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the kite runner-第49部分

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 gone to a doctor was the time he d caught malaria in India。
Then; two weeks later; I caught him coughing a wad of blood…stained phlegm into the toilet。
 How long have you been doing that?  I said。
 What s for dinner?  he said。
 I m taking you to the doctor。 
Even though Baba was a manager at the gas station; the owner hadn t offered him health insurance; and Baba; in his recklessness; hadn t insisted。 So I took him to the county hospital in San Jose。 The sallow; puffy…eyed doctor who saw us introduced himself as a second…year resident。  He looks younger than you and sicker than me;  Baba grumbled。 The resident sent us down for a chest X…ray。 When the nurse called us back in; the resident was filling out a form。
 Take this to the front desk;  he said; scribbling quickly。
 What is it?  I asked。
 A referral。  Scribble scribble。
 For what? 
 Pulmonary clinic。 
 What s that? 
He gave me a quick glance。 Pushed up his glasses。 Began scribbling again。  He s got a spot on his right lung。 I want them to check it out。 
 A spot?  I said; the room suddenly too small。
 Cancer?  Baba added casually。
 Possible。 It s suspicious; anyway;  the doctor muttered。
 Can t you tell us more?  I asked。
 Not really。 Need a CAT scan first; then see the lung doctor。  He handed me the referral form。  You said your father smokes; right? 
 Yes。 
He nodded。 Looked from me to Baba and back again。  They ll call you within two weeks。 
I wanted to ask him how I was supposed to live with that word;  suspicious;  for two whole weeks。 How was I supposed eat; work; study? How could he send me home with that word?
I took the form and turned it in。 That night; I waited until Baba fell asleep; and then folded a blanket。 I used it as a prayer rug。 Bowing my head to the ground; I recited half…forgotten verses from the Koran……verses the mullah had made us mit to memory in Kabul……and asked for kindness from a God I wasn t sure existed。 I envied the mullah now; envied his faith and certainty。
Two weeks passed and no one called。 And when I called them; they told me they d lost the referral。 Was I sure I had turned it in? They said they would call in another three weeks。 I raised hell and bargained the three weeks down to one for the CAT scan; two to see the doctor。
The visit with the pulmonologist; Dr。 Schneider; was going well until Baba asked him where he was from。 Dr。 Schneider said Russia。 Baba lost it。
 Excuse us; Doctor;  I said; pulling Baba aside。 Dr。 Schneider smiled and stood back; stethoscope still in hand。
 Baba; I read Dr。 Schneider s biography in the waiting room。 He was born in Michigan。 Michigan! He s American; a lot more American than you and I will ever be。 
 I don t care where he was born; he s Roussi;  Baba said; grimacing like it was a dirty word。  His parents were Roussi; his grandparents were Roussi。 I swear on your mother s face I ll break his arm if he tries to touch me。 
 Dr。 Schneider s parents fled from Shorawi; don t you see? They escaped! 
But Baba would hear none of it。 Sometimes I think the only thing he loved as much as his late wife was Afghanistan; his late country。 I almost screamed with frustration。 Instead; I sighed and turned to Dr。 Schneider。  I m sorry; Doctor。 This isn t going to work out。 
The next pulmonologist; Dr。 Amani; was Iranian and Baba approved。 Dr。 Amani; a soft…spoken man with a crooked mustache and a mane of gray hair; told us he had reviewed the CAT scan results and that he would have to perform a procedure called a bronchoscopy to get a piece of the lung mass for pathology。 He scheduled it for the following week。 I thanked him as I helped Baba out of the office; thinking that now I had to live a whole week with this new word;  mass;  an even more ominous word than  suspicious。  I wished Soraya were there with me。
It turned out that; like Satan; cancer had many names。 Baba s was called  Oat Cell Carcinoma。  Advanced。 Inoperable。 Baba asked Dr。 Amani for a prognosis。 Dr。 Amani bit his lip; used the word  grave。   There is chemotherapy; of course;  he said。  But it would only be palliative。 
 What does that mean?  Baba asked。
Dr。 Amani sighed。  It means it wouldn t change the oute; just prolong it。 
 That s a clear answer; Dr。 Amani。 Thank you for that;  Baba said。  But no chemo…medication for me。  He had the same resolved look on his face as the day he d dropped the stack of food stamps on Mrs。 Dobbins s desk。
 But Baba…… 
 Don t you challenge me in public; Amir。 Ever。 Who do you think you are? 
THE RAIN General Taheri had spoken about at the flea market was a few weeks late; but when we stepped out of Dr。 Amani s office; passing cars sprayed grimy water onto the sidewalks。 Baba lit a cigarette。 He smoked all the way to the car and all the way home。
As he was slipping the key into the lobby door; I said;  I wish you d give the chemo a chance; Baba。 
Baba pocketed the keys; pulled me out of the rain and under the building s striped awning。 He kneaded me on the chest with the hand holding the cigarette。  Bas! I ve made my decision。 
 What about me; Baba? What am I supposed to do?  I said; my eyes welling up。
A look of disgust swept
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