his　arms　wide　open；　smiling；
waiting　for　the　kite。　And　may　God……if　He　exists；　that　is……strike　me　blind　if　the　kite　didn　t　just　drop　into　his　outstretched　arms。
IN　THE　WINTER　OF　1975；　I　saw　Hassan　run　a　kite　for　the　last　time。
Usually；　each　neighborhood　held　its　own　petition。　But　that　year；　the　tournament　was　going　to　be　held　in　my　neighborhood；　Wazir　Akbar　Khan；　and　several　other　districts……Karteh…Char；　Karteh…Parwan；　Mekro…Rayan；　and　Koteh…Sangi……had　been　invited。　You　could　hardly　go　anywhere　without　hearing　talk　of　the　uping　tournament。　Word　had　it　this　was　going　to　be　the　biggest　tournament　in　twenty…five　years。
One　night　that　winter；　with　the　big　contest　only　four　days　away；　Baba　and　I　sat　in　his　study　in　overstuffed　leather　chairs　by　the　glow　of　the　fireplace。　We　were　sipping　tea；　talking。　Ali　had　served　dinner　earlier……potatoes　and　curried　cauliflower　over　rice……and　had　retired　for　the　night　with　Hassan。　Baba　was　fattening　his　pipe　and　I　was　asking　him　to　tell　the　story　about　the　winter　a　pack　of　wolves　had　descended　from　the　mountains　in　Herat　and　forced　everyone　to　stay　indoors　for　a　week；　when　he　lit　a　match　and　said；　casually；　　I　think　maybe　you　ll　win　the　tournament　this　year。　What　do　you　think？　
I　didn　t　know　what　to　think。　Or　what　to　say。　Was　that　what　it　would　take？　Had　he　just　slipped　me　a　key？　I　was　a　good　kite　fighter。　Actually；　a　very　good　one。　A　few　times；　I　d　even　e　close　to　winning　the　winter　tournament……once；　I　d　made　it　to　the　final　three。　But　ing　close　wasn　t　the　same　as　winning；　was　it？　Baba　hadn　t　_e　close_。　He　had　won　because　winners　won　and　everyone　else　just　went　home。　Baba　was　used　to　winning；　winning　at　everything　he　set　his　mind　to。　Didn　t　he　have　a　right　to　expect　the　same　from　his　son？　And　just　imagine。　If　I　did　win。。。
Baba　smoked　his　pipe　and　talked。　I　pretended　to　listen。　But