the kite runner-第21部分

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ts；　their　friends。　But　they　all　knew　the　best　was　yet　to　e。　The　biggest　prize　of　all　was　still　flying。　I　sliced　a　bright　yellow　kite　with　a　coiled　white　tail。　It　cost　me　another　gash　on　the　　index　finger　and　blood　trickled　down　into　my　palm。　I　had　Hassan　hold　the　string　and　sucked　the　blood　dry；　blotted　my　finger　against　my　jeans。
Within　another　hour；　the　number　of　surviving　kites　dwindled　from　maybe　fifty　to　a　dozen。　I　was　one　of　them。　I　d　made　it　to　the　last　dozen。　I　knew　this　part　of　the　tournament　would　take　a　while；　because　the　guys　who　had　lasted　this　long
were　good……they　wouldn　t　easily　fall　into　simple　traps　like　the　old　lift…and…dive；　Hassan　s　favorite　trick。
By　three　o　clock　that　afternoon；　tufts　of　clouds　had　drifted　in　and　the　sun　had　slipped　behind　them。　Shadows　started　to　lengthen。　The　spectators　on　the　roofs　bundled　up　in　scarves　and　thick　coats。　We　were　down　to　a　half　dozen　and　I　was　still　flying。　My　legs　ached　and　my　neck　was　stiff。　But　with　each　defeated　kite；　　hope　grew　in　my　heart；　like　snow　collecting　on　a　wall；　one　flake　at　a　time。
My　eyes　kept　returning　to　a　blue　kite　that　had　been　wreaking　havoc　for　the　last　hour。
　How　many　has　he　cut？　　I　asked。
　I　counted　eleven；　　Hassan　said。
　Do　you　know　whose　it　might　be？　
Hassan　clucked　his　tongue　and　tipped　his　chin。　That　was　a　trademark　Hassan　gesture；　meant　he　had　no　idea。　The　blue　kite　sliced　a　big　purple　one　and　swept　twice　in　big　loops。　Ten　minutes　later；　he　d　cut　another　two；　sending　hordes　of　kite　runners　racing　after　them。
After　another　thirty　minutes；　only　four　kites　remained。　And　I　was　still　flying。　It　seemed　I　could　hardly　make　a　wrong　move；　as　if　every　gust　of　wind　blew　in　my　favor。　I　d　never　felt　so　in　mand；　so　lucky　It　felt　intoxicating。　I　didn　t　dare　look　up　to　the　roof。　Didn　t　dare　take　my　eyes　off　the　sky。　I　had　to　concentrate；　play　it　smart。　Another　fifteen　minutes　and　what　had　seemed　like　a　laughable　dream　that　morning　had　suddenly　bee　reality：　It　was　just　me　and　the　other　guy。　The　blue　kite。
The　tension　in　the　air　was　as　taut　as　the　glass　string　I　was　tugging　with　my　bloody　hands。　People　were　stomping　their　feet；　clapping；　whistling；　chanting；　　Boboresh！　Boboresh！　　Cut　him！　Cut　him！　I　wondered　if　Baba　s　voice　was　one　of　them。　Music　blasted。　The　smell　of　steamed　mantu　and　fried　pakora　drifted　from　rooftops　and　open　doors。
But　all　I　heard……all　I　willed　myself　to　hear……was　the　thudding　of　blood　in　my　head。　All　I　saw　was　the　blue　kite。　All　I　smelled　was　victory。　Salvation。　Redemption。　If　Baba　was　wrong　and　there　was　a　God　like　they　said　in　school；　then　He　d　let　me　win。　I　didn　t　know　what　the　other　guy　was　playing　for；　maybe　just　bragging　rights。　But　this　was　my　one　chance　to　bee　someone　who　was　looked　at；　not　seen；　listened　to；　not　heard。　If　there　was　a　God；　He　d　guide　the　winds；　let　them　blow　for　me　so　that；　with　a　tug　of　my　string；　I　d　cut　loose　my　pain；　my　longing。　I　d　endured　too　much；　e　too　far。　And　suddenly；　just　like　that；　hope　became　knowledge。　I　was　going　to　win。　It　was　just　a　matter　of　when。
It　turned　out　to　be　sooner　than　later。　A　gust　of　wind　lifted　my　kite　and　I　took　advantage。　Fed　the　string；　pulled　up。　Looped　my　kite　on　top　of　the　blue　one。　I　held　position。　The　blue　kite　knew　it　was　in　trouble。　It　was　trying　desperately　to　maneuver　out　of　the　jam；　but　I　didn　t　let　go。　I　held　position。　The　crowd　sensed　the　end　was　at　hand。　The　chorus　of　　Cut　him！　Cut　him！　　grew　louder；　like　Romans　chanting　for　the　gladiators　to　kill；　kill！
　You　re　almost　there；　Amir　agha！　Almost　there！　　Hassan　was　panting。
Then　the　moment　came。　I　closed　my　eyes　and　loosened　my　grip　on　the　string。　It　sliced　my　fingers　again　as　the　wind　dragged　it。　And　then。。。　I　didn　t　need　to　hear　the　crowd　s　roar　to　know　I　didn　t　need　to　see　either。　Hassan　was　screaming　and　his　arm　was　wrapped　around　my　neck。
　Bravo！　Bravo；　Amir　agha！　
I　opened　my　eyes；　saw　the　blue　kite　spinning　wildly　like　a　tire　e　loose　from　a　speeding　car。　I　blinked；　tried　to　say　something。　Nothing　came　out。　Suddenly　I　was　hovering；　looking　down　on　myself　from　above。　Black　leather　coat；　red　scarf；　faded　jeans。　A　thin　boy；　a　little　sallow；　and　a　tad　short　for　his　twelve　years。　He　had　narrow　shoulders　and　a　hint　of　dark　circles　around　his　pale　hazel　eyes。　The　breeze　rustled　his　light　brown　hair。　He　looked　up　to　me　and　we　smiled　at　each　other。
Then　I　was　screaming；　and　everything　was　color　and　sound；　everything　was　alive　and　good。　I　was　throwing　my　free　arm　around　Hassan　and　we　were　hopping　up　and　down；　both　of　us　laughing；　both　of　us　weeping。　　You　won；　Amir　agha！　You　won！　
　We　won！　We　won！　　was　all　I　could　say。　This　wasn　t　happening。　In　a　moment；　I　d　blink　and　rouse　from　this　beautiful　dream；　get　out　of　bed；　march　down　to　the　kitchen　to　eat　breakfast　with　no　one　to　talk　to　but　Hassan。　Get　dressed。　Wait　for　Baba。　Give　up。　Back　to　my　old　life。　Then　I　saw　Baba　on　our　roof。　He　was　standing　on　the　edge；　pumping　both　of　his　fists。　Hollering　and　clapping。　And　that　right　there　was　the　single　greatest　moment　of　my　twelve　years　of　life；　seeing　Baba　on　that　roof；　proud　of　me　at　last。
But　he　was　doing　something　now；　motioning　with　his　hands　in　an　urgent　wa