the kite runner-第5章

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re　with　a　pencil。　I　bit　into　my　egg　and　asked　Baba　if　it　was　true　what　a　boy　in　school　had　told　me；　that　if　you　ate　a　piece　of　eggshell；　you　d　have　to　pee　it　out。　Baba　grunted　again。
I　took　a　bite　of　my　sandwich。　One　of　the　yellow…haired　tourists　laughed　and　slapped　the　other　one　on　the　back。　In　the　distance；　across　the　lake；　a　truck　lumbered　around　a　corner　on　the　hill。　Sunlight　twinkled　in　its　side…view　mirror。
　I　think　I　have　_saratan_；　　I　said。　Cancer。　Baba　lifted　his　head　from　the　pages　flapping　in　the　breeze。　Told　me　I　could　get　the　soda　myself；　all　I　had　to　do　was　look　in　the　trunk　of　the　car。
Outside　the　orphanage；　the　next　day；　they　ran　out　of　chairs。　A　lot　of　people　had　to　stand　to　watch　the　opening　ceremony。　It　was　a　windy　day；　and　I　sat　behind　Baba　on　the　little　podium　just　outside　the　main　entrance　of　the　new　building。　Baba　was　wearing　a　green　suit　and　a　caracul　hat。　Midway　through　the　speech；　the　wind　knocked　his　hat　off　and　everyone　laughed。　He　motioned　to　me　to　hold　his　hat　for　him　and　I　was　glad　to；　because　then　everyone　would　see　that　he　was　my　father；　my　Baba。　He　turned　back　to　the　microphone　and　said　he　hoped　the　building　was　sturdier　than　his　hat；　and　everyone　laughed　again。　When　Baba　ended　his　speech；　people　stood　up　and　cheered。　They　clapped　for　a　long　time。　Afterward；　people　shook　his　hand。　Some　of　them　tousled　my　hair　and　shook　my　hand　too。　I　was　so　proud　of　Baba；　of　us。
But　despite　Baba　s　successes；　people　were　always　doubting　him。　They　told　Baba　that　running　a　business　wasn　t　in　his　blood　and　he　should　study　law　like　his　father。　So　Baba　proved　them　all　wrong　by　not　only　running　his　own　business　but　being　one　of　the　richest　merchants　in　Kabul。　Baba　and　Rahim　Khan　built　a　wildly　successful　carpet…exporting　business；　two　pharmacies；　and　a　restaurant。
When　people　scoffed　that　Baba　would　never　marry　well……after　all；　he　was　not　of　royal　blood……he　wedded　my　mother；　Sofia　Akrami；　a　highly　educated　woman　universally　regarded　as　one　of　Kabul　s　most　respected；　beautiful；　and　virtuous　ladies。　And　not　only　did　she　teach　classic　Farsi　literature　at　the　university　she　was　a　descendant　of　the　royal　family；　a　fact　that　my　father　playfully　rubbed　in　the　skeptics　　faces　by　referring　to　her　as　　my　princess。　
With　me　as　the　glaring　exception；　my　father　molded　the　world　around　him　to　his　liking。　The　problem；　of　course；　was　that　Baba　saw　the　world　in　black　and　white。　And　he　got　to　decide　what　was　black　and　what　was　white。　You　can　t　love　a　person　who　lives　that　way　without　fearing　him　too。　Maybe　even　hating　him　a　little。
When　I　was　in　fifth　grade；　we　had　a　mullah　who　taught　us　about　Islam。　His　name　was　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan；　a　short；　stubby　man　with　a　face　full　of　acne　scars　and　a　gruff　voice。　He　lectured　us　about　the　virtues　of　_zakat_　and　the　duty　of　_hadj_；　he　taught　us　the　intricacies　of　performing　the　five　daily　_namaz_　prayers；　and　made　us　memorize　verses　from　the　Koran……and　though　he　never　translated　the　words　for　us；　he　did　stress；　sometimes　with　the　help　of　a　stripped　willow　branch；　that　we　had　to　pronounce　the　Arabic　words　correctly　so　God　would　hear　us　better。　He　told　us　one　day　that　Islam　considered　drinking　a　terrible　sin；　those　who　drank　would　answer　for　their　sin　on　the　day　of　_Qiyamat_；　Judgment　Day。　In　those　days；　drinking　was　fairly　mon　in　Kabul。　No　one　gave　you　a　public　lashing　for　it；　but　those　Afghans　who　did　drink　did　so　in　private；　out　of　respect。　People　bought　their　scotch　as　　medicine　　in　brown　paper
bags　from　selected　　pharmacies。　　They　would　leave　with　the　bag　tucked　out　of　sight；　sometimes　drawing　furtive；　disapproving　glances　from　those　who　knew　about　the　store　s　reputation　for　such　transactions。
We　were　upstairs　in　Baba　s　study；　the　smoking　room；　when　I　told　him　what　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan　had　taught　us　in　class。　Baba　was　pouring　himself　a　whiskey　from　the　bar　he　had　built　in　the　corner　of　the　room。　He　listened；　nodded；　took　a　sip　from　his　drink。　Then　he　lowered　himself　into　the　leather　sofa；　put　down　his　drink；　and　propped　me　up　on　his　lap。　I　felt　as　if　I　were　sitting　on　a　pair　of　tree　trunks。　He　took　a　deep　breath　and　exhaled　through　his　nose；　the　air　hissing　through　his　mustache　for　what　seemed　an　eternity　I　couldn　t　decide　whether　I　wanted　to　hug　him　or　leap　from　his　lap　in　mortal　fear。
　I　see　you　ve　confused　what　you　re　learning　in　school　with　actual　education；　　he　said　in　his　thick　voice。
　But　if　what　he　said　is　true　then　does　it　make　you　a　sinner；　Baba？　
　Hmm。　　Baba　crushed　an　ice　cube　between　his　teeth。　　Do　you　want　to　know　what　your　father　thinks　about　sin？　
　Yes。　
　Then　I　ll　tell　you；　　Baba　said；　　but　first　understand　this　and　understand　it　now；　Amir：　You　ll　never　learn　anything　of　value　from　those　bearded　idiots。　
　You　mean　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan？　
Baba　gestured　with　his　glass。　The　ice　clinked。　　I　mean　all　of　them。　Piss　on　the　beards　of　all　those　self…righteous　monkeys。　
I　began　to　giggle。　The　image　of　Baba　pissing　on　the　beard　of　any　monkey；　self…righteous　or　otherwise；　was　too　much。
　They　do　nothing　but　thumb　their　prayer　beads　and　recite　a　book　written　in　a　tongue　they　don　t　even　understand。　　He　took　a　sip。　　God　help　us　all　if　Afghanistan　ever　falls　into　their　hands。　
　But　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan　seems　nice；　　I　managed　between　bursts　of　tittering。
　So　did　Genghis　Khan；　　Baba　said。　　But　enough　about　that。　You　asked　about　sin　and　I　want　to　tell　you。　Are　you　listening？　
　Yes；　　I　said；　pressing　my　lips　together。　But　a　chortle　escaped　through　my　nose　and　made　a　snorting　sound。　That　got　me　giggling　again。
Baba　s　stony　eyes　bore　into　mine　and；　just　like　that；　I　wasn　t　laughing　anymore。　　I　mean　to　speak　to　you　man　to　ma