the kite runner-第41章

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r　father　s　eye　proved　as　keen　in　the　hunt　as　it　had　in　business。　
Baba　kicked　a　wooden　tennis　racket　on　our　tarpaulin　spread　with　the　toe　of　his　boot。　　Some　business。　
General　Taheri　managed　a　simultaneously　sad　and　polite　smile；　heaved　a　sigh；　and　gently　patted　Baba　s　shoulder。　　Zendagi　migzara；　　he　said。　Life　goes　on。　He　turned　his　eyes　to　me。　　We　Afghans　are　prone　to　a　considerable　degree　of　exaggeration；　bachem；　and　I　have　heard　many　men　foolishly　labeled　great。　But　your　father　has　the　distinction　of　belonging　to　the　minority　who　truly　deserves　the　label。　　This　little　speech　sounded　to　me　the　way　his　suit　looked：　often　used　and　unnaturally　shiny。
　You　re　flattering　me；　　Baba　said。
　I　am　not；　　the　general　said；　tilting　his　head　sideways　and　pressing　his　hand　to　his　chest　to　convey　humility。　　Boys　and　girls　must　know　the　legacy　of　their　fathers。　　He　turned　to　me。　　Do　you　appreciate　your　father；　bachem？　Do　you　really　appreciate　him？　
　Balay；　General　Sahib；　I　do；　　I　said；　wishing　he　d　not　call　me　　my　child。　
　Then　congratulations；　you　are　already　halfway　to　being　a　man；　　he　said　with　no　trace　of　humor；　no　irony；　the　pliment　of　the　casually　arrogant。
　Padar　jan；　you　forgot　your　tea。　　A　young　woman　s　voice。　She　was　standing　behind　us；　a　slim…hipped　beauty　with　velvety　coal　black　hair；　an　open　thermos　and　Styrofoam　cup　in　her　hand。　I　blinked；　my　heart　quickening。　She　had　thick　black　eyebrows　that　touched　in　the　middle　like　the　arched　wings　of　a　flying　bird；　and　the　gracefully　hooked　nose　of　a　princess　from　old　Persia……maybe　that　of　Tahmineh；　Rostam　s　wife　and　Sohrab　s　mother　from　the　_Shahnamah_。　Her　eyes；　walnut　brown　and　shaded　by　fanned　lashes；　met　mine。　Held　for　a　moment。　Flew　away。
　You　are　so　kind；　my　dear；　　General　Taheri　said。　He　took　the　cup　from　her。　Before　she　turned　to　go；　I　saw　she　had　a　brown；　sickle…shaped　birthmark　on　the　smooth　skin　just　above　her　left　jawline。　She　walked　to　a　dull　gray　van　two　aisles　away　and　put　the　thermos　inside。　Her　hair　spilled　to　one　side　when　she　kneeled　amid　boxes　of　old　records　and　paperbacks。
　My　daughter；　Soraya　jan；　　General　Taheri　said。　He　took　a　deep　breath　like　a　man　eager　to　change　the　subject　and　checked　his　gold　pocket　watch。　　Well；　time　to　go　and　set　up。　　He　and　Baba　kissed　on　the　cheek　and　he　shook　my　hand　with　both　of　his。　　Best　of　luck　with　the　writing；　　he　said；　looking　me　in　the　eye。　His　pale　blue　eyes　revealed　nothing　of　the　thoughts　behind　them。
For　the　rest　of　that　day；　I　fought　the　urge　to　look　toward　the　gray　van。
IT　CAME　TO　ME　on　our　way　home。　Taheri；　I　knew　I　d　heard　that　name　before。
　Wasn　t　there　some　story　floating　around　about　Taheri　s　daughter？　　I　said　to　Baba；　trying　to　sound　casual。
　You　know　me；　　Baba　said；　inching　the　bus　along　the　queue　exiting　the　flea　market。　　Talk　turns　to　gossip　and　I　walk　away。　
　But　there　was；　wasn　t　there？　　I　said。
　Why　do　you　ask？　　He　was　looking　at　me　coyly。
I　shrugged　and　fought　back　a　smile。　　Just　curious；　Baba。　
　Really？　Is　that　all？　　he　said；　his　eyes　playful；　lingering　on　mine。　　Has　she　made　an　impression　on　you？　
I　rolled　my　eyes。　　Please；　Baba。　
He　smiled；　and　swung　the　bus　out　of　the　flea　market。　We　headed　for　Highway　680。　We　drove　in　silence　for　a　while。　　All　I　ve　heard　is　that　there　was　a　man　once　and　things。。。　didn　t　go　well。　　He　said　this　gravely；　like　he　d　disclosed　to　me　that　she　had　breast　cancer。
　I　hear　she　is　a　decent　girl；　hardworking　and　kind。　But　no　khastegars；　no　suitors；　have　knocked　on　the　general　s　door　since。　　Baba　sighed。　　It　may　be　unfair；　but　what　happens　in　a　few　days；　sometimes　even　a　single　day；　can　change　the　course　of　a　whole　lifetime；　Amir；　　he　said。
LYING　AWAKE　IN　BED　that　night；　I　thought　of　Soraya　Taheri　s　sickle…shaped　birthmark；　her　gently　hooked　nose；　and　the　way　her　luminous　eyes　had　fleetingly　held　mine。　My　heart　stuttered　at　the　thought　of　her。　Soraya　Taheri。　My　Swap　Meet　Princess。
TWELVE
In　Afghanistan；　_yelda_　is　the　first　night　of　the　month　of　_Jadi_；　the　first　night　of　winter；　and　the　longest　night　of　the　year。　As　was　the　tradition；　Hassan　and　I　used　to　stay　up　late；　our　feet　tucked　under　the　kursi；　while　Ali　tossed　apple　skin　into　the　stove　and　told　us　ancient　tales　of　sultans　and　thieves　to　pass　that　longest　of　nights。　It　was　from　Ali　that　I　learned　the　lore　of　_yelda_；　that　bedeviled　moths　flung　themselves　at　candle　flames；　and　wolves　climbed　mountains　looking　for　the　sun。　Ali　swore　that　if　you　ate　water　melon　the　night　of　_yelda_；　you　wouldn　t　get　thirsty　the　ing　summer。
When　I　was　older；　I　read　in　my　poetry　books　that　_yelda_　was　the　starless　night　tormented　lovers　kept　vigil；　enduring　the　endless　dark；　waiting　for　the　sun　to　rise　and　bring　with　it　their　loved　one。　After　I　met　Soraya　Taheri；　every　night　of　the　week　became　a　_yelda_　for　me。　And　when　Sunday　mornings　came；　I　rose　from　bed；　Soraya　Taheri　s　brown…eyed　face　already　in　my　head。　In　Baba　s　bus；　I　counted　the　miles　until　I　d　see　her　sitting　barefoot；　arranging　cardboard　boxes　of　yellowed　encyclopedias；　her　heels　white　against　the　asphalt；　silver　bracelets　jingling　around　her　slender　wrists。　I　d　think　of　the　shadow　her　hair　cast　on　the　ground　when　it　slid　off　her　back　and　hung　down　like　a　velvet　curtain。　Soraya。　Swap　Meet　Princess。　The　morning　sun　to　my　yelda。
I　invented　excuses　to　stroll　down　the　aisle……which　Baba　acknowledged　with　a　playful　smirk……and　pass　the　Taheris　　stand。　I　would　wave　at　the　general；　perpetually　dressed　in　his　shiny　overpressed　gray　suit；　and　he　would　wave　back。　Sometimes　he　d　get　up　from　his　director　s　chair　and　we　d　make　small　talk　about　my　writing；　the　war；　the　day　s　bargains。　And　I　d　have　to　will　my　eyes　not　to　peel　awa