the kite runner-第93部分

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hands。
　Are　you　hungry？　That　lady　there　gave　me　a　plate　of　biryani；　but　I　can　t　eat　it；　　I　said。　I　didn　t　know　what　else　to　say　to　him。　　You　want　it？　
He　shook　his　head。
　Do　you　want　to　talk？　
He　shook　his　head　again。
We　sat　there　like　that　for　a　while；　silent；　me　propped　up　in　bed；　two　pillows　behind　my　back；　Sohrab　on　the　three…legged　stool　next　to　the　bed。　I　fell　asleep　at　some　point；　and；　when　I　woke　up；　daylight　had　dimmed　a　bit；　the　shadows　had
stretched；　and　Sohrab　was　still　sitting　next　to　me。　He　was　still　looking　down　at　his　hands。
THAT　NIGHT；　after　Farid　picked　up　Sohrab；　I　unfolded　Rahim　Khan　s　letter。　I　had　delayed　reading　it　as　long　as　possible。　It　read：
Amirjan；　_Inshallah_；　you　have　reached　this　letter　safely。　I　pray　that　I　have　not　put　you　in　harm　s　way　and　that　Afghanistan　has　not　been　too　unkind　to　you。　You　have　been　in　my　prayers　since　the　day　you　left。　You　were　right　all　those　years　to　suspect　that　I　knew。　I　did　know。　Hassan　told　me　shortly　after　it　happened。　What　you　did　was　wrong；　Amir　jan；　but　do　not　forget　that　you　were　a　boy　when　it　happened。　A　troubled　little　boy。　You　were　too　hard　on　yourself　then；　and　you　still　are……I　saw　it　in　your　eyes　in　Peshawar。　But　I　hope　you　will　heed　this：　A　man　who　has　no　conscience；　no　goodness；　does　not　suffer。　I　hope　your　suffering　es　to　an　end　with　this　journey　to　Afghanistan。
Amir　jan；　I　am　ashamed　for　the　lies　we　told　you　all　those　years。　You　were　right　to　be　angry　in　Peshawar。　You　had　a　right　to　know。　So　did　Hassan。　I　know　it　doesn　t　absolve　anyone　of　anything；　but　the　Kabul　we　lived　in　in　those　days　was　a　strange　world；　one　in　which　some　things　mattered　more　than　the　truth。
Amir　jan；　I　know　how　hard　your　father　was　on　you　when　you　were　growing　up。　I　saw　how　you　suffered　and　yearned　for　his　affections；　and　my　heart　bled　for　you。　But　your　father　was　a　man　torn　between　two　halves；　Amir　jan：
you　and　Hassan。　He　loved　you　both；　but　he　could　not　love　Hassan　the　way　he　longed　to；　openly；　and　as　a　father。　So　he　took　it　out　on　you　instead……Amir；　the　socially　legitimate　half；　the　half　that　represented　the　riches　he　had　inherited　and　the　sin…with…impunity　privileges　that　came　with　them。　When　he　saw　you；　he　saw　himself。　And　his　guilt。　You　are　still　angry　and　I　realize　it　is　far　too　early　to　expect　you　to　accept　this；　but　maybe　someday　you　will　see　that　when　your　father　was　hard　on　you；　he　was　also　being　hard　on　himself。　Your　father；　like　you；　was　a　tortured　soul；　Amir　jan。
I　cannot　describe　to　you　the　depth　and　blackness　of　the　sorrow　that　came　over　me　when　I　learned　of　his　passing。　I　loved　him　because　he　was　my　friend；　but　also　because　he　was　a　good　man；　maybe　even　a　great　man。　And　this　is　what　I　want　you　to　understand；　that　good；　real　good；　was　born　out　of　your　father　s　remorse。　Sometimes；　I　think　everything　he　did；　feeding　the　poor　on　the　streets；　building　the　orphanage；　giving　money　to　friends　in　need；　it　was　all　his　way　of　redeeming　himself。　And　that；　I　believe；　is　what　true　redemption　is；　Amir　jan；　when　guilt　leads　to　good。
I　know　that　in　the　end；　God　will　forgive。　He　will　forgive　your　father；　me；　and　you　too。　I　hope　you　can　do　the　same。　Forgive　your　father　if　you　can。　Forgive　me　if　you　wish。　But；　most　important；　forgive　yourself。
I　have　left　you　some　money；　most　of　what　I　have　left；　in　fact。　I　think　you　may　have　some　expenses　when　you　return　here；　and　the　money　should　be　enough　to　cover　them。　There　is　a　bank　in　Peshawar；　Farid　knows　the　location。　The　money　is　in　a　safe…deposit　box。　I　have　given　you　the　key。
As　for　me；　it　is　time　to　go。　I　have　little　time　left　and　I　wish　to　spend　it　alone。　Please　do　not　look　for　me。　That　is　my　final　request　of　you。
I　leave　you　in　the　hands　of　God。
Your　friend　always；
Rahim
I　dragged　the　hospital　gown　sleeve　across　my　eyes。　I　folded　the　letter　and　put　it　under　my　mattress。
Amir；　the　socially　legitimate　half；　the　half　that　represented　the　riches　he　had　inherited　and　the　sin…with…impunity　privileges　that　came　with　them。　Maybe　that　was　why　Baba　and　I　had　been　on　such　better　terms　in　the　U。S。；　I　wondered。　Selling　junk　for　petty　cash；　our　menial　jobs；　our　grimy　apartment……the　American　version　of　a　hut；　maybe　in　America；　when　Baba　looked　at　me；　he　saw　a　little　bit　of　Hassan。
Your　father；　like　you；　was　a　tortured　soul；　Rahim　Khan　had　written。　Maybe　so。　We　had　both　sinned　and　betrayed。　But　Baba　had　found　a　way　to　create　good　out　of　his　remorse。　What　had　I　done；　other　than　take　my　guilt　out　on　the　very　same　people　I　had　betrayed；　and　then　try　to　forget　it　all？　What　had　I　done；　other　than　bee　an　insomniac？
What　had　I　ever　done　to　right　things？
When　the　nurse……not　Aisha　but　a　red…haired　woman　whose　name　escapes　me……walked　in　with　a　syringe　in　hand　and　asked　me　if　I　needed　a　morphine　injection；　I　said　yes。
THEY　REMOVED　THE　CHEST　TUBE　early　the　next　morning；　and　Armand　gave　the　staff　the　go…ahead　to　let　me　sip　apple　juice。　I　asked　Aisha　for　a　mirror　when　she　placed　the　cup　of　juice　on　the　dresser　next　to　my　bed。　She　lifted　her　bifocals　to　her　forehead　as　she　pulled　the　curtain　open　and　let　the　morning　sun　flood　the　room。　　Remember；　now；　　she　said　over　her　shoulder；　　it　will　lo