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the kite runner-第24部分
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fantasy and learn just how good of a friend he is。 Now; bas! Enough of this。 Give us that kite。
Hassan stooped and picked up a rock。
Assef flinched。 He began to take a step back; stopped。 Last chance; Hazara。
Hassan s answer was to cock the arm that held the rock。
Whatever you wish。 Assef unbuttoned his winter coat; took it off; folded it slowly and deliberately。 He placed it against the wall。
I opened my mouth; almost said something。 Almost。 The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had。 But I didn t。 I just watched。 Paralyzed。
Assef motioned with his hand; and the other two boys separated; forming a half circle; trapping Hassan in the alley。
I ve changed my mind; Assef said。 I m letting you keep the kite; Hazara。 I ll let you keep it so it will always remind you of what I m about to do。
Then he charged。 Hassan hurled the rock。 It struck Assef in the forehead。 Assef yelped as he flung himself at Hassan; knocking him to the ground。 Wall and Kamal followed。
I bit on my fist。 Shut my eyes。
A MEMORY:
Did you know Hassan and you fed from the same breast? Did you know that; Amir agha? Sakina; her name was。 She was a fair; blue…eyed Hazara woman from Bamiyan and she sang you old wedding songs。 They say there is a brotherhood between people who ve fed from the same breast。 Did you know that?
A memory:
A rupia each; children。 Just one rupia each and I will part the curtain of truth。 The old man sits against a mud wall。 His sightless eyes are like molten silver embedded in deep; twin craters。
Hunched over his cane; the fortune…teller runs a gnarled hand across the surface of his deflated cheeks。 Cups it before us。 Not much to ask for the truth; is it; a rupia each? Hassan drops a coin in the leathery palm。 I drop mine too。 In the name of Allah most beneficent; most merciful; the old fortune…teller whispers。 He takes Hassan s hand first; strokes the palm with one hornlike fingernail; round and round; round and round。 The finger then floats to Hassan s face and makes a dry; scratchy sound as it slowly traces the curve of his cheeks; the outline of his ears。 The calloused pads of his fingers brush against Hassan s eyes。 The hand stops there。 Lingers。 A shadow passes across the old man s face。 Hassan and I exchange a glance。 The old man takes Hassan s hand and puts the rupia back in Hassan s palm。 He turns to me。 How about you; young friend? he says。 On the other side of the wall; a rooster crows。 The old man reaches for my hand and I withdraw it。
A dream:
I am lost in a snowstorm。 The wind shrieks; blows stinging sheets of snow into my eyes。 I stagger through layers of shifting white。 I call for help but the wind drowns my cries。 I fall and lie panting on the snow; lost in the white; the wind wailing in my ears。 I watch the snow erase my fresh footprints。 I m a ghost now; I think; a ghost with no footprints。 I cry out again; hope fading like my footprints。 But this time; a muffled reply。 I shield my eyes and manage to sit up。 Out of the swaying curtains of snow; I catch a glimpse of movement; a flurry of color。 A familiar shape materializes。 A hand reaches out for me。 I see deep; parallel gashes across the palm; blood dripping; staining the snow。 I take the hand and suddenly the snow is gone。 We re standing in afield of apple green grass with soft wisps of clouds drifting above。 I look up and see the clear sky is filled with kites; green; yellow; red; orange。 They shimmer in the afternoon light。
A HAVOC OF SCRAP AND RUBBLE littered the alley。 Worn bicycle tires; bottles with peeled labels; ripped up magazines; yellowed newspapers; all scattered amid a pile of bricks and slabs of cement。 A rusted cast…iron stove with a gaping hole on its side tilted against a wall。 But there were two things amid the garbage that I couldn t stop looking at: One was the blue kite resting against the wall; close to the cast…iron stove; the other was Hassan s brown corduroy pants thrown on a heap of eroded bricks。
I don t know; Wali was saying。 My father says it s sinful。 He sounded unsure; excited; scared; all at the same time。 Hassan lay with his chest pinned to the ground。 Kamal and Wali each gripped an arm; twisted and bent at the elbow so that Hassan s hands were pressed to his back。 Assef was standing over them; the heel of his snow boots crushing the back of Hassan s neck。
Your father won t find out; Assef said。 And there s nothing sinful about teaching a lesson to a disrespectful donkey。
I don t know; Wali muttered。
Suit yourself; Assef said。 He turned to Kamal。 What about you?
I。。。 well。。。
It s just a Hazara; Assef said。 But Kamal kept looking away。
Fine; Assef snapped。 All I want you weaklings to do is hold him down。 Can you manage that?
Wali and Kamal nodded。 They looked relieved。
Assef knelt behind Hassan; put his hands on Hassan s hips and lifted his bare buttocks。 He kept one hand on Hassan s back and undid his own belt buckle with his free hand。 He unzipped his jeans。 Dropped his underwear。 He positioned himself behind Hassan。 Hassan didn t struggle。 Didn t even whimper。 He moved his head slightly and I caught
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