the kite runner-第89部分

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sed　the　room。
We　made　it　as　far　as　the　door。
　Of　course；　　Assef　said　behind　us；　　I　didn　t　say　you　could　take　him　for　free。　
I　turned。　　What　do　you　want？　
　You　have　to　earn　him。　
　What　do　you　want？　
　We　have　some　unfinished　business；　you　and　I；　　Assef　said。　　You　remember；　don　t　you？　
He　needn　t　have　worried。　I　would　never　forget　the　day　after　Daoud　Khan　overthrew　the　king。　My　entire　adult　life；　whenever　I　heard　Daoud　Khan　s　name；　what　I　saw　was　Hassan　with　his　sling　shot　pointed　at　Assef　s　face；　Hassan　saying　that　they　d　have　to　start　calling　him　One…Eyed　Assef。　instead　of　Assef　Goshkhor。　I　remember　how　envious　I　d　been　of　Hassan　s　bravery。　Assef　had　backed　down；　promised　that　in　the　end　he　d　get　us　both。　He　d　kept　that　promise　with　Hassan。　Now　it　was　my　turn。
　All　right；　　I　said；　not　knowing　what　else　there　was　to　say。　I　wasn　t　about　to　beg；　that　would　have　only　sweetened　the　moment　for　him。
Assef　called　the　guards　back　into　the　room。　　I　want　you　to　listen　to　me；　　he　said　to　them。　　In　a　moment；　I　m　going　to　close　the　door。　Then　he　and　I　are　going　to　finish　an　old　bit　of　business。　No　matter　what　you　hear；　don　t　e　in！　Do　you　hear　me？　Don　t　e　in。
The　guards　nodded。　Looked　from　Assef　to　me。　　Yes；　Agha　sahib。　
　When　it　s　all　done；　only　one　of　us　will　walk　out　of　this　room　alive；　　Assef　said。　　If　it　s　him；　then　he　s　earned　his　freedom　and　you　let　him　pass；　do　you　understand？　
The　older　guard　shifted　on　his　feet。　　But　Agha　sahib……　
　If　it　s　him；　you　let　him　pass！　　Assef　screamed。　The　two　men　flinched　but　nodded　again。　They　turned　to　go。　One　of　them　reached　for　Sohrab。
　Let　him　stay；　　Assef　said。　He　grinned。　　Let　him　watch。　Lessons　are　good　things　for　boys。　
The　guards　left。　Assef　put　down　his　prayer　beads。　Reached　in　the　breast　pocket　of　his　black　vest。　What　he　fished　out　of　that　pocket　didn　t　surprise　me　one　bit：　stainless…steel　brass　knuckles。
HE　HAS　GEL　IN　HIS　HAIR　and　a　Clark　Gable　mustache　above　his　thick　lips。　The　gel　has　soaked　through　the　green　paper　surgical　cap；　made　a　dark　stain　the　shape　of　Africa。　I　remember　that　about　him。　That；　and　the　gold　Allah　chain　around　his　dark　neck。　He　is　peering　down　at　me；　speaking　rapidly　in　a　language　I　don　t　understand；　Urdu；　I　think。　My　eyes　keep　going　to　his　Adam　s　apple　bob　bing　up　and　down；　up　and　down；　and　I　want　to　ask　him　how　old　he　is　anyway……he　looks　far　too　young；　like　an　actor　from　some　foreign　soap　opera……but　all　I　can　mutter　is；　I　think　I　gave　him　a　good　fight。　I　think　I　gave　him　a　good　fight。
I　DON　T　KNOW　if　I　gave　Assef　a　good　fight。　I　don　t　think　I　did。　How　could　I　have？　That　was　the　first　time　I　d　fought　anyone。　I　had　never　so　much　as　thrown　a　punch　in　my　entire　life。
My　memory　of　the　fight　with　Assef　is　amazingly　vivid　in　stretches：　I　remember　Assef　turning　on　the　music　before　slipping　on　his　brass　knuckles。　The　prayer　rug；　the　one　with　the　oblong；　woven　Mecca；　came　loose　from　the　wall　at　one　point　and　landed　on　my　head；　the　dust　from　it　made　me　sneeze。　I　remember　Assef　shoving　grapes　in　my　face；　his　snarl　all　spit…shining　teeth；　his　bloodshot　eyes　rolling。　His　turban　fell　at　some　point；　let　loose　curls　of　shoulder…length　blond　hair。
And　the　end；　of　course。　That；　I　still　see　with　perfect　clarity。　I　always　will。
Mostly；　I　remember　this：　His　brass　knuckles　flashing　in　the　afternoon　light；　how　cold　they　felt　with　the　first　few　blows　and　how　quickly　they　warmed　with　my　blood。　Getting　thrown　against　the　wall；　a　nail　where　a　framed　picture　may　have　hung　once　jabbing　at　my　back。　Sohrab　screaming。　Tabla；　harmonium；　a　dil…roba。　Getting　hurled　against　the　wall。　The　knuckles　shattering　my　jaw。　Choking　on　my　own　teeth；　swallowing　them；　thinking　about　all　the　countless　hours　I　d　spent　flossing　and　brushing。　Getting　hurled　against　the　wall。　Lying　on　the　floor；　blood　from　my　split　upper　lip　staining　the　mauve　carpet；　pain　ripping　through　my　belly；　and　wondering　when　I　d　be　able　to　breathe　again。　The　sound　of　my　ribs　snapping　like　the　tree　branches　Hassan　and　I　used　to　break　to　swordfight　like　Sinbad　in　those　old　movies。　Sohrab　screaming。　The　side　of　my　face　slamming　against　the　corner　of　the　television　stand。　That　snapping　sound　again；　this　time　just　under　my　left　eye。　Music。　Sohrab　screaming。　Fingers　grasping　my　hair；　pulling　my　head　back；　the　twinkle　of　stainless　steel。　Here　they　〃eome。　That　snapping　sound　yet　again；　now　my　nose。　Biting　down　in　pain；　noticing　how　my　teeth　didn　t　align　like　they　used　to。　Getting　kicked。　Sohrab　screaming。
I　don　t　know　at　what　point　I　started　laughing；　but　I　did。　It　hurt　to　laugh；　hurt　my　jaws；　my　ribs；　my　throat。　But　I　was　laughing　and　laughing。　And　the　harder　I　laughed；　the　harder　he　kicked　me；　punched　me；　scratched　me。
　WHAT　S　SO　FUNNY？　　Assef　kept　roaring　with　each　blow。　His　spittle　landed　in　my　eye。　Sohrab　screamed。
　WHAT　S　SO　FUNNY？　　Assef　bellowed。　Another　rib　snapped；　this　time　left　lower。　What　was　so　funny　was　that；　for　the　first　time　since　the　winter　of　1975；　I　felt　at　peace。　I　laughed　because　I　saw　that；　in　some　hidden　nook　in　a　corner　of　my　mind；　I　d　even　been　looking　forward　to　this。　I　remembered　the　day　on　the　hill　I　had　pelted　Hassan　with　pomegranates　and　tried　to