the kite runner-第83章

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eyes　bug　out。　She　wears　green　too　and　her　hands　are　soft。　She　sees　me　looking　at　her　and　smiles。　Says　something　in　English。　Something　is　jabbing　at　the　side　of　my　chest。
I　fade　out。
A　MAN　IS　STANDING　at　my　bedside。　I　know　him。　He　is　dark　and　lanky；　has　a　long　beard。　He　wears　a　hat……what　are　those　hats　called？　Pakols？　Wears　it　tilted　to　one　side　like　a　famous　person　whose　name　escapes　me　now。　I　know　this　man。　He　drove　me　somewhere　a　few　years　ago。　I　know　him。　There　is　something　wrong　with　my　mouth。　I　hear　a　bubbling　sound。
I　fade　out。
MY　RIGHT　ARM　BURNS。　The　woman　with　the　bifocals　and　sun…shaped　stud　is　hunched　over　my　arm；　attaching　a　clear　plastic　tubing　to　it。　She　says　it　s　　the　Potassium。　　　It　stings　like　a　bee；　no？　　she　says。　It　does。　What　s　her　name？　Something　to　do　with　a　prophet。　I　know　her　too　from　a　few　years　ago。　She　used　to　wear　her　hair　in　a　ponytail。　Now　it　s　pulled　back；　tied　in　a　bun。　Soraya
wore　her　hair　like　that　the　first　time　we　spoke。　When　was　that？　Last　week？
Aisha！　Yes。
There　is　something　wrong　with　my　mouth。　And　that　thing　jab　bing　at　my　chest。
I　fade　out。
WE　ARE　IN　THE　SULAIMAN　MOUNTAINS　of　Baluchistan　and　Baba　is　wrestling　the　black　bear。　He　is　the　Baba　of　my　child　hood；　_Toophan　agha_；　the　towering　specimen　of　Pashtun　might；　not　the　withered　man　under　the　blankets；　the　man　with　the　sunken　cheeks　and　hollow　eyes。　They　roll　over　a　patch　of　green　grass；　man　and　beast；　Baba　s　curly　brown　hair　flying。　The　bear　roars；　or　maybe　it　s　Baba。　Spittle　and　blood　fly；　claw　and　hand　swipe。　They　fall　to　the　ground　with　a　loud　thud　and　Baba　is　sitting　on　the　bear　s　chest；　his　fingers　digging　in　its　snout。　He　looks　up　at　me　and　I　see。　He　s　me。　I　am　wrestling　the　bear。
I　wake　up。　The　lanky　dark　man　is　back　at　my　bedside。　His　name　is　Farid；　I　remember　now。　And　with　him　is　the　child　from　the　car。　His　face　reminds　me　of　the　sound　of　bells。　I　am　thirsty。
I　fade　out。
I　keep　fading　in　and　out。
THE　NAME　OF　THE　MAN　with　the　Clark　Gable　mustache　turned　out　to　be　Dr。　Faruqi。　He　wasn　t　a　soap　opera　star　at　all；　but　a　head…and…neck　surgeon；　though　I　kept　thinking　of　him　as　some　one　named　Armand　in　some　steamy　soap　set　on　a　tropical　island。
Where　am　I？　I　wanted　to　ask。　But　my　mouth　wouldn　t　open。　I　frowned。　Grunted。　Armand　smiled；　his　teeth　were　blinding　white。
　Not　yet；　Amir；　　he　said；　　but　soon。　When　the　wires　are　out。　　He　spoke　English　with　a　thick；　rolling　Urdu　accent。
Wires？
Armand　crossed　his　arms；　he　had　hairy　forearms　and　wore　a　gold　wedding　band。　　You　must　be　wondering　where　you　are；　what　happened　to　you。　That　s　perfectly　normal；　the　postsurgical　state　is　always　disorienting。　So　I　ll　tell　you　what　I　know。　
I　wanted　to　ask　him　about　the　wires。　Postsurgical？　Where　was　Aisha？　I　wanted　her　to　smile　at　me；　wanted　her　soft　hands　in　mine。
Armand　frowned；　cocked　one　eyebrow　in　a　slightly　selfimportant　way。　　You　are　in　a　hospital　in　Peshawar。　You　ve　been　here　two　days。　You　have　suffered　some　very　significant　injuries；　Amir；　I　should　tell　you。　I　would　say　you　re　very　lucky　to　be　alive；　my　friend。　　He　swayed　his　index　finger　back　and　forth　like　a　pendu　lum　when　he　said　this。　　Your　spleen　had　ruptured；　probably……and　fortunately　for　you……a　delayed　rupture；　because　you　had　signs　of　early　hemorrhage　into　your　abdominal　cavity　My　colleagues　from　the　general　surgery　unit　had　to　perform　an　emergency　splenec　tomy。　If　it　had　ruptured　earlier；　you　would　have　bled　to　death。　　He　patted　me　on　the　arm；　the　one　with　the　IV；　and　smiled。　　You　also　suffered　seven　broken　ribs。　One　of　them　caused　a　pneumothorax。　
I　frowned。　Tried　to　open　my　mouth。　Remembered　about　the　wires。
　That　means　a　punctured　lung；　　Armand　explained。　He　tugged　at　a　clear　plastic　tubing　on　my　left　side。　I　felt　the　jabbing　again　in　my　chest。　　We　sealed　the　leak　with　this　chest　tube。　　I　followed　the　tube　poking　through　bandages　on　my　chest　to　a　container　halffilled　with　columns　of　water。　The　bubbling　sound　came　from　there。
　You　had　also　suffered　various　lacerations。　That　means　　cuts。　　I　wanted　to　tell　him　I　knew　what　the　word　meant；　I　was　a　writer。　I　went　to　open　my　mouth。　Forgot　about　the　wires　again。
　The　worst　laceration　was　on　your　upper　lip；　　Armand　said。　　The　impact　had　cut　your　upper　lip　in　two；　clean　down　the　mid　dle。　But　not　to　worry；　the　plastics　guys　sewed　it　back　together　and　they　think　you　will　have　an　excellent　result；　though　there　will　be　a　scar。　That　is　unavoidable。
　There　was　also　an　orbital　fracture　on　the　left　side；　that　s　the　eye　socket　bone；　and　we　had　to　fix　that　too。　The　wires　in　your　jaws　will　e　out　in　about　six　weeks；　　Armand　said。　　Until　then　it　s　liq　uids　and　shakes。　You　will　lose　some　weight　and　you　will　be　talking　like　Al　Pacino　from　the　first　Godfather
movie　for　a　little　while。　　He　laughed。　　But　you　have　a　job　to　do　today。　Do　you　know　what　it　is？　
I　shook　my　head。
　Your　job　today　is　to　pass　gas。　You　do　that　and　we　can　start　feeding　you　liquids。　No　fart；　no　food。　　He　laughed　again。
Later；　after　Aisha　changed　the　IV　tubing　and　raised　the　head　of　the　bed　like　I　d　asked；　I　thought　about　what　had　happened　to　me。　Ruptured　spleen。　Broken　teeth。　Punctured　lung。　Busted　eye　socket。　But　as　I　watched　a　pigeon　peck　at　a　bread　crumb　on　the　windowsill；　I　kept　thinking　of　something　else　Armand/Dr。　Faruqi　had　said：　The　impact　had　cut　your　upper　lip　in　two；　he　had　said；　clean　down　the　middle。　Clean　down　the　middle。　Like　a　harelip。
FARID　AND　SOHRAB　came　to　visit　the　next　day。　　Do　you　know　who　we　are　today？　Do　you　remember？　　Farid　said；　only　half…jokingly。　I　nodded。
　Al　hamdullellah！　　he　said；　beaming。　　No　more　talking　non　sense。　
　Thank　you；　Farid；　　I　said　through　jaws　wired　shut。　Armand　was