the kite runner-第17章

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Baba　smoked　his　pipe　and　talked。　I　pretended　to　listen。　But　I　couldn　t　listen；　not　really；　because　Baba　s　casual　little　ment　had　planted　a　seed　in　my　head：　the　resolution　that　I　would　win　that　winter　s　tournament。　I　was　going　to　win。　There　was　no　other　viable　option。　I　was　going　to　win；　and　I　was　going　to　run　that　last　kite。　Then　I　d　bring　it　home　and　show　it　to　Baba。　Show　him　once　and　for　all　that　his　son　was　worthy。　Then　maybe　my　life　as　a　ghost　in　this　house　would　finally　be　over。　I　let　myself　dream：　I　imagined　conversation　and　laughter　over　dinner　instead　of　silence　broken　only　by　the　clinking　of　silverware　and　the　occasional　grunt。　I　envisioned　us　taking　a　Friday　drive　in　Baba　s　car　to　Paghman；　stopping　on　the　way　at　Ghargha　Lake　for　some　fried　trout　and　potatoes。　We　d　go　to　the　zoo　to　see　Marjan　the　lion；　and　maybe　Baba　wouldn　t　yawn　and　steal　looks　at　his　wristwatch　all　the　time。　Maybe　Baba　would　even　read　one　of　my　stories。　I　d　write　him　a　hundred　if　I　thought　he　d　read　one。　Maybe　he　d　call　me　Amir　jan　like　Rahim　Khan　did。　And　maybe；　just　maybe；　I　would　finally　be　pardoned　for　killing　my　mother。
Baba　was　telling　me　about　the　time　he　d　cut　fourteen　kites　on　the　same　day。　I　smiled；　nodded；　laughed　at　all　the　right　places；　but
I　hardly　heard　a　word　he　said。　I　had　a　mission　now。　And　I　wasn　t　going　to　fail　Baba。　Not　this　time。
IT　SNOWED　HEAVILY　the　night　before　the　tournament。　Hassan　and　I　sat　under　the　kursi　and　played　panjpar　as　wind…rattled　tree　branches　tapped　on　the　window。　Earlier　that　day；　I　d　asked　Ali　to　set　up　the　kursi　for　us……which　was　basically　an　electric　heater　under　a　low　table　covered　with　a　thick；　quilted　blanket。
Around　the　table；　he　arranged　mattresses　and　cushions；　so　as　many　as　twenty　people　could　sit　and　slip　their　legs　under。　Hassan　and　I　used　to　spend　entire　snowy　days　snug　under　the　kursi；　playing　chess；　cards……mostly　panjpar。
I　killed　Hassan　s　ten　of　diamonds；　played　him　two　jacks　and　a　six。　Next　door；　in　Baba　s　study；　Baba　and　Rahim　Khan　were　discussing　business　with　a　couple　of　other　men…one　of　them　I　recognized　as　Assef　s　father。　Through　the　wall；　I　could　hear　the　scratchy　sound　of　Radio　Kabul　News。
Hassan　killed　the　six　and　picked　up　the　jacks。　On　the　radio；　Daoud　Khan　was　announcing　something　about　foreign　investments。
　He　says　someday　we　ll　have　television　in　Kabul；　　I　said。
　Who？　
　Daoud　Khan；　you　ass；　the　president。　
Hassan　giggled。　　I　heard　they　already　have　it　in　Iran；　　he　said。　I　sighed。　　Those　Iranians。。。　　For　a　lot　of　Hazaras；　Iran　represented　a　sanctuary　of　sorts……I　guess　because；　like　Hazaras；　most　Iranians　were　Shi　a　Muslims。　But　I　remembered　something　my　teacher　had　said　that　summer　about　Iranians；　that　they　were　grinning　smooth　talkers　who　patted　you　on　the　back　with　one　hand　and　picked　your　pocket　with　the　other。　I　told　Baba　about　that　and　he　said　my　teacher　was　one　of　those　jealous　Afghans；　jealous　because　Iran　was　a　rising　power　in　Asia　and　most　people　around　the　world　couldn　t　even　find　Afghanistan　on　a　world　map。　　It　hurts　to　say　that；　　he　said；　shrugging。　　But　better　to　get　hurt　by　the　truth　than　forted　with　a　lie。　
　I　ll　buy　you　one　someday；　　I　said。
Hassan　s　face　brightened。　　A　television？　In　truth？　
　Sure。　And　not　the　black…and…white　kind　either。　We　ll　probably　be　grown…ups　by　then；　but　I　ll　get　us　two。　One　for　you　and　one　for　me。　
　I　ll　put　it　on　my　table；　where　I　keep　my　drawings；　　Hassan　said。
His　saying　that　made　me　kind　of　sad。　Sad　for　who　Hassan　was；　where　he　lived。　For　how　he　d　accepted　the　fact　that　he　d　grow　old　in　that　mud　shack　in　the　yard；　the　way　his　father　had。　I　drew　the　last　card；　played　him　a　pair　of　queens　and　a　ten。
Hassan　picked　up　the　queens。　　You　know；　I　think　you　re　going　to　make　Agha　sahib　very　proud　tomorrow。　
　You　think　so？　
　_Inshallah_；　　he　said。
　_Inshallah_；　I　echoed；　though　the　　God　willing　　qualifier　didn　t　sound　as　sincere　ing　from　my　lips。　That　was　the　thing　with　Hassan。　He　was　so　goddamn　pure；　you　always　felt　like　a　phony　around　him。
I　killed　his　king　and　played　him　my　final　card；　the　ace　of　spades。　He　had　to　pick　it　up。　I　d　won；　but　as　I　shuffled　for　a　new　game；　I　had　the　distinct　suspicion　that　Hassan　had　let　me　win。
　Amir　agha？　
　What？　
　You　know。。。　I　_like_　where　I　live。　　He　was　always　doing　that；　reading　my　mind。　　It　s　my　home。　
　Whatever；　　I　said。　　Get　ready　to　lose　again。　
SEVEN
The　next　morning；　as　he　brewed　black　tea　for　breakfast；　Hassan　told　me　he　d　had　a　dream。　　We　were　at　Ghargha　Lake；　you；　me；　Father；　Agha　sahib；　Rahim　Khan；　and　thousands　of　other　people；　　he　said。　　It　was　warm　and　sunny；　and　the　lake　was　clear　like　a　mirror。　But　no　one　was　swimming　because　they　said　a　monster　had　e　to　the　lake。　It　was　swimming　at　the　bottom；　waiting。　
He　poured　me　a　cup　and　added　sugar；　blew　on　it　a　few　times。　Put　it　before　me。　　So　everyone　is　scared　to　get　in　the　water；　and　suddenly　you　kick　off　your　shoes；　Amir　agha；　and　take　off　your　shirt。　　There　s　no　monster；　　you　say。　　I　ll　show　you　all。　　And　before　anyone　can　stop　you；　you　dive　into　the　water；　start　swimming　away。　I　follow　you　in　and　we　re　both　swimming。　
　But　you　can　t　swim。　
Hassan　laughed。　　It　s　a　dream；　Amir　agha；　you　can　do　anything。　Anyway；　everyone　is　screaming；　　Get　out！　Get　out！　　but　we　just　swim　in　the　cold　water。　We　make　it　way　out　to　the　middle　of　the　lake　and　we　stop　swimming。　We　turn　toward　the　shore　and　wave　to　the　people。　They　look　small　like　ants；　but　we　can　hear　them　clapping。　They　see　now。　There　is　no　monster；　just　water。　They　change　the　name　of　the　lake　after　that；　and　call　it　the　　Lake　of　Amir　and　Hassan；　Sultans　of　Kabul；　　and　we　get　to　charge　people　money　for　swimming　in　it。　
　S