the kite runner-第69章

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t。　He　had　bee　much　chattier　since　our　overnight　stay　at　Wahid　s　house。　He　had　me　sit　in　the　passenger　seat　and　looked　at　me　when　he　spoke。　He　even　smiled　once　or　twice。　Maneuvering　the　steering　wheel　with　his　mangled　hand；　he　pointed　to　mud…hut　villages　along　the　way　where　he　d　known　people　years　before。　Most　of　those　people；　he　said；　were　either　dead　or　in　refugee　camps　in　Pakistan。　　And　sometimes　the　dead　are　luckier；　　he　said。
He　pointed　to　the　crumbled；　charred　remains　of　a　tiny　village。　It　was　just　a　tuft　of　blackened；　roofless　walls　now。　I　saw　a　dog　sleeping　along　one　of　the　walls。　　I　had　a　friend　there　once；　　Farid　said。　　He　was　a　very　good　bicycle　repairman。　He　played　the　tabla　well　too。　The　Taliban　killed　him　and　his　family　and　burned　the　village。　
We　drove　past　the　burned　village；　and　the　dog　didn　t　move。
IN　THE　OLD　DAYS；　the　drive　from　Jalalabad　to　Kabul　took　two　hours；　maybe　a　little　more。　It　took　Farid　and　me　over　four　hours　to　reach　Kabul。　And　when　we　did。。。　Farid　warned　me　just　after　we　passed　the　Mahipar　dam。
　Kabul　is　not　the　way　you　remember　it；　　he　said。
　So　I　hear。　
Farid　gave　me　a　look　that　said　hearing　is　not　the　same　as　seeing。　And　he　was　right。　Because　when　Kabul　finally　did　unroll　before　us；　I　was　certain；　absolutely　certain；　that　he　had　taken　a　wrong　turn　somewhere。　Farid　must　have　seen　my　stupefied　expression；　shuttling　people　back　and　forth　to　Kabul；　he　would　have　bee　familiar　with　that　expression　on　the　faces　of　those　who　hadn　t　seen　Kabul　for　a　long　time。
He　patted　me　on　the　shoulder。　　Wele　back；　　he　said　morosely。
RUBBLE　AND　BEGGARS。　Everywhere　I　looked；　that　was　what　I　saw。　I　remembered　beggars　in　the　old　days　too……Baba　always　carried　an　extra　handful　of　Afghani　bills　in　his　pocket　just　for　them；　I　d　never　seen　him　deny　a　peddler。　Now；　though；　they　squatted　at　every　street　corner；　dressed　in　shredded　burlap　rags；　mud…caked　hands　held　out　for　a　coin。　And　the　beggars　were　mostly　children　now；　thin　and　grim…faced；　some　no　older　than　five　or　six。　They　sat　in　the　laps　of　their　burqa…clad　mothers　alongside　gutters　at　busy　street　corners　and　chanted　　Bakhshesh；　bakhshesh！　　And　something　else；　something　I　hadn　t　noticed　right　away：　Hardly　any　of　them　sat　with　an　adult　male……the　wars　had　made　fathers　a　rare　modity　in　Afghanistan。
We　were　driving　westbound　toward　the　Karteh…Seh　district　on　what　I　remembered　as　a　major　thoroughfare　in　the　seventies：
Jadeh　Maywand。　Just　north　of　us　was　the　bone…dry　Kabul　River。　On　the　hills　to　the　south　stood　the　broken　old　city　wall。　Just　east　of　it　was　the　Bala　Hissar　Fort……the　ancient　citadel　that　the　warlord　Dostum　had　occupied　in　1992……on　the　Shirdarwaza　mountain　range；　the　same　mountains　from　which　Mujahedin　forces　had　showered　Kabul　with　rockets　between　1992　and　1996；　inflicting　much　of　the　damage　I　was　witnessing　now。　The　Shirdarwaza　range　stretched　all　the　way　west。　It　was　from　those　mountains　that　I　remember　the　firing　of　the　Topeh　chasht；　the　　noon　cannon。　　It　went　off　every　day　to　announce　noontime；　and　also　to　signal　the　end　of　daylight　fasting　during　the　month　of　Ramadan。　You　d　hear　the　roar　of　that　cannon　all　through　the　city　in　those　days。
　I　used　to　e　here　to　Jadeh　Maywand　when　I　was　a　kid；　　I　mumbled。　　There　used　to　be　shops　here　and　hotels。　Neon　lights
and　restaurants。　I　used　to　buy　kites　from　an　old　man　named　Saifo。　He　ran　a　little　kite　shop　by　the　old　police　headquarters。　
　The　police　headquarters　is　still　there；　　Farid　said。　　No　shortage　of　police　in　this　city　But　you　won　t　find　kites　or　kite　shops　on　Jadeh　Maywand　or　anywhere　else　in　Kabul。　Those　days　are　over。　
Jadeh　Maywand　had　turned　into　a　giant　sand　castle。　The　buildings　that　hadn　t　entirely　collapsed　barely　stood；　with　caved　in　roofs　and　walls　pierced　with　rockets　shells。　Entire　blocks　had　been　obliterated　to　rubble。　I　saw　a　bullet…pocked　sign　half　buried　at　an　angle　in　a　heap　of　debris。　It　read　DRINK　COCA　CO……。　I　saw　children　playing　in　the　ruins　of　a　windowless　building　amid　jagged　stumps　of　brick　and　stone。　Bicycle　riders　and　mule…drawn　carts　swerved　around　kids；　stray　dogs；　and　piles　of　debris。　A　haze　of　dust　hovered　over　the　city　and；　across　the　river；　a　single　plume　of　smoke　rose　to　the　sky。
　Where　are　the　trees？　　I　said。
　People　cut　them　down　for　firewood　in　the　winter；　　Farid　said。　　The　Shorawi　cut　a　lot　of　them　down　too。　
　Why？　
　Snipers　used　to　hide　in　them。　
A　sadness　came　over　me。　Returning　to　Kabul　was　like　running　into　an　old；　forgotten　friend　and　seeing　that　life　hadn　t　been　good　to　him；　that　he　d　bee　homeless　and　destitute。
　My　father　built　an　orphanage　in　Shar…e…Kohna；　the　old　city；　south　of　here；　　I　said。
　I　remember　it；　　Farid　said。　　It　was　destroyed　a　few　years　ago。　
　Can　you　pull　over？　　I　said。　　I　want　to　take　a　quick　walk　here。　
Farid　parked　along　the　curb　on　a　small　backstreet　next　to　a　ramshackle；　abandoned　building　with　no　door。　　That　used　to　be　a　pharmacy；　　Farid　muttered　as　we　exited　the　truck。　We　walked　back　to　Jadeh　Maywand　and　turned　right；　heading　west。　　What　s　that　smell？　　I　said。　Something　was　making　my　eyes　water。
　Diesel；　　Farid　replied。　　The　city　s　generators　are　always　going　down；　so　electricity　is　unreliable；　and　people　use　diesel　fuel。　
　Diesel。　Remember　what　this　street　smelled　like　in　the　old　days？　
Farid　smiled。　　Kabob。　
　Lamb　kabob；　　I　said。
　Lamb；　　Farid　said；　tasting　the　word　in　his　mouth。　　The　only　people　in　Kabul　who　get　to　eat　lamb　now　are　the　Taliban。　　He　pulled　on　my　sleeve。　　Speaking　of　which。。。　
A　vehicle　was　approaching　us。　　Beard　Patrol；　　Farid　murmured。
That　was　the　first　time　I　saw　the　Taliban。　I　d　seen　them　on　TV　on　the　Internet；　on　the　cover　of　magazines；　an