the kite runner-第6部分

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pronounce　the　Arabic　words　correctly　so　God　would　hear　us　better。　He　told　us　one　day　that　Islam　considered　drinking　a　terrible　sin；　those　who　drank　would　answer　for　their　sin　on　the　day　of　_Qiyamat_；　Judgment　Day。　In　those　days；　drinking　was　fairly　mon　in　Kabul。　No　one　gave　you　a　public　lashing　for　it；　but　those　Afghans　who　did　drink　did　so　in　private；　out　of　respect。　People　bought　their　scotch　as　　medicine　　in　brown　paper
bags　from　selected　　pharmacies。　　They　would　leave　with　the　bag　tucked　out　of　sight；　sometimes　drawing　furtive；　disapproving　glances　from　those　who　knew　about　the　store　s　reputation　for　such　transactions。
We　were　upstairs　in　Baba　s　study；　the　smoking　room；　when　I　told　him　what　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan　had　taught　us　in　class。　Baba　was　pouring　himself　a　whiskey　from　the　bar　he　had　built　in　the　corner　of　the　room。　He　listened；　nodded；　took　a　sip　from　his　drink。　Then　he　lowered　himself　into　the　leather　sofa；　put　down　his　drink；　and　propped　me　up　on　his　lap。　I　felt　as　if　I　were　sitting　on　a　pair　of　tree　trunks。　He　took　a　deep　breath　and　exhaled　through　his　nose；　the　air　hissing　through　his　mustache　for　what　seemed　an　eternity　I　couldn　t　decide　whether　I　wanted　to　hug　him　or　leap　from　his　lap　in　mortal　fear。
　I　see　you　ve　confused　what　you　re　learning　in　school　with　actual　education；　　he　said　in　his　thick　voice。
　But　if　what　he　said　is　true　then　does　it　make　you　a　sinner；　Baba？　
　Hmm。　　Baba　crushed　an　ice　cube　between　his　teeth。　　Do　you　want　to　know　what　your　father　thinks　about　sin？　
　Yes。　
　Then　I　ll　tell　you；　　Baba　said；　　but　first　understand　this　and　understand　it　now；　Amir：　You　ll　never　learn　anything　of　value　from　those　bearded　idiots。　
　You　mean　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan？　
Baba　gestured　with　his　glass。　The　ice　clinked。　　I　mean　all　of　them。　Piss　on　the　beards　of　all　those　self…righteous　monkeys。　
I　began　to　giggle。　The　image　of　Baba　pissing　on　the　beard　of　any　monkey；　self…righteous　or　otherwise；　was　too　much。
　They　do　nothing　but　thumb　their　prayer　beads　and　recite　a　book　written　in　a　tongue　they　don　t　even　understand。　　He　took　a　sip。　　God　help　us　all　if　Afghanistan　ever　falls　into　their　hands。　
　But　Mullah　Fatiullah　Khan　seems　nice；　　I　managed　between　bursts　of　tittering。
　So　did　Genghis　Khan；　　Baba　said。　　But　enough　about　that。　You　asked　about　sin　and　I　want　to　tell　you。　Are　you　listening？　
　Yes；　　I　said；　pressing　my　lips　together。　But　a　chortle　escaped　through　my　nose　and　made　a　snorting　sound。　That　got　me　giggling　again。
Baba　s　stony　eyes　bore　into　mine　and；　just　like　that；　I　wasn　t　laughing　anymore。　　I　mean　to　speak　to　you　man　to　man。　Do　you　think　you　can　handle　that　for　once？　
　Yes；　Baba　jan；　　I　muttered；　marveling；　not　for　the　first　time；　at　how　badly　Baba　could　sting　me　with　so　few　words。　We　d　had　a　fleeting　good　moment……it　wasn　t　often　Baba　talked　to　me；　let　alone　on　his　lap……and　I　d　been　a　fool　to　waste　it。
　Good；　　Baba　said；　but　his　eyes　wondered。　　Now；　no　matter　what　the　mullah　teaches；　there　is　only　one　sin；　only　one。　And　that　is　theft。　Every　other　sin　is　a　variation　of　theft。　Do　you　understand　that？　
　No；　Baba　jan；　　I　said；　desperately　wishing　I　did。　I　didn　t　want　to　disappoint　him　again。
Baba　heaved　a　sigh　of　impatience。　That　stung　too；　because　he　was　not　an　impatient　man。　I　remembered　all　the　times　he　didn　t　e　home　until　after　dark；　all　the　times　I　ate　dinner　alone。　I　d　ask　Ali　where　Baba　was；　when　he　was　ing　home；　though　I　knew　full　well　he　was　at　the　construction　site；　overlooking　this；　supervising　that。　Didn　t　that　take　patience？　I　already　hated　all　the　kids　he　was　building　the　orphanage　for；　sometimes　I　wished　they　d　all　died　along　with　their　parents。
　When　you　kill　a　man；　you　steal　a　life；　　Baba　said。　　You　steal　his　wife　s　right　to　a　husband；　rob　his　children　of　a　father。　When　you　tell　a　lie；　you　steal　someone　s　right　to　the　truth。　When　you　cheat；　you　steal　the　right　to　fairness。　Do　you　see？　
I　did。　When　Baba　was　six；　a　thief　walked　into　my　grandfather　s　house　in　the　middle　of　the　night。　My　grandfather；　a　respected　judge；　confronted　him；　but　the　thief　stabbed　him　in　the　throat；　killing　him　instantly……and　robbing　Baba　of　a　father。　The　townspeople　caught　the　killer　just　before　noon　the　next　day；　he　turned　out　to　be　a　wanderer　from　the　Kunduz　region。　They　hanged　him　from　the　branch　of　an　oak　tree　with　still　two　hours　to　go　before　afternoon　prayer。　It　was　Rahim　Khan；　not　Baba；　who　had　told　me　that　story。　I　was　always　learning　things　about　Baba　from　other　people。
　There　is　no　act　more　wretched　than　stealing；　Amir；　　Baba　said。　　A　man　who　takes　what　s　not　his　to　take；　be　it　a　life　or　a　loaf　of　_naan_。。。　I　spit　on　such　a　man。　And　if　I　ever　cross　paths　with　him；　God　help　him。　Do　you　understand？　
I　found　the　idea　of　Baba　clobbering　a　thief　both　exhilarating　and　terribly　frightening。　　Yes；　Baba。　
　If　there　s　a　God　out　there；　then　I　would　hope　he　has　more　important　things　to　attend　to　than　my　drinking　scotch　or　eating　pork。　Now；　hop　down。　All　this　talk　about　sin　has　made　me　thirsty　again。　
I　watched　him　fill　his　glass　at　the　bar　and　wondered　how　much　time　would　pass　before　we　talked　again　the　way　we　just　had。　Because　the　truth　o