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the kite runner-第90部分
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I had pelted Hassan with pomegranates and tried to provoke him。 He d just stood there; doing nothing; red juice soaking through his shirt like blood。 Then he d taken the pomegranate from my hand; crushed it against his forehead。 Are you satisfied now? he d hissed。 Do you feel better? I hadn t been happy and I hadn t felt better; not at all。 But I did now。 My body was broken……just how badly I wouldn t find out until later……but I felt healed。 Healed at last。 I laughed。
Then the end。 That; I ll take to my grave:
I was on the ground laughing; Assef straddling my chest; his face a mask of lunacy; framed by snarls of his hair swaying inches from my face。 His free hand was locked around my throat。 The other; the one with the brass knuckles; cocked above his shoulder。 He raised his fist higher; raised it for another blow。
Then: Bas。 A thin voice。
We both looked。
Please; no more。
I remembered something the orphanage director had said when he d opened the door to me and Farid。 What had been his name? Zaman? He s inseparable from that thing; he had said。 He tucks it in the waist of his pants everywhere he goes。
No more。
Twin trails of black mascara; mixed with tears; had rolled down his cheeks; smeared the rouge。 His lower lip trembled。 Mucus seeped from his nose。 Bas; he croaked。
His hand was cocked above his shoulder; holding the cup of the slingshot at the end of the elastic band which was pulled all the way back。 There was something in the cup; something shiny and yellow。 I blinked the blood from my eyes and saw it was one of the brass balls from the ring in the table base。 Sohrab had the slingshot pointed to Assef s face。
No more; Agha。 Please; he said; his voice husky and trembling。 Stop hurting him。
Assef s mouth moved wordlessly。 He began to say something; stopped。 What do you think you re you doing? he finally said。
Please stop; Sohrab said; fresh tears pooling in his green eyes; mixing with mascara。
Put it down; Hazara; Assef hissed。 Put it down or what I m doing to him will be a gentle ear twisting pared to what I ll do to you。
The tears broke free。 Sohrab shook his head。 Please; Agha; he said。 Stop。
Put it down。
Don t hurt him anymore。
Put it down。
Please。
PUT IT DOWN!
PUT IT DOWN! Assef let go of my throat。 Lunged at Sohrab。
The slingshot made a thwiiiiit sound when Sohrab released the cup。 Then Assef was screaming。 He put his hand where his left eye had been just a moment ago。 Blood oozed between his fingers。 Blood and something else; something white and gel…like。 That s called vitreous fluid; I thought with clarity。 I ve read that somewhere。 Vitreous fluid。
Assef rolled on the carpet。 Rolled side to side; shrieking; his hand still cupped over the bloody socket。
Let s go! Sohrab said。 He took my hand。 Helped me to my feet。 Every inch of my battered body wailed with pain。 Behind us; Assef kept shrieking。
OUT! GET IT OUT! he screamed。
Teetering; I opened the door。 The guards eyes widened when they saw me and I wondered what I looked like。 My stomach hurt with each breath。 One of the guards said something in Pashtu and then they blew past us; running into the room where Assef was still screaming。 OUT!
Bia; Sohrab said; pulling my hand。 Let s go!
I stumbled down the hallway; Sohrab s little hand in mine。 I took a final look over my shoulder。 The guards were huddled over Assef; doing something to his face。 Then I understood: The brass ball was still stuck in his empty eye socket。
The whole world rocking up and down; swooping side to side; I hobbled down the steps; leaning on Sohrab。 From above; Assef s screams went on and on; the cries of a wounded animal。 We made it outside; into daylight; my arm around Sohrab s shoulder; and I saw Farid running toward us。
Bismillah! Bismillah! he said; eyes bulging at the sight of me。
He slung my arm around his shoulder and lifted me。 Carried me to the truck; running。 I think I screamed。 I watched the way his sandals pounded the pavement; slapped his black; calloused heels。 It hurt to breathe。 Then I was looking up at the roof of the Land Cruiser; in the backseat; the upholstery beige and ripped; listen ing to the ding…ding…ding signaling an open door。 Running foot steps around the truck。 Farid and Sohrab exchanging quick words。 The truck s doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life。 The car jerked forward and I felt a tiny hand on my forehead。 I heard voices on the street; some shouting; and saw trees blurring past in the window Sohrab was sobbing。 Farid was still repeating; Bis millah! Bismillak!
It was about then that I passed out。
TWENTY…THREE
Faces poke through the haze; linger; fade away。 They peer down; ask me questions。 They all ask questions。 Do I know who I am? Do I hurt anywhere? I know who I am and I hurt everywhere。 I want to tell them this but talking hurts。 I know this because some time ago; maybe a year ago; maybe two; maybe ten; I tried to talk to a child with rouge on his cheeks and eyes smeared black。 The child。 Yes; I see him now。 We are in a car of sorts; the child and I; and I don t think Soraya s driving because Soraya never drives
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