the kite runner-第25部分

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　whimper。　He　moved　his　head　slightly　and　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　his　face。　Saw　the　resignation　in　it。　It　was　a　look　I　had　seen　before。　It　was　the　look　of　the　lamb。
TOMORROW　IS　THE　TENTH　DAY　of　Dhul…Hijjah；　the　last　month　of　the　Muslim　calendar；　and　the　first　of　three　days　of　Eid　AlAdha；　or　Eid…e…Qorban；　as　Afghans　call　it……a　day　to　celebrate　how　the　prophet　Ibrahim　almost　sacrificed　his　own　son　for　God。　Baba　has　handpicked　the　sheep　again　this　year；　a　powder　white　one　with　crooked　black　ears。
We　all　stand　in　the　backyard；　Hassan；　Ali；　Baba；　and　I。　The　mullah　recites　the　prayer；　rubs　his　beard。　Baba　mutters；　Get　on　with　it；　under　his　breath。　He　sounds　annoyed　with　the　endless　praying；　the　ritual　of　making　the　meat　halal。　Baba　mocks　the　story　behind　this　Eid；　like　he　mocks　everything　religious。　But　he　respects　the　tradition　of　Eid…e…Qorban。　The　custom　is　to　divide　the　meat　in　thirds；　one　for　the　family；　one　for　friends；　and　one　for　the　poor。　Every　year；　Baba　gives　it　all　to　the　poor。　The　rich　are　fat　enough　already；　he　says。
The　mullah　finishes　the　prayer。　Ameen。　He　picks　up　the　kitchen　knife　with　the　long　blade。　The　custom　is　to　not　let　the　sheep　see　the　knife。　All　feeds　the　animal　a　cube　of　sugar……another　custom；　to　make　death　sweeter。　The　sheep　kicks；　but　not　much。　The　mullah　grabs　it　under　its　jaw　and　places　the　blade　on　its　neck。　Just　a　second　before　he　slices　the　throat　in　one　expert　motion；　I　see　the　sheep　s　eyes。　It　is　a　look　that　will　haunt　my　dreams　for　weeks。　I　don　t　know　why　I　watch　this　yearly　ritual　in　our　backyard；　my　nightmares　persist　long　after　the　bloodstains　on　the　grass　have　faded。　But　I　always　watch。　I　watch　because　of　that　look　of　acceptance　in　the　animal　s　eyes。　Absurdly；　I　imagine　the　animal　understands。　I　imagine　the　animal　sees　that　its　imminent　demise　is　for　a　higher　purpose。　This　is　the　look。。。
I　STOPPED　WATCHING；　turned　away　from　the　alley。　Something　warm　was　running　down　my　wrist。　I　blinked；　saw　I　was　still　biting　down　on　my　fist；　hard　enough　to　draw　blood　from　the　knuckles。　I　realized　something　else。　I　was　weeping。　From　just　around　the　corner；　I　could　hear　Assef　s　quick；　rhythmic　grunts。
I　had　one　last　chance　to　make　a　decision。　One　final　opportunity　to　decide　who　I　was　going　to　be。　I　could　step　into　that　alley；　stand　up　for　Hassan……the　way　he　d　stood　up　for　me　all　those　times　in　the　past……and　accept　whatever　would　happen　to　me。　Or　I　could　run。
In　the　end；　I　ran。
I　ran　because　I　was　a　coward。　I　was　afraid　of　Assef　and　what　he　would　do　to　me。　I　was　afraid　of　getting　hurt。　That　s　what　I　told　myself　as　I　turned　my　back　to　the　alley；　to　Hassan。　That　s　what　I　made　myself　believe。　I　actually　aspired　to
cowardice；　because　the　alternative；　the　real　reason　I　was　running；　was　that　Assef　was　right：　Nothing　was　free　in　this　world。　Maybe　Hassan　was　the　price　I　had　to　pay；　the　lamb　I　had　to　slay；　to　win　Baba。　Was　it　a　fair　price？　The　answer　floated　to　my　conscious　mind　before　I　could　thwart　it：　He　was　just　a　Hazara；　wasn　t　he？
I　ran　back　the　way　I　d　e。　Ran　back　to　the　all　but　deserted　bazaar。　I　lurched　to　a　cubicle　and　leaned　against　the　padlocked　swinging　doors。　I　stood　there　panting；　sweating；　wishing　things　had　turned　out　some　other　way。
About　fifteen　minutes　later；　I　heard　voices　and　running　footfalls。　I　crouched　behind　the　cubicle　and　watched　Assef　and　the　other　two　sprinting　by；　laughing　as　they　hurried　down　the　deserted
lane。　I　forced　myself　to　wait　ten　more　minutes。　Then　I　walked　back　to　the　rutted　track　that　ran　along　the　snow…filled　ravine。　I　squinted　in　the　dimming　light　and　spotted　Hassan　walking　slowly　toward　me。　I　met　him　by　a　leafless　birch　tree　on　the　edge　of　the　ravine。
He　had　the　blue　kite　in　his　hands；　that　was　the　first　thing　I　saw。　And　I　can　t　lie　now　and　say　my　eyes　didn　t　scan　it　for　any　rips。　His　chapan　had　mud　smudges　down　the　front　and　his　shirt　was　ripped　just　below　the　collar。　He　stopped。　Swayed　on　his　feet　like　he　was　going　to　collapse。　Then　he　steadied　himself。　Handed　me　the　kite。
　Where　were　you？　I　looked　for　you；　　I　said。　Speaking　those　words　was　like　chewing　on　a　rock。
Hassan　dragged　a　sleeve　across　his　face；　wiped　snot　and　tears。　I　waited　for　him　to　say　something；　but　we　just　stood　there　in　silence；　in　the　fading　light。　I　was　grateful　for　the　early…evening　shadows　that　fell　on　Hassan　s　face　and　concealed　mine。　I　was　glad　I　didn　t　have　to　return　his　gaze。　Did　he　know　I　knew？　And　if　he　knew；　then　what　would　I　see　if　I　did　look　in　his　eyes？　Blame？　Indignation？　Or；　God　forbid；　what　I　feared　most：　guileless　devotion？　That；　most　of　all；　I　couldn　t　bear　to　see。
He　began　to　say　something　and　his　voice　cracked。　He　closed　his　mouth；　opened　it；　and　closed　it　again。　Took　a　step　back。　Wiped　his　face。　And　that　was　as　close　as　Hassan　and　I　ever　came　to　discussing　what　had　happened　in　the　alley。　I　thought　he　might　burst　into　tears；　but；　to　my　relief；　he　didn　t；　and　I　pretended　I　hadn　t　heard　the　crack　in　his　voice。　Just　like　I　pretended　I　hadn　t　seen　the　dark　stain　in　the　seat　of　his　pants。　Or　those　tiny　drops　that　fell　from　between　his　legs　and　stained　the　snow　black。
　Agha　sahib　will　worry；　　was　all　he　said。　He　turned　from　m