the kite runner-第102部分

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ing　again。
Now；　by　the　time　I　reached　the　top　of　the　craggy　hill；　each　ragged　breath　felt　like　inhaling　fire。　Sweat　trickled　down　my　face。　I　stood　wheezing　for　a　while；　a　stitch　in　my　side。　Then　I　went　looking　for　the　abandoned　cemetery。　It　didn　t　take　me　long　to　find　it。　It　was　still　there；　and　so　was　the　old　pomegranate　tree。
I　leaned　against　the　gray　stone　gateway　to　the　cemetery　where　Hassan　had　buried　his　mother。　The　old　metal　gates　hanging　off　the　hinges　were　gone；　and　the　headstones　were　barely　visible　through　the　thick　tangles　of　weeds　that　had　claimed　the　plot。　A　pair　of　crows　sat　on　the　low　wall　that　enclosed　the　cemetery。
Hassan　had　said　in　his　letter　that　the　pomegranate　tree　hadn　t　borne　fruit　in　years。　Looking　at　the　wilted；　leafless　tree；　I　doubted　it　ever　would　again。　I　stood　under　it；　remembered　all　the　times　we　d　climbed　it；　straddled　its　branches；　our　legs　swinging；　dappled　sunlight　flickering　through　the　leaves　and　casting　on　our　faces　a　mosaic　of　light　and　shadow。　The　tangy　taste　of　pomegranate　crept　into　my　mouth。
I　hunkered　down　on　my　knees　and　brushed　my　hands　against　the　trunk。　I　found　what　I　was　looking　for。　The　carving　had　dulled；　almost　faded　altogether；　but　it　was　still　there：　　Amir　and　Hassan。　The　Sultans　of　Kabul。　　I　traced　the　curve　of　each　letter　with　my　fingers。　Picked　small　bits　of　bark　from　the　tiny　crevasses。
I　sat　cross…legged　at　the　foot　of　the　tree　and　looked　south　on　the　city　of　my　childhood。　In　those　days；　treetops　poked　behind　the　walls　of　every　house。　The　sky　stretched　wide　and　blue；　and　laundry　drying　on　clotheslines　glimmered　in　the　sun。　If　you　listened　hard；　you　might　even　have　heard　the　call　of　the　fruit　seller　passing　through　Wazir　Akbar　Khan　with　his　donkey：　Cherries！　Apricots！　Grapes！　In　the　early　evening；　you　would　have　heard　azan；　the　mueszzin　s　call　to　prayer　from　the　mosque　in　Shar…e…Nau。
I　heard　a　honk　and　saw　Farid　waving　at　me。　It　was　time　to　go。
WE　DROVE　SOUTH　AGAIN；　back　toward　Pashtunistan　Square。　We　passed　several　more　red　pickup　trucks　with　armed；　bearded　young　men　crammed　into　the　cabs。　Farid　cursed　under　his　breath　every　time　we　passed　one。
I　paid　for　a　room　at　a　small　hotel　near　Pashtunistan　Square。　Three　little　girls　dressed　in　identical　black　dresses　and　white　scarves　clung　to　the　slight；　bespectacled　man　behind　the　counter。　He　charged　me　75；　an　unthinkable　price　given　the　run…down　appearance　of　the　place；　but　I　didn　t　mind。　Exploitation　to　finance　a　beach　house　in　Hawaii　was　one　thing。　Doing　it　to　feed　your　kids　was　another。
There　was　no　hot　running　water　and　the　cracked　toilet　didn　t　flush。　Just　a　single　steel…frame　bed　with　a　worn　mattress；　a　ragged　blanket；　and　a　wooden　chair　in　the　corner。　The　window　overlooking　the　square　had　broken；　hadn　t　been　replaced。　As　I　lowered　my　suitcase；　I　noticed　a　dried　bloodstain　on　the　wall　behind　the　bed。
I　gave　Farid　some　money　and　he　went　out　to　get　food。　He　returned　with　four　sizzling　skewers　of　kabob；　fresh　_naan_；　and　a　bowl　of　white　rice。　We　sat　on　the　bed　and　all　but　devoured　the　food。　There　was　one　thing　that　hadn　t　changed　in　Kabul　after　all：
The　kabob　was　as　succulent　and　delicious　as　I　remembered。
That　night；　I　took　the　bed　and　Farid　lay　on　the　floor；　wrapped　himself　with　an　extra　blanket　for　which　the　hotel　owner　charged　me　an　additional　fee。　No　light　came　into　the　room　except　for　the　moonbeams　streaming　through　the　broken　window。　Farid　said　the　owner　had　told　him　that　Kabul　had　been　without　electricity　for　two　days　now　and　his　generator　needed　fixing。　We　talked　for　a　while。　He　told　me　about　growing　up　in　Mazar…i…Sharif；　in　Jalalabad。　He　told　me　about　a　time　shortly　after　he　and　his　father　joined　the　jihad　and　fought　the　Shorawi　in　the　Panjsher　Valley。　They　were　stranded　without　food　and　ate　locust　to　survive。　He　told　me　of　the　day　helicopter　gunfire　killed　his　father；　of　the　day　the　land　mine　took　his　two　daughters。　He　asked　me　about　America。　I　told　him　that　in　America　you　could　step　into　a　grocery　store　and　buy　any　of　fifteen　or　twenty　different　types　of　cereal。　The　lamb　was　always　fresh　and　the　milk　cold；　the　fruit　plentiful　and　the　water