the kite runner-第87章

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in　Peshawar；　anyhow。　
Next　to　me；　Sohrab　was　flipping　through　the　pages　of　the　old　National　Geographic。
WE　GOT　THE　MONEY　from　the　bank。　The　manager；　a　paunchy　man　with　sweat　patches　under　his　arms；　kept　flashing　smiles　and　telling　me　that　no　one　in　the　bank　had　touched　the　money。
　Absolutely　nobody；　　he　said　gravely；　swinging　his　index　finger　the　same　way　Armand　had。
Driving　through　Peshawar　with　so　much　money　in　a　paper　bag　was　a　slightly　frightening　experience。　Plus；　I　suspected　every　bearded　man　who　stared　at　me　to　be　a　Talib　killer；　sent　by　Assef。　Two　things　pounded　my　fears：　There　are　a　lot　of　bearded　men　in　Peshawar；　and　everybody　stares。
　What　do　we　do　with　him？　　Farid　said；　walking　me　slowly　from　the　hospital　accounting　office　back　to　the　car。　Sohrab　was　in　the　backseat　of　the　Land　Cruiser；　looking　at　traffic　through　the　rolled…down　window；　chin　resting　on　his　palms。
　He　can　t　stay　in　Peshawar；　　I　said；　panting。
　Nay；　Amir　agha；　he　can　t；　　Farid　said。　He　d　read　the　question　in　my　words。　　I　m　sorry。　I　wish　I……　
　That　s　all　right；　Farid；　　I　said。　I　managed　a　tired　smile。　　You　have　mouths　to　feed。　　A　dog　was　standing　next　to　the　truck　now；　propped　on　its　rear　legs；　paws　on　the　truck　s　door；　tail　wagging。　Sohrab　was　petting　the　dog。　　I　guess　he　goes　to　Islamabad　for　now；　　I　said。
I　SLEPT　THROUGH　almost　the　entire　four…hour　ride　to　Islamabad。　I　dreamed　a　lot；　and　most　of　it　I　only　remember　as　a　hodge　podge　of　images；　snippets　of　visual　memory　flashing　in　my　head　like　cards　in　a　Rolodex：　Baba　marinating　lamb　for　my　thirteenth　birthday　party。　Soraya　and　I　making　love　for　the　first　time；　the　sun　rising　in　the　east；　our　ears　still　ringing　from　the　wedding　music；　her　henna…painted　hands　laced　in　mine。　The　time　Baba　had　taken　Hassan　and　me　to　a　strawberry　field　in　Jalalabad……the　owner　had　told　us　we　could　eat　as　much　as　we　wanted　to　as　long　as　we　bought　at　least　four　kilos……and　how　we　d　both　ended　up　with　bellyaches。　How　dark；　almost　black；　Hassan　s　blood　had　looked　on　the　snow；　dropping　from　the　seat　of　his　pants。　Blood　is　a　powerful　thing；　bachem。　Khala　Jamila　patting　Soraya　s　knee　and　saying；　God　knows　best；　maybe　it　wasn　t　meant　to　be。　Sleeping　on　the　roof　of　my　father　s　house。　Baba　saying　that　the　only　sin　that　mattered　was　theft。　When　you　tell　a　lie；　you　steal　a　man　s　right　to　the　truth。　Rahim　Khan　on　the　phone；　telling　me　there　was　a　way　to　be　good　again。　A　way　to　be　good　again。。。
TWENTY…FOUR
If　Peshawar　was　the　city　that　reminded　me　of　what　Kabul　used　to　be；　then　Islamabad　was　the　city　Kabul　could　have　bee　someday。　The　streets　were　wider　than　Peshawar　s；　cleaner；　and　lined　with　rows　of　hibiscus　and　flame　trees。　The　bazaars　were　more　organized　and　not　nearly　as　clogged　with　rickshaws　and　pedestrians。　The　architecture　was　more　elegant　too；　more　modern；　and　I　saw　parks　where　roses　and　jasmine　bloomed　in　the　shadows　of　trees。
Farid　found　a　small　hotel　on　a　side　street　running　along　the　foot　of　the　Margalla　Hills。　We　passed　the　famous　Shah　Faisal　Mosque　on　the　way　there；　reputedly　the　biggest　mosque　in　the　world；　with　its　giant　concrete　girders　and　soaring　minarets。　Sohrab　perked　up　at　the　sight　of　the　mosque；　leaned　out　of　the　window　and　looked　at　it　until　Farid　turned　a　corner。
THE　HOTEL　ROOM　was　a　vast　improvement　over　the　one　in　Kabul　where　Farid　and　I　had　stayed。　The　sheets　were　clean；　the　carpet　vacuumed；　and　the　bathroom　spotless。　There　was　shampoo；　soap；　razors　for　shaving；　a　bathtub；　and　towels　that　smelled　like　lemon。　And　no　bloodstains　on　the　walls。　One　other　thing：　a　television　set　sat　on　the　dresser　across　from　the　two　single　beds。
　Look！　　I　said　to　Sohrab。　I　turned　it　on　manually……no　remote……and　turned　the　dial。　I　found　a　children　s　show　with　two　fluffy　sheep　puppets　singing　in　Urdu。　Sohrab　sat　on　one　of　the　beds　and　drew　his　knees　to　his　chest。　Images　from　the
TV　reflected　in　his　green　eyes　as　he　watched；　stone…faced；　rocking　back　and　forth。　I　remembered　the　time　I　d　promised　Hassan　I　d　buy　his　family　a　color　TV　when　we　both　grew　up。
　I　ll　get　going；　Amir　agha；　　Farid　said。
　Stay　the　night；　　I　said。　　It　s　a　long　drive。　Leave　tomorrow。　
　Tashakor；　　he　said。　　But　I　want　to　get　back　tonight。　I　miss　my　children。　　On　his　way　out　of　the　room；　he　paused　in　the　doorway。　　Good…bye；　Sohrab　jan；　　he　said。　He　waited　for　a　reply；　but　Sohrab　paid　him　no　attention。　Just　rocked　back　and　forth；　his　face　lit　by　the　silver　glow　of　the　images　flickering　across　the　screen。
Outside；　I　gave　him　an　envelope。　When　he　tore　it；　his　mouth　opened。
　I　didn　t　know　how　to　thank　you；　　I　said。　　You　ve　done　so　much　for　me。　
　How　much　is　in　here？　　Farid　said；　slightly　dazed。
　A　little　over　two　thousand　dollars。　
　Two　thou……　　he　began。　His　lower　lip　was　quivering　a　little。　Later；　when　he　pulled　away　from　the　curb；　he　honked　twice　and　waved。　I　waved　back。　I　never　saw　him　again。
I　returned　to　the　hotel　room　and　found　Sohrab　lying　on　the　bed；　curled　up　in　a　big　C。　His　eyes　were　closed　but　I　couldn　t　tell　if　he　was　sleeping。　He　had　shut　off　the　television。　I　sat　on　my　bed　and　grimaced　with　pain；　wiped　the　cool　sweat　off　my　brow。　I　wondered　how　much　longer　it　would　hurt　to　get　up；　sit　down；　roll　over　in　bed。　I　wondered　when　I　d　be　able　to　eat　solid　food。　I　wondered　what　I　d　do　with　the　wounded　little　boy　lying　on　the　bed；　though　a　part　of　me　already　knew。
There　was　a　carafe　of　water　on　the　dresser。　I　poured　a　glass　and　took　two　of　Armand　s　pain　pills。　The　water　was　warm　and　bitter。　I　pulled　the　curtains；　eased　myself　back　on　the　bed；　and　lay　down。　I　thought　my　chest　would　rip　open。　When　the　pain　dropped　a　notch　and　I　could　breathe　again；　I　pulled　the　blanket　to　my　chest　and　wai