the kite runner-第28部分

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　through　the　window。
　I　watched　Hassan　get　raped；　　I　said　to　no　one。　Baba　stirred　in　his　sleep。　Kaka　Homayoun　grunted。　A　part　of　me　was　hoping　someone　would　wake　up　and　hear；　so　I　wouldn　t　have　to　live　with　this　lie　anymore。　But　no　one　woke　up　and　in　the　silence　that　followed；　I　understood　the　nature　of　my　new　curse：　I　was　going　to　get　away　with　it。
I　thought　about　Hassan　s　dream；　the　one　about　us　swimming　in　the　lake。　There　is　no　monster；　he　d　said；　just　water。　Except　he　d　been　wrong　about　that。　There　was　a　monster　in　the　lake。　It　had　grabbed　Hassan　by　the　ankles；　dragged　him　to　the　murky　bottom。　I　was　that　monster。
That　was　the　night　I　became　an　insomniac。
I　DIDN　T　SPEAK　TO　HASSAN　until　the　middle　of　the　next　week。　I　had　just　half…eaten　my　lunch　and　Hassan　was　doing　the　dishes。　I　was　walking　upstairs；　going　to　my　room；　when　Hassan　asked　if　I　wanted　to　hike　up　the　hill。　I　said　I　was　tired。　Hassan　looked　tired　too……he　d　lost　weight　and　gray　circles　had　formed　under　his　puffed…up　eyes。　But　when　he　asked　again；　I　reluctantly　agreed。
We　trekked　up　the　hill；　our　boots　squishing　in　the　muddy　snow。　Neither　one　of　us　said　anything。　We　sat　under　our　pomegranate　tree　and　I　knew　I　d　made　a　mistake。　I　shouldn　t　have　e　up　the　hill。　The　words　I　d　carved　on　the　tree　trunk　with　Ali　s　kitchen　knife；　Amir　and　Hassan：　The　Sultans　of　Kabul。。。　I　couldn　t　stand　looking　at　them　now。
He　asked　me　to　read　to　him　from　the　_Shahnamah_　and　I　told　him　I　d　changed　my　mind。　Told　him　I　just　wanted　to　go　back　to　my　room。　He　looked　away　and　shrugged。　We　walked　back　down　the　way　we　d　gone　up　in　silence。　And　for　the　first　time　in　my　life；　I　couldn　t　wait　for　spring。
MY　MEMORY　OF　THE　REST　of　that　winter　of　1975　is　pretty　hazy。　I　remember　I　was　fairly　happy　when　Baba　was　home。　We　d　eat　together；　go　to　see　a　film；　visit　Kaka　Homayoun　or　Kaka　Faruq。　Sometimes　Rahim　Khan　came　over　and　Baba　let　me　sit　in　his　study　and　sip　tea　with　them。　He　d　even　have　me　read　him　some　of　my　stories。　It　was　good　and　I　even　believed　it　would　last。　And　Baba　believed　it　too；　I　think。　We　both　should　have　known　better。　For　at　least　a　few　months　after　the　kite　tournament；　Baba　and　I　immersed　ourselves　in　a　sweet　illusion；　saw　each　other　in　a　way　that　we　never　had　before。　We　d　actually　deceived　ourselves　into　thinking　that　a　toy　made　of　tissue　paper；　glue；　and　bamboo　could　somehow　close　the　chasm　between　us。
But　when　Baba　was　out……and　he　was　out　a　lot……I　closed　myself　in　my　room。　I　read　a　book　every　couple　of　days；　wrote　sto　ries；　learned　to　draw　horses。　I　d　hear
Hassan　shuffling　around　the　kitchen　in　the　morning；　hear　the　clinking　of　silverware；　the　whistle　of　the　teapot。　I　d　wait　to　hear　the　door　shut　and　only　then　I　would　walk　down　to　eat。　On　my　calendar；　I　circled　the　date　of　the　first　day　of　school　and　began　a　countdown。
To　my　dismay；　Hassan　kept　trying　to　rekindle　things　between　us。　I　remember　the　last　time。　I　was　in　my　room；　reading　an　abbreviated　Farsi　translation　of　Ivanhoe；　when　he　knocked　on　my　door。
　What　is　it？　
　I　m　going　to　the　baker　to　buy　_naan_；　　he　said　from　the　other　side。　　I　was　wondering　if　you。。。　if　you　wanted　to　e　along。　
　I　think　I　m　just　going　to　read；　　I　said；　rubbing　my　temples。　Lately；　every　time　Hassan　was　around；　I　was　getting　a　headache。
　It　s　a　sunny　day；　　he　said。
　I　can　see　that。　
　Might　be　fun　to　go　for　a　walk。　
　You　go。　
　I　wish　you　d　e　along；　　he　said。　Paused。　Something　thumped　against　the　door；　maybe　his　forehead。　　I　don　t　know　what　I　ve　done；　Amir　agha。　I　wish　you　d　tell　me。　I　don　t　know　why　we　don　t　play　anymore。　
　You　haven　t　done　anything；　Hassan。　Just　go。　
　You　can　tell　me；　I　ll　stop　doing　it。　
I　buried　my　head　in　my　lap；　squeezed　my　temples　with　my　knees；　like　a　vice。　　I　ll　tell　you　what　I　want　you　to　stop　doing；　　I　said；　eyes　pressed　shut。
　Anything。　
　I　want　you　to　stop　harassing　me。　I　want　you　to　go　away；　　I　snapped。　I　wished　he　would　give　it　right　back　to　me；　break　the　door　open　and　tell　me　off……it　would　have　made　things　easier；　better。　But　he　didn　t　do　anything　like　that；　and　when　I　opened　the　door　minutes　later；　he　wasn　t　there。　I　fell　on　my　bed；　buried　my　head　under　the　pillow；　and　cried。
HASSAN　MILLED　ABOUT　the　periphery　of　my　life　after　that。　I　made　sure　our　paths　crossed　as　little　as　possible；　planned　my　day　that　way。　Because　when　he　was　around；　the　oxygen　seeped　out　of　the　room。　My　chest　tightened　and　I　couldn　t　draw　enough　air；　I　d　stand　there；　gasping　in　my　own　little　airless　bubble　of　atmosphere。　But　even　when　he　wasn　t　around；　he　was。　He　was　there　in　the　hand…washed　and　ironed　clothes　on　the　cane…seat　chair；　in　the　warm　slippers　left　outside　my　door；　in　the　wood　already　burning　in　the　stove　when　I　came　down　for　breakfast。　Everywhere　I　turned；　I　saw　signs　of　his　loyalty；　his　goddamn　unwavering　loyalty。
Early　that　spring；　a　few　days　before　the　new　school　year　started；　Baba　and　I　were　planting　tulips　in　the　garden。　Most　of　the　snow　had　melted　and　the　hills　in
the　north　were　already　dotted　with　patches　of　green　grass。　It　was　a　cool；　gray　morning；　and　Baba　was　squatting　next　to　me；　digging　the　soil　and　planting　the　bulbs　I　handed　to　him。　He　was　telling　me　how