the kite runner-第80章

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　Good。　I　ll　tell　you；　　he　said。　　I　spent　some　time　in　jail；　at　Poleh…Charkhi；　just　after　Babrak　Karmal　took　over　in　1980。　I　ended　up　there　one　night；　when　a　group　of　Parc　hami　soldiers　marched　into　our　house　and　ordered　my　father　and　me　at　gun　point　to　follow　them。　The　bastards　didn　t　give　a　reason；　and　they　wouldn　t　answer　my　mother　s　questions。　Not　that　it　was　a　mys　tery；　everyone　knew　the　munists　had　no　class。　They　came　from　poor　families　with　no　name。　The　same　dogs　who　weren　t　fit　to　lick　my　shoes　before　the　Shorawi　came　were　now　ordering　me　at　gunpoint；　Parchami　flag　on　their　lapels；　making　their　little　point　about　the　fall　of　the　bourgeoisie　and　acting　like　they　were　the　ones　with　class。　It　was　happening　all　over：　Round　up　the　rich；　throw　them　in　jail；　make　an　example　for　the　rades。
　Anyway；　we　were　crammed　in　groups　of　six　in　these　tiny　cells　each　the　size　of　a　refrigerator。　Every　night　the　mandant；　a　haif…Hazara；　half…Uzbek　thing　who　smelled　like　a　rotting　donkey；　would　have　one　of　the　prisoners　dragged　out　of　the　cell　and　he　d　beat　him　until　sweat　poured　from　his　fat　face。　Then　he　d　light　a　cigarette；　crack　his　joints；　and　leave。　The　next　night；　he　d　pick　someone　else。　One　night；　he　picked　me。　It　couldn　t　have　e　at　a　worse　time。　I　d　been　peeing　blood　for　three　days。　Kidney　stones。　And　if　you　ve　never　had　one；　believe　me　when　I　say　it　s　the　worst　imaginable　pain。　My　mother　used　to　get　them　too；　and　I　remember　she　told　me　once　she　d　rather　give　birth　than　pass　a　kidney　stone。　Anyway；　what　could　I　do？　They　dragged　me　out　and　he　started　kick　ing　me。　He　had　knee…high　boots　with　steel　toes　that　he　wore　every　night　for　his　little　kicking　game；　and　he　used　them　on　me。　I　was　screaming　and　screaming　and　he　kept　kicking　me　and　then；　suddenly；　he　kicked　me　on　the　left　kidney　and　the　stone　passed。　Just　like　that！　Oh；　the　relief！　　Assef　laughed。　　And　I　yelled　　Allah…u　akbar　　and　he　kicked　me　even　harder　and　I　started　laughing。　He　got　mad　and　hit　me　harder；　and　the　harder　he　kicked　me；　the　harder　I　laughed。　They　threw　me　back　in　the　cell　laughing。　I　kept　laughing　and　laughing　because　suddenly　I　knew　that　had　been　a　message　from　God：　He　was　on　my　side。　He　wanted　me　to　live　for　a　reason。
　You　know；　I　ran　into　that　mandant　on　the　battlefield　a　few　years　later……funny　how　God　works。　I　found　him　in　a　trench　just　outside　Meymanah；　bleeding　from　a　piece　of　shrapnel　in　his　chest。　He　was　still　wearing　those　same　boots。　I　asked　him　if　he　remembered　me。　He　said　no。　I　told　him　the　same　thing　I　just　told　you；　that　I　never　forget　a　face。　Then　I　shot　him　in　the　balls。　I　ve　been　on　a　mission　since。　
　What　mission　is　that？　　I　heard　myself　say。　　Stoning　adulterers？　Raping　children？　Flogging　women　for　wearing　high　heels？　Massacring　Hazaras？　All　in　the　name　of　Islam？　　The　words　spilled　suddenly　and　unexpectedly；　came　out　before　I　could　yank　the　leash。　I　wished　I　could　take　them　back。　Swallow　them。　But　they　were　out。　I　had　crossed　a　line；　and　whatever　little　hope　I　had　of　getting　out　alive　had　vanished　with　those　words。
A　look　of　surprise　passed　across　Assef　s　face；　briefly；　and　disappeared。　　I　see　this　may　turn　out　to　be　enjoyable　after　all；　　he　said；　snickering。　　But　there　are　things　traitors　like　you　don　t　understand。　
　Like　what？　
Assef　s　brow　twitched。　　Like　pride　in　your　people；　your　customs；　your　language。　Afghanistan　is　like　a　beautiful　mansion　littered　with　garbage；　and　someone　has　to　take　out　the　garbage。　
　That　s　what　you　were　doing　in　Mazar；　going　door…to…door？　Taking　out　the　garbage？　
　Precisely。　
　In　the　west；　they　have　an　expression　for　that；　　I　said。　　They　call　it　ethnic　cleansing。　
　Do　they？　　Assef　s　face　brightened。　　Ethnic　cleansing。　I　like　it。　I　like　the　sound　of　it。　
　All　I　want　is　the　boy。　
　Ethnic　cleansing；　　Assef　murmured；　tasting　the　words。
　I　want　the　boy；　　I　said　again。　Sohrab　s　eyes　flicked　to　me。　They　were　slaughter　sheep　s　eyes。　They　even　had　the　mascara……I　remembered　how；　on　the　day　of　Eid　of　qorban；　the　mullah　in　our　backyard　used　to　apply　mascara　to　the　eyes　of　the　sheep　and　feed　it　a　cube　of　sugar　before　slicing　its　throat。　I　thought　I　saw　pleading　in　Sohrab　s　eyes。
　Tell　me　why；　　Assef　said。　He　pinched　Sohrab　s　earlobe　between　his　teeth。　Let　go。　Sweat　beads　rolled　down　his　brow。
　That　s　my　business。　
　What　do　you　want　to　do　with　him？　　he　said。　Then　a　coy　smile。　　Or　to　him。　
　That　s　disgusting；　　I　said。
　How　would　you　know？　Have　you　tried　it？　
　I　want　to　take　him　to　a　better　place。　
　Tell　me　why。　
　That　s　my　business；　　I　said。　I　didn　t　know　what　had　emboldened　me　to　be　so　curt；　maybe　the　fact　that　I　thought　I　was　going　to　die　anyway。
　I　wonder；　　Assef　said。　　I　wonder　why　you　ve　e　all　this　way；　Amir；　e　all　this　way　for　a　Hazara？　Why　are　you　here？　Why　are　you　really　here？　
　I　have　my　reasons；　　I　said。
　Very　well　then；　　Assef　said；　sneering。　He　shoved　Sohrab　in　the　back；　pushed　him　right　into　the　table。　Sohrab　s　hips　struck　the　table；　knocking　it　upside　down　and　spilling　the　grapes。　He　fell　on　them；　face　first；　and　stained　his　shirt　purple　with　grape　juice。　The
table　s　legs；　crossing　through　the　ring　of　brass　balls；　were　now　pointing　to　the　ceiling。
　Take　him；　then；　　Assef　said。　I　helped　Sohrab　to　his　feet；　swat　ted　the　bits　of　crushed　grape　that　had　stuck　to　his　pants　like　bar　nacles　to　a　pier。
　Go；　take　him；　　Assef　said；　pointing　to　the　door。
I　took　Sohrab　s　hand。　It　was　small；　the　skin　dry　and　calloused。　His　fingers　moved；　laced　themselves　with　mine。　I　saw　Sohrab　in　that　Polaroid　again；　the　way　his　arm　was　wrapped　around　Hassan　s　leg；　his　head　resting　against　his　father　s　hip。　They　d　both　been　smiling。　The　bells　jingled　as　we　crossed　the　roo