the kite runner-第108部分

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ght；　listening　to　my　shoe　heels　clicking　on　the　tiles；　thinking　of　what　I　would　say　to　Sohrab　when　he　woke　up。　I　d　end　up　back　in　the　ICU；　by　the　whooshing　ventilator　beside　his　bed；　and　I　d　be　no　closer　to　knowing。
After　three　days　in　the　ICU；　they　withdrew　the　breathing　tube　and　transferred　him　to　a　ground…level　bed。　I　wasn　t　there　when　they　moved　him。　I　had　gone　back　to　the　hotel　that　night　to　get　some　sleep　and　ended　up　tossing　around　in　bed　all　night。　In　the　morning；　I　tried　to　not　look　at　the　bathtub。　It　was　clean　now；　someone　had　wiped　off　the　blood；　spread　new　floor　mats　on　the　floor；　and　scrubbed　the　walls。　But　I　couldn　t　stop　myself　from　sitting　on　its　cool；　porcelain　edge。　I　pictured　Sohrab　filling　it　with　warm　water。　Saw　him　undressing。　Saw　him　twisting　the　razor　handle　and　opening　the　twin　safety　latches　on　the　head；　sliding　the　blade　out；　holding　it　between　his　thumb　and　forefinger。　I　pictured　him　lowering　himself　into　the　water；　lying　there　for　a　while；　his　eyes　closed。　I　wondered　what　his　last　thought　had　been　as　he　had　raised　the　blade　and　brought　it　down。
I　was　exiting　the　lobby　when　the　hotel　manager；　Mr。　Fayyaz；　caught　up　with　me。　　I　am　very　sorry　for　you；　　he　said；　　but　I　am　asking　for　you　to　leave　my　hotel；　please。　This　is　bad　for　my　business；　very　bad。　
I　told　him　I　understood　and　I　checked　out。　He　didn　t　charge　me　for　the　three　days　I　d　spent　at　the　hospital。　Waiting　for　a　cab　outside　the　hotel　lobby；　I　thought　about　what　Mr。　Fayyaz　had　said　to　me　that　night　we　d　gone　looking　for　Sohrab：　The　thing　about　you　Afghanis　is　that。。。　well；　you　people　are　a　little　reckless。　I　had　laughed　at　him；　but　now　I　wondered。　Had　I　actually　gone　to　sleep　after　I　had　given　Sohrab　the　news　he　feared　most？
When　I　got　in　the　cab；　I　asked　the　driver　if　he　knew　any　Persian　bookstores。　He　said　there　was　one　a　couple　of　kilometers　south。　We　stopped　there　on　the　way　to　the　hospital。
SOHRAB　S　NEW　ROOM　had　cream…colored　walls；　chipped；　dark　gray　moldings；　and　glazed　tiles　that　might　have　once　been　white。　He　shared　the　room　with　a　teenaged　Punjabi　boy　who；　I　later　learned　from　one　of　the　nurses；　had　broken　his　leg　when
he　had　slipped　off　the　roof　of　a　moving　bus。　His　leg　was　in　a　cast；　raised　and　held　bytongs　strapped　to　several　weights。
Sohrab　s　bed　was　next　to　the　window；　the　lower　half　lit　by　the　late…morning　sunlight　streaming　through　the　rectangular　panes。　A　uniformed　security　guard　was　standing　at　the　window；　munching　on　cooked　watermelon　seeds……Sohrab　was　under　twenty…four　hours…a…day　suicide　watch。　Hospital　protocol；　Dr。　Nawaz　had　informed　me。　The　guard　tipped　his　hat　when　he　saw　me　and　left　the　room。
Sohrab　was　wearing　short…sleeved　hospital　pajamas　and　lying　on　his　back；　blanket　pulled　to　his　chest；　face　turned　to　the　window。　I　thought　he　was　sleeping；　but　when　I　scooted　a　chair　up　to　his　bed　his　eyelids　fluttered　and　opened。　He　looked　at　me；　then　looked　away。　He　was　so　pale；　even　with　all　the　blood　they　had　given　him；　and　there　was　a　large　purple　bruise　in　the　crease　of　his　right　arm。
　How　are　you？　　I　said。
He　didn　t　answer。　He　was　looking　through　the　window　at　a　fenced…in　sandbox　and　swing　set　in　the　hospital　garden。　There　was　an　arch…shaped　trellis　near　the　playground；　in　the　shadow　of　a　row　of　hibiscus　trees；　a　few　green　vines　climbing　up　the　timber　lattice。　A　handful　of　kids　were　playing　with　buckets　and　pails　in　the　sand　box。　The　sky　was　a　cloudless　blue　that　day；　and　I　saw　a　tiny　jet　leaving　behind　twin　white　trails。　I　turned　back　to　Sohrab。　　I　spoke　to　Dr。　Nawaz　a　few　minutes　ago　and　he　thinks　you　ll　be　discharged　in　a　couple　of　days。　That　s　good　news；　nay？　
Again　I　was　met　by　silence。　The　Punjabi　boy　at　the　other　end　of　the　room　stirred　in　his　sleep　and　moaned　something。　　I　like　your　room；　　I　said；　trying　not　to　look　at　Sohrab　s　bandaged　wrists。　　It　s　bright；　and　you　have　a　view。　　Silence。　A　few　more　awkward　minutes　passed；　and　a　light　sweat　formed　on　my　brow；　my　upper　lip。　I　pointed　to　the　untouched　bowl　of　green　pea　aush　on　his　nightstand；　the　unused　plastic　spoon。　　You　should　try　to　eat　some　thing。　Gain　your　quwat　back；　your　strength。　Do　you　want　me　to　help　you？　
He　held　my　glance；　then　looked　away；　his　face　set　like　stone。　His　eyes　were　still　lightless；　I　saw；　vacant；　the　way　I　had　found　them　when　I　had　pulled　him　out　of　the　bathtub。　I　reached　into　the　paper　bag　between　my　feet　and　took　out　the　used　copy　of　the　Shah　namah　I　had　bought　at　the　Persian　bookstore。　I　turned　the　cover　so　it　faced　Sohrab。　　I　used　to　read　this　to　your　father　when　we　were　children。　We　d　go　up　the　hill　by　our　house　and　sit　beneath　the　pomegranate。。。　　I　trailed　off。　Sohrab　was　looking　through　the　window　again。　I　forced　a　smile。　　Your　father　s　favorite　was　the　story　of　Rostam　and　Sohrab　and　that　s　how　you　got　your　name；　I　know　you　know　that。　　I　paused；　feeling　a　bit　like　an　idiot。　　Any　way；　he　said　in　his　letter　that　it　was　your　favorite　too；　so　I　thought　I　d　read　you　some　of　it。　Would　you　like　that？　
Sohrab　closed　his　eyes。　Covered　them　with　his　arm；　the　one　with　the　bruise。
I　flipped　to　the　page　I　had　bent　in　the　taxicab。　　Here　we　go；　　I　said；　wondering　for　the　first　tim