the kite runner-第13部分

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hill；　thoughts　were　exploding　in　my　head　like　the　fireworks　at　_Chaman_。　_Best　story　you　ve　read　me　in　a　long　time_；　he　d　said。　I　had　read　him　a　_lot_　of　stories。　Hassan　was　asking　me　something。
　What？　　I　said。
　What　does　that　mean；　　fascinating　？　
I　laughed。　Clutched　him　in　a　hug　and　planted　a　kiss　on　his　cheek。
　What　was　that　for？　　he　said；　startled；　blushing。
I　gave　him　a　friendly　shove。　Smiled。　　You　re　a　prince；　Hassan。　You　re　a　prince　and　I　love　you。　
That　same　night；　I　wrote　my　first　short　story。　It　took　me　thirty　minutes。　It　was　a　dark　little　tale　about　a　man　who　found　a　magic　cup　and　learned　that　if　he　wept
into　the　cup；　his　tears　turned　into　pearls。　But　even　though　he　had　always　been　poor；　he　was　a　happy　man　and　rarely　shed　a　tear。　So　he　found　ways　to　make　himself　sad　so　that　his　tears　could　make　him　rich。　As　the　pearls　piled　up；　so　did　his　greed　grow。　The　story　ended　with　the　man　sitting　on　a　mountain　of　pearls；　knife　in　hand；　weeping　helplessly　into　the　cup　with　his　beloved　wife　s　slain　body　in　his　arms。
That　evening；　I　climbed　the　stairs　and　walked　into　Baba　s　smoking　room；　in　my　hands　the　two　sheets　of　paper　on　which　I　had　scribbled　the　story。　Baba　and　Rahim　Khan　were　smoking　pipes　and　sipping　brandy　when　I　came　in。
　What　is　it；　Amir？　　Baba　said；　reclining　on　the　sofa　and　lacing　his　hands　behind　his　head。　Blue　smoke　swirled　around　his　face。　His　glare　made　my　throat　feel　dry。　I　cleared　it　and　told　him　I　d　written　a　story。
Baba　nodded　and　gave　a　thin　smile　that　conveyed　little　more　than　feigned　interest。　　Well；　that　s　very　good；　isn　t　it？　　he　said。　Then　nothing　more。　He　just　looked　at　me　through　the　cloud　of　smoke。
I　probably　stood　there　for　under　a　minute；　but；　to　this　day；　it　was　one　of　the　longest　minutes　of　my　life。　Seconds　plodded　by；　each　separated　from　the　next　by　an　eternity。　Air　grew　heavy　damp；　almost　solid。　I　was　breathing　bricks。　Baba　went　on　staring　me　down；　and　didn　t　offer　to　read。
As　always；　it　was　Rahim　Khan　who　rescued　me。　He　held　out　his　hand　and　favored　me　with　a　smile　that　had　nothing　feigned　about　it。　　May　I　have　it；　Amir　jan？　I　would　very　much　like　to　read　it。　　Baba　hardly　ever　used　the　term　of　endearment　_jan_　when　he　addressed　me。
Baba　shrugged　and　stood　up。　He　looked　relieved；　as　if　he　too　had　been　rescued　by　Rahim　Khan。　　Yes；　give　it　to　Kaka　Rahim。　I　m　going　upstairs　to　get　ready。　　And　with　that；　he　left　the　room。　Most　days　I　worshiped　Baba　with　an　intensity　approaching　the　religious。　But　right　then；　I　wished　I　could　open　my　veins　and　drain　his　cursed　blood　from　my　body。
An　hour　later；　as　the　evening　sky　dimmed；　the　two　of　them　drove　off　in　my　father　s　car　to　attend　a　party。　On　his　way　out；　Rahim　Khan　hunkered　before　me　and　handed　me　my　story　and　another　folded　piece　of　paper。　He　flashed　a　smile　and　winked。　　For　you。　Read　it　later。　　Then　he　paused　and　added　a　single　word　that　did　more　to　encourage　me　to　pursue　writing　than　any　pliment　any　editor　has　ever　paid　me。　That　word　was　_Bravo_。
When　they　left；　I　sat　on　my　bed　and　wished　Rahim　Khan　had　been　my　father。　Then　I　thought　of　Baba　and　his　great　big　chest　and　how　good　it　felt　when　he　held　me　against　it；　how　he　smelled　of　Brut　in　the　morning；　and　how　his　beard　tickled　my　face。　I　was　overe　with　such　sudden　guilt　that　I　bolted　to　the　bathroom　and　vomited　in　the　sink。
Later　that　night；　curled　up　in　bed；　I　read　Rahim　Khan　s　note　over　and　over。　It　read　like　this：
Amir　jan；
I　enjoyed　your　story　very　much。　_Mashallah_；　God　has　granted　you　a　special　talent。　It　is　now　your　duty　to　hone　that　talent；　because　a　person　who　wastes　his　God…given　talents　is　a　donkey。　You　have　written　your　story　with　sound　grammar　and　interesting　style。　But　the　most　impressive　thing　about　your　story　is　that　it
has　irony。　You　may　not　even　know　what　that　word　means。　But　you　will　someday。　It　is　something　that　some　writers　reach　for　their　entire　careers　and　never　attain。　You　have　achieved　it　with　your　first　story。
My　door　is　and　always　will　be　open　to　you；　Amir　jan。　I　shall　hear　any　story　you　have　to　tell。　Bravo。
Your　friend；
Rahim
Buoyed　by　Rahim　Khan　s　note；　I　grabbed　the　story　and　hurried　downsta