the kite runner-第66章

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　intended。
　After　twenty　years　of　living　in　America；　　he　said；　swerving　the　truck　to　avoid　a　pothole　the　size　of　a　beach　ball。
I　nodded。　　I　grew　up　in　Afghanistan。　　Farid　snickered　again。
　Why　do　you　do　that？　
　Never　mind；　　he　murmured。
　No；　I　want　to　know。　Why　do　you　do　that？　
In　his　rearview　mirror；　I　saw　something　flash　in　his　eyes。　　You　want　to　know？　　he　sneered。　　Let　me　imagine；　Agha　sahib。　You　probably　lived　in　a　big　two…　or　three…story　house　with　a　nice　back　yard　that　your　gardener　filled　with　flowers　and　fruit　trees。　All　gated；　of　course。　Your　father　drove　an　American　car。　You　had　servants；　probably　Hazaras。　Your　parents　hired　workers　to　decorate　the　house　for　the　fancy　mehmanis　they　threw；　so　their　friends　would　e　over　to　drink　and　boast　about　their　travels　to　Europe　or　America。　And　I　would　bet　my　first　son　s　eyes　that　this　is　the　first　time　you　ve　ever　worn　a　pakol。　　He　grinned　at　me；　revealing　a　mouthful　of　prematurely　rotting　teeth。　　Am　I　close？　
　Why　are　you　saying　these　things？　　I　said。
　Because　you　wanted　to　know；　　he　spat。　He　pointed　to　an　old　man　dressed　in　ragged　clothes　trudging　down　a　dirt　path；　a　large　burlap　pack　filled　with　scrub　grass　tied　to　his　back。　　That　s　the　real　Afghanistan；　Agha　sahib。　That　s　the　Afghanistan　I　know。　You？　You　ve　always　been　a　tourist　here；　you　just　didn　t　know　it。　
Rahim　Khan　had　warned　me　not　to　expect　a　warm　wele　in　Afghanistan　from　those　who　had　stayed　behind　and　fought　the　wars。　　I　m　sorry　about　your　father；　　I　said。　　I　m　sorry　about　your　daughters；　and　I　m　sorry　about　your　hand。　
　That　means　nothing　to　me；　　he　said。　He　shook　his　head。　　Why　are　you　ing　back　here　anyway？　Sell　off　your　Baba　s　land？　Pocket　the　money　and　run　back　to　your　mother　in　America？　
　My　mother　died　giving　birth　to　me；　　I　said。
He　sighed　and　lit　another　cigarette。　Said　nothing。
　Pull　over。　
　What？　
　Pull　over；　goddamn　it！　　I　said。　　I　m　going　to　be　sick。　　I　tumbled　out　of　the　truck　as　it　was　ing　to　a　rest　on　the　gravel　alongside　the　road。
BY　LATE　AFTERNOON；　the　terrain　had　changed　from　one　of　sun…beaten　peaks　and　barren　cliffs　to　a　greener；　more　rural　land　scape。　The　main　pass　had　descended　from　Landi　Kotal　through　Shinwari　territory　to　Landi　Khana。　We　d　entered　Afghanistan　at　Torkham。　Pine　trees　flanked　the　road；　fewer　than　I　remembered　and　many　of　them　bare；　but　it　was　good　to　see　trees　again　after　the　arduous　drive　through　the　Khyber　Pass。　We　were　getting　closer　to　Jalalabad；　where　Farid　had　a　brother　who　would　take　us　in　for　the　night。
The　sun　hadn　t　quite　set　when　we　drove　into　Jalalabad；　capital　of　the　state　of　Nangarhar；　a　city　once　renowned　for　its　fruit　and　warm　climate。　Farid　drove　past　the　buildings　and　stone　houses　of　the　city　s　central　district。　There　weren　t　as　many　palm　trees　there　as　I　remembered；　and　some　of　the　homes　had　been　reduced　to　roofless　walls　and　piles　of　twisted　clay。
Farid　turned　onto　a　narrow　unpaved　road　and　parked　the　Land　Cruiser　along　a　dried…up　gutter。　I　slid　out　of　the　truck；　stretched；　and　took　a　deep　breath。　In　the　old　days；　the　winds　swept　through　the　irrigated　plains　around　Jalalabad　where　farmers　grew　sugarcane；　and　impregnated　the　city　s　air　with　a　sweet　scent。　I　closed　my　eyes　and　searched　for　the　sweetness。　I　didn　t　find　it。
　Let　s　go；　　Farid　said　impatiently。　We　walked　up　the　dirt　road　past　a　few　leafless　poplars　along　a　row　of　broken　mud　walls。　Farid　led　me　to　a　dilapidated　one…story　house　and　knocked　on　the　woodplank　door。
A　young　woman　with　ocean…green　eyes　and　a　white　scarf　draped　around　her　face　peeked　out。　She　saw　me　first；　flinched；　spotted　Farid　and　her　eyes　lit　up。　　Salaam　alaykum；　Kaka　Farid！　
　Salaam；　Maryam　jan；　　Farid　replied　and　gave　her　something　he　d　denied　me　all　day：　a　warm　smile。　He　planted　a　kiss　on　the　top　of　her　head。　The　young　woman　stepped　out　of　the　way；　eyeing　me　a　little　apprehensively　as　I　followed　Farid　into　the　small　house。
The　adobe　ceiling　was　low；　the　dirt　walls　entirely　bare；　and　the　only　light　came　from　a　pair　of　lanterns　set　in　a　corner。　We　took　off　our　shoes　and　stepped　on　the　straw　mat　that　covered　the　floor。　Along　one　of　the　walls　sat　three　young　boys；　cross…legged；　on　a　mattress　covered　with　a　blanket　with　shredded　borders。
A　tall　bearded　man　with　broad　shoulders　stood　up　to　greet　us。　Farid　and　he　hugged　and　kissed　on　the　cheek。　Farid　introduced　him　to　me　as　Wahid；　his　older　brother。　　He　s　from　America；　　he　said　to　Wahid；　flicking　his　thumb　toward　me。　He　left　us　alone　and　went　to　greet　the　boys。
Wahid　sat　with　me　against　the　wall　across　from　the　boys；　who　had　ambushed　Farid　and　climbed　his　shoulders。　Despite　my　protests；　Wahid　ordered　one　of　the　boys　to　fetch　another　blanket　so　I　d　be　more　fortable　on　the　floor；　and　asked　Maryam　to　bring　me　some　tea。　He　asked　about　the　ride　from　Peshawar；　the　drive　over　the　Khyber　Pass。
　I　hope　you　didn　t　e　across　any　dozds；　　he　said。　The　Khyber　Pass　was　as　famous　for　its　terrain　as　for　the　bandits　who　used　that　terrain　to　rob　travelers。　Before　I　could　answer；　he　winked　and　said　in　a　loud　voice；　　Of　course　no　dozd　would　waste　his　time　on　a　car　as　ugly　as　my　brother　s。　
Farid　wrestled　the　smallest　of　the　three　boys　to　the　floor　and　tickled　him　on　the　ribs　with　his　good　hand。　The　kid　giggled　and　kicked。　　At　least　I　have　a　car；　　Farid　panted。　　How　is　your　donkey　these　days？　
　My　donkey　is　a　better　ride　than　your　car。　
　Khar　khara　mishnassah；　　Farid　shot　back。　Takes　a　donkey　to　know　a　donkey。　They　all　laughed　and　I　joined　in。　I　heard　female　voices　from　the　adjoining　room。　I　could　see　half　of　the　room　from　where　I　sat。　Maryam　and　an　older　woman　wearing　a　brown　hijab……presumably　her　mother……were　speaking　in　low　voices