the kite runner-第64部分

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lawn；　tend　to　the　flowers；　fix　things　that　needed　fixing；　but；　even　then；　I　was　not　a　young　man　anymore。
But　even　so；　I　might　have　been　able　to　manage。　At　least　for　a　while　longer。　But　when　news　of　your　father　s　death　reached　me。。。　for　the　first　time；　I　felt　a　terrible　loneliness　in　that　house。　An　unbearable　emptiness。
So　one　day；　I　fueled　up　the　Buick　and　drove　up　to　Hazarajat。　I　remembered　that；　after　Ali　dismissed　himself　from　the　house；　your　father　told　me　he　and　Hassan　had　moved　to　a　small　village　just　outside　Bamiyan。　Ali　had　a　cousin　there　as　I　recalled。　I　had　no　idea　if　Hassan　would　still　be　there；　if　anyone　would　even　know　of　him　or　his　whereabouts。　After　all；　it　had　been　ten　years　since　Ali　and　Hassan　had　left　your　father　s　house。　Hassan　would　have　been　a　grown　man　in　1986；　twenty…two；　twenty…three　years　old。　If　he　was　even　alive；　that　is……the　Shorawi；　may　they　rot　in　hell　for　what　they　did　to　our　watan；　killed　so　many　of　our　young　men。　I　don　t　have　to　tell　you　that。
But；　with　the　grace　of　God；　I　found　him　there。　It　took　very　little　searching……all　I　had　to　do　was　ask　a　few　questions　in　Bamiyan　and　people　pointed　me　to　his　village。　I　do　not　even　recall　its　name；　or　whether　it　even　had　one。　But　I　remember　it　was　a　scorching　summer　day　and　I　was　driving　up　a　rutted　dirt　road；　nothing　on　either　side　but　sunbaked　bushes；　gnarled；　spiny　tree　trunks；　and　dried　grass　like　pale　straw。　I　passed　a　dead　donkey　rotting　on　the　side　of　the　road。　And　then　I　turned　a　corner　and；　right　in　the　middle　of　that　barren　land；　I　saw　a　cluster　of　mud　houses；　beyond　them　nothing　but　broad　sky　and　mountains　like　jagged　teeth。
The　people　in　Bamiyan　had　told　me　I　would　find　him　easily……he　lived　in　the　only　house　in　the　village　that　had　a　walled　garden。　The　mud　wall；　short　and　pocked　with　holes；　enclosed　the　tiny　house……which　was　really　not　much　more　than　a　glorified　hut。　Barefoot　children　were　playing　on　the　street；　kicking　a　ragged　tennis　ball　with　a　stick；　and　they　stared　when　I　pulled　up　and　killed　the　engine。　I　knocked　on　the　wooden　door　and　stepped　through　into　a　yard　that　had　very　little　in　it　save　for　a　parched　strawberry　patch　and　a　bare　lemon　tree。　There　was　a　tandoor　in　the　corner　in　the　shadow　of　an　acacia　tree　and　I　saw　a　man　squatting　beside　it。　He　was　placing　dough　on　a　large　wooden　spatula　and　slapping　it　against　the　walls　of　the　_tandoor_。　He　dropped　the　dough　when　he　saw　me。　I　had　to　make　him　stop　kissing　my　hands。
　Let　me　look　at　you；　　I　said。　He　stepped　away。　He　was　so　tall　now……I　stood　on　my　toes　and　still　just　came　up　to　his　chin。　The　Bamiyan　sun　had　toughened　his　skin；　and　turned　it　several　shades　darker　than　I　remembered；　and　he　had　lost　a　few　of　his　front　teeth。　There　were　sparse　strands　of　hair　on　his　chin。　Other　than　that；　he　had　those　same　narrow　green　eyes；　that　scar　on　his　upper　lip；　that　round
face；　that　affable　smile。　You　would　have　recognized　him；　Amir　jan。　I　am　sure　of　it。
We　went　inside。　There　was　a　young　light…skinned　Hazara　woman；　sewing　a　shawl　in　a　corner　of　the　room。　She　was　visibly　expecting。　　This　is　my　wife；　Rahim　Khan；　　Hassan　said　proudly。　　Her　name　is　Farzana　jan。　　She　was　a　shy　woman；　so　courteous　she　spoke　in　a　voice　barely　higher　than　a　whisper　and　she　would　not　raise　her　pretty　hazel　eyes　to　meet　my　gaze。　But　the　way　she　was　looking　at　Hassan；　he　might　as　well　have　been　sitting　on　the　throne　at　the　_Arg_。
　When　is　the　baby　ing？　　I　said　after　we　all　settled　around　the　adobe　room。　There　was　nothing　in　the　room；　just　a　frayed　rug；　a　few　dishes；　a　pair　of　mattresses；　and　a　lantern。
　_Inshallah_；　this　winter；　　Hassan　said。　　I　am　praying　for　a　boy　to　carry　on　my　father　s　name。　
　Speaking　of　Ali；　where　is　he？　
Hassan　dropped　his　gaze。　He　told　me　that　Ali　and　his　cousin……who　had　owned　the　house……had　been　killed　by　a　land　mine　two　years　before；　just　outside　of　Bamiyan。　A　land　mine。　Is　there　a　more　Afghan　way　of　dying；　Amir　jan？　And　for　some　crazy　reason；　I　became　absolutely　certain　that　it　had　been　Ali　s　right　leg……his　twisted　polio　leg……that　had　finally　betrayed　him　and　stepped　on　that　land　mine。　I　was　deeply　saddened　to　hear　Ali　had　died。　Your　father　and　I　grew　up　together；　as　you　know；　and　Ali　had　been　with　him　as　long　as　I　could　remember。　I　remember　when　we　were　all　little；　the　year　Ali　got　polio　and　almost　died。　Your　father　would　walk　around　the　house　all　day　crying。
Farzana　made　us　shorwa　with　beans；　turnips；　and　potatoes。　We　washed　our　hands　and　dipped　fresh　_naan_　from　the　tandoor　into　the　shorwa……it　was　the　best　meal　I　had　had　in　months。　It　was　then　that　I　asked　Hassan　to　move　to　Kabul　with　me。　I　told　him　about　the　house；　how　I　could　not　care　for　it　by　myself　anymore。　I　told　him　I　would　pay　him　well；　that　he　and　his　_khanum_　would　be　fortable。　They　looked　to　each　other　and　did　not　say　anything。　Later；　after　we　had　washed　our　hands　and　Farzana　had　served　us　grapes；　Hassan　said　the　village　was　his　home　now；　he　and　Farzana　had　made　a　life　for　themselves　there。
　And　Bamiyan　is　so　close。　We　know　people　there。　Forgive　me；　Rahim　Khan。　I　pray　you　understand。　
　Of　course；　　I　said。　　You　have　nothing　to　apologize　for。　I　understand。　
It　was　m