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the kite runner-第60部分
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。 She sat up; and Aflatoon leapt down from the couch。 It was the general who had given our cocker spaniel his name; Farsi for Plato; because; he said; if you looked hard enough and long enough into the dog s filmy black eyes; you d swear he was thinking wise thoughts。
There was a sliver of fat; just a hint of it; beneath Soraya s chin now The past ten years had padded the curves of her hips some; and bed into her coal black hair a few streaks of cinder gray。 But she still had the face of a Grand Ball princess; with her bird…in…flight eyebrows and nose; elegantly curved like a letter from ancient Arabic writings。
You took pale; Soraya repeated; placing the stack of papers on the table。
I have to go to Pakistan。
She stood up now。 Pakistan?
Rahim Khan is very sick。 A fist clenched inside me with those words。
Kaka s old business partner? She d never met Rahim Khan; but I had told her about him。 I nodded。
Oh; she said。 I m so sorry; Amir。
We used to be close; I said。 When I was a kid; he was the first grown…up I ever thought of as a friend。 I pictured him and Baba drinking tea in Baba s study; then smoking near the window; a sweetbrier…scented breeze blowing from the garden and bending the twin columns of smoke。
I remember you telling me that; Soraya said。 She paused。 How long will you be gone?
I don t know。 He wants to see me。
Is it。。。
Yes; it s safe。 I ll be all right; Soraya。 It was the question she d wanted to ask all along……fifteen years of marriage had turned us into mind readers。 I m going to go for a walk。
Should I go with you?
Nay; I d rather be alone。
I DROVE TO GOLDEN GATE PARK and walked along Spreckels Lake on the northern edge of the park。 It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon; the sun sparkled on the water where dozens of miniature boats sailed; propelled by a crisp San Francisco breeze。 I sat on a park bench; watched a man toss a football to his son; telling him to not sidearm the ball; to throw over the shoulder。 I glanced up and saw a pair of kites; red with long blue tails。 They floated high above the trees on the west end of the park; over the windmills。
I thought about a ment Rahim Khan had made just before we hung up。 Made it in passing; almost as an afterthought。 I closed my eyes and saw him at the other end of the scratchy longdistance line; saw him with his lips slightly parted; head tilted to one side。 And again; something in his bottomless black eyes hinted at an unspoken secret between us。 Except now I knew he knew。 My suspicions had been right all those years。 He knew about Assef; the kite; the money; the watch with the lightning bolt hands。 He had always known。
e。 There is a way to be good again; Rahim Khan had said on the phone just before hanging up。 Said it in passing; almost as an afterthought。
A way to be good again。
WHEN I CAME HOME; Soraya was on the phone with her mother。 Won t be long; Madarjan。 A week; maybe two。。。 Yes; you and Padar can stay with me。
Two years earlier; the general had broken his right hip。 He d had one of his migraines again; and emerging from his room; bleary…eyed and dazed; he had tripped on a loose carpet edge。 His scream had brought Khala Jamila running from the kitchen。 It sounded like a jaroo; a broomstick; snapping in half; she was always fond of saying; though the doctor had said it was unlikely she d heard anything of the sort。 The general s shattered hip……and all of the ensuing plications; the pneumonia; blood poisoning; the protracted stay at the nursing home……ended Khala Jamila s long…running soliloquies about her own health。 And started new ones about the general s。 She d tell anyone who would listen that the doctors had told them his kidneys were failing。 But then they had never seen Afghan kidneys; had they? she d say proudly。 What I remember most about the general s hospital stay is how Khala Jamila would wait until he fell asleep; and then sing to him; songs I remembered from Kabul; playing on Baba s scratchy old transistor radio。
The general s frailty……and time……had softened things between him and Soraya too。 They took walks together; went to lunch on Saturdays; and; sometimes; the general sat in on some of her classes。 He d sit in the back of the room; dressed in his shiny old gray suit; wooden cane across his lap; smiling。 Sometimes he even took notes。
THAT NIGHT; Soraya and I lay in bed; her back pressed to my chest; my face buried in her hair。 I remembered when we used to lay forehead to forehead; sharing afterglow kisses and whispering until our eyes drifted closed; whispering about tiny; curled toes; first smiles; first words; first steps。 We still did sometimes; but the whispers were about school; my new book; a giggle
over someone s ridiculous dress at a party。 Our lovemaking was still good; at times better than good; but some nights all I d feel was a relief to be done with it; to be free to drift away and forget; at least for a while; about the futility of what we d just done。 She never said so; but I knew sometimes Soraya felt it too。 On those nights; we d each roll to our side of the bed and let our own savior take us away。 Soraya
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