the kite runner-第23章

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eady；　he　says。
The　mullah　finishes　the　prayer。　Ameen。　He　picks　up　the　kitchen　knife　with　the　long　blade。　The　custom　is　to　not　let　the　sheep　see　the　knife。　All　feeds　the　animal　a　cube　of　sugar……another　custom；　to　make　death　sweeter。　The　sheep　kicks；　but　not　much。　The　mullah　grabs　it　under　its　jaw　and　places　the　blade　on　its　neck。　Just　a　second　before　he　slices　the　throat　in　one　expert　motion；　I　see　the　sheep　s　eyes。　It　is　a　look　that　will　haunt　my　dreams　for　weeks。　I　don　t　know　why　I　watch　this　yearly　ritual　in　our　backyard；　my　nightmares　persist　long　after　the　bloodstains　on　the　grass　have　faded。　But　I　always　watch。　I　watch　because　of　that　look　of　acceptance　in　the　animal　s　eyes。　Absurdly；　I　imagine　the　animal　understands。　I　imagine　the　animal　sees　that　its　imminent　demise　is　for　a　higher　purpose。　This　is　the　look。。。
I　STOPPED　WATCHING；　turned　away　from　the　alley。　Something　warm　was　running　down　my　wrist。　I　blinked；　saw　I　was　still　biting　down　on　my　fist；　hard　enough　to　draw　blood　from　the　knuckles。　I　realized　something　else。　I　was　weeping。　From　just　around　the　corner；　I　could　hear　Assef　s　quick；　rhythmic　grunts。
I　had　one　last　chance　to　make　a　decision。　One　final　opportunity　to　decide　who　I　was　going　to　be。　I　could　step　into　that　alley；　stand　up　for　Hassan……the　way　he　d　stood　up　for　me　all　those　times　in　the　past……and　accept　whatever　would　happen　to　me。　Or　I　could　run。
In　the　end；　I　ran。
I　ran　because　I　was　a　coward。　I　was　afraid　of　Assef　and　what　he　would　do　to　me。　I　was　afraid　of　getting　hurt。　That　s　what　I　told　myself　as　I　turned　my　back　to　the　alley；　to　Hassan。　That　s　what　I　made　myself　believe。　I　actually　aspired　to
cowardice；　because　the　alternative；　the　real　reason　I　was　running；　was　that　Assef　was　right：　Nothing　was　free　in　this　world。　Maybe　Hassan　was　the　price　I　had　to　pay；　the　lamb　I　had　to　slay；　to　win　Baba。　Was　it　a　fair　price？　The　answer　floated　to　my　conscious　mind　before　I　could　thwart　it：　He　was　just　a　Hazara；　wasn　t　he？
I　ran　back　the　way　I　d　e。　Ran　back　to　the　all　but　deserted　bazaar。　I　lurched　to　a　cubicle　and　leaned　against　the　padlocked　swinging　doors。　I　stood　there　panting；　sweating；　wishing　things　had　turned　out　some　other　way。
About　fifteen　minutes　later；　I　heard　voices　and　running　footfalls。　I　crouched　behind　the　cubicle　and　watched　Assef　and　the　other　two　sprinting　by；　laughing　as　they　hurried　down　the　deserted
lane。　I　forced　myself　to　wait　ten　more　minutes。　Then　I　walked　back　to　the　rutted　track　that　ran　along　the　snow…filled　ravine。　I　squinted　in　the　dimming　light　and　spotted　Hassan　walking　slowly　toward　me。　I　met　him　by　a　leafless　birch　tree　on　the　edge　of　the　ravine。
He　had　the　blue　kite　in　his　hands；　that　was　the　first　thing　I　saw。　And　I　can　t　lie　now　and　say　my　eyes　didn　t　scan　it　for　any　rips。　His　chapan　had　mud　smudges　down　the　front　and　his　shirt　was　ripped　just　below　the　collar。　He　stopped。　Swayed　on　his　feet　like　he　was　going　to　collapse。　Then　he　steadied　himself。　Handed　me　the　kite。
　Where　were　you？　I　looked　for　you；　　I　said。　Speaking　those　words　was　like　chewing　on　a　rock。
Hassan　dragged　a　sleeve　across　his　face；　wiped　snot　and　tears。　I　waited　for　him　to　say　something；　but　we　just　stood　there　in　silence；　in　the　fading　light。　I　was　grateful　for　the　early…evening　shadows　that　fell　on　Hassan　s　face　and　concealed　mine。　I　was　glad　I　didn　t　have　to　return　his　gaze。　Did　he　know　I　knew？　And　if　he　knew；　then　what　would　I　see　if　I　did　look　in　his　eyes？　Blame？　Indignation？　Or；　God　forbid；　what　I　feared　most：　guileless　devotion？　That；　most　of　all；　I　couldn　t　bear　to　see。
He　began　to　say　something　and　his　voice　cracked。　He　closed　his　mouth；　opened　it；　and　closed　it　again。　Took　a　step　back。　Wiped　his　face。　And　that　was　as　close　as　Hassan　and　I　ever　came　to　discussing　what　had　happened　in　the　alley。　I　thought　he　might　burst　into　tears；　but；　to　my　relief；　he　didn　t；　and　I　pretended　I　hadn　t　heard　the　crack　in　his　voice。　Just　like　I　pretended　I　hadn　t　seen　the　dark　stain　in　the　seat　of　his　pants。　Or　those　tiny　drops　that　fell　from　between　his　legs　and　stained　the　snow　black。
　Agha　sahib　will　worry；　　was　all　he　said。　He　turned　from　me　and　limped　away。
IT　HAPPENED　JUST　THE　WAY　I　d　imagined。　I　opened　the　door　to　the　smoky　study　and　stepped　in。　Baba　and　Rahim　Khan　were　drinking　tea　and　listening　to　the　news　crackling　on　the　radio。　Their　heads　turned。　Then　a　smile　played　on　my　father　s　lips。　He　opened　his　arms。　I　put　the　kite　down　and　walked　into　his　thick　hairy　arms。　I　buried　my　face　in　the　warmth　of　his　chest　and　wept。　Baba　held　me　close　to　him；　rocking　me　back　and　forth。　In　his　arms；　I　forgot　what　I　d　done。　And　that　was　good。
EIGHT
For　a　week；　I　barely　saw　Hassan。　I　woke　up　to　find　toasted　bread；　brewed　tea；　and　a　boiled　egg　already　on　the　kitchen　table。　My　clothes　for　the　day　were
ironed　and　folded；　left　on　the　cane…seat　chair　in　the　foyer　where　Hassan　usually　did　his　ironing。　He　used　to　wait　for　me　to　sit　at　the　breakfast　table　before　he　started　ironing……that　way；　we　could　talk。　Used　to　sing　too；　over　the　hissing　of　the　iron；　sang　old　Hazara　songs　about　tulip　fields。　Now　only　the　folded　clothes　greeted　me。　That；　and　a　breakfast　I　hardly　finished　anymore。
One　overcast　morning；　as　I　was　pushing　the　boiled　egg　around　on　my　plate；　Ali　walked　in　cradling　a　pile　of　chopped　wood。　I　asked　him　where　Hassan　was。
　He　went　back　to　sleep；　　Ali　said；　kneeling　before　the　stove。　He　pulled　the　little　square　door　open。
Would　Hassan　be　able　to　play　today？
Ali　paused　with　a　log　in　his　hand。　A　worried　look　crossed　his　face。　　Lately；　it　seems　all　he　wants　to　do　is　sleep。　He　does　his　chores……I　see　to　that……but　then　he　just　wants　to　crawl　under　his　blank