the kite runner-第96章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


I　carried　him　to　his　bed；　set　him　down。　Then　I　lay　in　my　own　bed；　looking　out　the　window　at　the　purple　sky　over　Islamabad。
THE　SKY　WAS　A　DEEP　BLACK　when　the　phone　jolted　me　from　sleep。　I　rubbed　my　eyes　and　turned　on　the　bedside　lamp。　It　was　a　little　past　10：30　P。M。；　I　d　been　sleeping　for　almost　three　hours。　I　picked　up　the　phone。　　Hello？　
　Call　from　America。　　Mr。　Fayyaz　s　bored　voice。
　Thank　you；　　I　said。　The　bathroom　light　was　on；　Sohrab　was　taking　his　nightly　bath。　A　couple　of　clicks　and　then　Soraya：
　Salaam！　　She　sounded　excited。
　How　did　the　meeting　go　with　the　lawyer？　
I　told　her　what　Omar　Faisal　had　suggested。　　Well；　you　can　forget　about　it；　　she　said。　　We　won　t　have　to　do　that。　
I　sat　up。　　Rawsti？　Why；　what　s　up？　
　I　heard　back　from　Kaka　Sharif。　He　said　the　key　was　getting　Sohrab　into　the　country。　Once　he　s　in；　there　are　ways　of　keeping　him　here。　So　he　made　a　few　calls　to　his　INS　friends。　He　called　me　back　tonight　and　said　he　was　almost　certain　he　could　get　Sohrab　a　humanitarian　visa。　
　No　kidding？　　I　said。　　Oh　thank　God！　Good　ol　　Sharifjan！　
　I　know。　Anyway；　we　ll　serve　as　the　sponsors。　It　should　all　happen　pretty　quickly。　He　said　the　visa　would　be　good　for　a　year；　plenty　of　time　to　apply　for　an　adoption　petition。　
　It　s　really　going　to　happen；　Soraya；　huh？　
　It　looks　like　it；　　she　said。　She　sounded　happy。　I　told　her　I　loved　her　and　she　said　she　loved　me　back。　I　hung　up。
　Sohrab！　　I　called；　rising　from　my　bed。　　I　have　great　news。　　I　knocked　on　the　bathroom　door。　　Sohrab！　Soraya　jan　just　called　from　California。　We　won　t　have　to　put　you　in　the　orphanage；　Sohrab。　We　re　going　to　America；　you　and　I。　Did　you　hear　me？　We　re　going　to　America！　
I　pushed　the　door　open。　Stepped　into　the　bathroom。
Suddenly　I　was　on　my　knees；　screaming。　Screaming　through　my　clenched　teeth。　Screaming　until　I　thought　my　throat　would　rip　and　my　chest　explode。
Later；　they　said　I　was　still　screaming　when　the　ambulance　arrived。
TWENTY…FIVE
They　won　t　let　me　in。
I　see　them　wheel　him　through　a　set　of　double　doors　and　I　follow。　I　burst　through　the　doors；　the　smell　of　iodine　and　peroxide　hits　me；　but　all　I　have　time　to　see　is　two　men　wearing　surgical　caps　and　a　woman　in　green　huddling　over　a　gurney。　A　white　sheet　spills　over　the　side　of　the　gurney　and　brushes　against　grimy　checkered　tiles。　A　pair　of　small；　bloody　feet　poke　out　from　under　the　sheet　and　I　see　that　the　big　toenail　on　the　left　foot　is　chipped。　Then　a　tall；　thickset　man　in　blue　presses　his　palm　against　my　chest　and　he　s　pushing　me　back　out　through　the　doors；　his　wedding　band　cold　on　my　skin。　I　shove　forward　and　I　curse　him；　but　he　says　you　cannot　be　here；　he　says　it　in　English；　his　voice　polite　but　firm。　　You　must　wait；　　he　says；　leading　me　back　to　the　waiting　area；　and　now　the　double　doors　swing　shut　behind　him　with　a　sigh　and　all　I　see　is　the　top　of　the　men　s　surgical　caps　through　the　doors　　narrow　rectangular　windows。
He　leaves　me　in　a　wide；　windowless　corridor　crammed　with　people　sitting　on　metallic　folding　chairs　set　along　the　walls；　others　on　the　thin　frayed　carpet。　I　want　to　scream　again；　and　I　remember　the　last　time　I　felt　this　way；　riding　with　Baba　in　the　tank　of　the　fuel　truck；　buried　in　the　dark　with　the　other　refugees。　I　want　to　tear　myself　from　this　place；　from　this　reality　rise　up　like　a　cloud　and　float　away；　melt　into　this　humid　summer　night　and　dissolve　somewhere　far；　over　the　hills。　But　I　am　here；　my　legs　blocks　of　concrete；　my　lungs　empty　of　air；　my　throat　burning。　There　will　be　no　floating　away。　There　will　be　no　other　reality　tonight。　I　close　my　eyes　and　my　nostrils　fill　with　the　smells　of　the　corridor；　sweat　and　ammonia；　rubbing　alcohol　and　curry。　On　the　ceiling；　moths　fling　themselves　at　the　dull　gray　light　tubes　running　the　length　of　the　corridor　and　I　hear　the　papery　flapping　of　their　wings。　I　hear　chatter；　muted　sobbing；　sniffling；　someone　moaning；　someone　else　sighing；　elevator　doors　opening　with　a　bing；　the　operator　paging　someone　in　Urdu。
I　open　my　eyes　again　and　I　know　what　I　have　to　do。　I　look　around；　my　heart　a　jackhammer　in　my　chest；　blood　thudding　in　my　ears。　There　is　a　dark　little　supply　room　to　my　left。　In　it；　I　find　what　I　need。　It　will　do。　I　grab　a　white　bedsheet　from　the　pile　of　folded　linens　and　carry　it　back　to　the　corridor。　I　see　a　nurse　talking　to　a　policeman　near　the　restroom。　I　take　the　nurse　s　elbow　and　pull；　I　want　to　know　which　way　is　west。　She　doesn　t　understand　and　the　lines　on　her　face　deepen　when　she　frowns。　My　throat　aches　and　my　eyes　sting　with　sweat；　each　breath　is　like　inhaling　fire；　and　I　think　I　am　weeping。　I　ask　again。　I　beg。　The　policeman　is　the　one　who　points。
I　throw　my　makeshift　_jai…namaz_；　my　prayer　rug；　on　the　floor　and　I　get　on　my　knees；　lower　my　forehead　to　the　ground；　my　tears　soaking　through　the　sheet。　I　bow　to　the　west。　Then　I　remember　I　haven　t　prayed　for　over　fifteen　years。　I　have　long　forgotten　the　words。　But　it　doesn　t　matter；　I　will　utter　those　few　words　I　still　remember：　？？La　iflaha　ii　Allah；　Muhammad　u　rasul　ullah。　There　is　no　God　but　Allah　and　Muhammad　is　His　messenger。　I　see　now　that　Baba　was　wrong；　there　is　a　God；　there　always　had　been。　I　see　Him　here；　in　the　eyes　of　the　people　in　this　corridor　of　desperation。　This　is　the　real　house　of　God；　this　is　where　those　who　have　lost　God　will　find　Him；　not　the　white　masjid　with　its　bright　diamond　lights　and　towering　minarets。　There　is　a　God；　there　has　to　be；　and　now　I　will　pray；　I　will　pray　that　He　forgive　that　I　have　neglected　Him　all　of　these　years；　forgive　that　I　have　betrayed；　lied；　and　sinned　with　impunity　only　to　turn　to　Him　now　in　my　hour　of　need；　I　pray　that　He　is　as　merciful；　benevolent；　and　graci