the kite runner-第68部分

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red；　green；　and　yellow。
　I　can　t　believe　you　can　write　like　this；　　Soraya　said。
Baba　dragged　his　head　off　the　pillow。　　I　put　her　up　to　it。　I　hope　you　don　t　mind。　
I　gave　the　notebook　back　to　Soraya　and　left　the　room。　Baba　hated　it　when　I　cried。
A　MONTH　AFTER　THE　WEDDING；　the　Taheris；　Sharif；　his　wife　Suzy；　and　several　of　Soraya　s　aunts　came　over　to　our　apartment　for　dinner。　Soraya　made　sabzi　challow……white　rice　with　spinach　and　lamb。　After　dinner；　we　all　had　green　tea　and　played　cards　in　groups　of　four。　Soraya　and　I　played　with　Sharif　and　Suzy　on　the　coffee　table；　next　to　the　couch　where　Baba　lay　under　a　wool　blanket。　He　watched　me　joking　with　Sharif；　watched　Soraya　and　me　lacing　our　fingers　together；　watched　me　push　back　a　loose　curl　of　her　hair。　I　could　see　his　internal　smile；　as　wide　as　the　skies　of　Kabul　on　nights　when　the　poplars　shivered　and　the　sound　of　crickets　swelled　in　the　gardens。
Just　before　midnight；　Baba　asked　us　to　help　him　into　bed。　Soraya　and　I　placed　his　arms　on　our　shoulders　and　wrapped　ours　around　his　back。　When　we　lowered　him；　he　had　Soraya　turn　off　the　bedside　lamp。　He　asked　us　to　lean　in；　gave　us　each　a　kiss。
　I　ll　e　back　with　your　morphine　and　a　glass　of　water；　Kaka　jan；　　Soraya　said。
　Not　tonight；　　he　said。　　There　is　no　pain　tonight。　
　Okay；　　she　said。　She　pulled　up　his　blanket。　We　closed　the　door。　Baba　never　woke　up。
THEY　FILLED　THE　PARKING　SPOTS　at　the　mosque　in　Hayward。　On　the　balding　grass　field　behind　the　building；　cars　and　SUVs　parked　in　crowded　makeshift　rows。　People　had　to　drive　three　or　four　blocks　north　of　the　mosque　to　find　a　spot。
The　men　s　section　of　the　mosque　was　a　large　square　room；　covered　with　Afghan　rugs　and　thin　mattresses　placed　in　parallel　lines。　Men　filed　into　the　room；　leaving　their　shoes　at　the　entrance；　and　sat　cross…legged　on　the　mattresses。　A　mullah　chanted　surrahs　from　the　Koran　into　a　microphone。　I　sat　by　the　door；　the　customary　position　for　the　family　of　the　deceased。　General　Taheri　was　seated　next　to　me。
Through　the　open　door；　I　could　see　lines　of　cars　pulling　in；　sunlight　winking　in　their　windshields。　They　dropped　off　passengers；　men　dressed　in　dark　suits；　women　clad　in　black　dresses；　their　heads　covered　with　traditional　white　hijabs。
As　words　from　the　Koran　reverberated　through　the　room；　I　thought　of　the　old　story　of　Baba　wrestling　a　black　bear　in　Baluchistan。　Baba　had　wrestled　bears　his　whole　life。　Losing　his　young　wife。　Raising　a　son　by　himself。　Leaving　his　beloved　homeland；　his　watan。　Poverty。　Indignity。　In　the　end；　a　bear　had　e　that　he　couldn　t　best。　But　even　then；　he　had　lost　on　his　own　terms。
After　each　round　of　prayers；　groups　of　mourners　lined　up　and　greeted　me　on　their　way　out。　Dutifully；　I　shook　their　hands。　Many　of　them　I　barely　knew　I　smiled　politely；　thanked　them　for　their　wishes；　listened　to　whatever　they　had　to　say　about　Baba。
？？helped　me　build　the　house　in　Taimani。。。　　bless　him。。。
？？no　one　else　to　turn　to　and　he　lent　me。。。　
　。。。found　me　a　job。。。　barely　knew　me。。。　
　。。。like　a　brother　to　me。。。　
Listening　to　them；　I　realized　how　much　of　who　I　was；　what　I　was；　had　been　defined　by　Baba　and　the　marks　he　had　left　on　people　s　lives。　My　whole　life；　I　had　been　　Baba　s　son。　　Now　he　was　gone。　Baba　couldn　t　show　me　the　way　anymore；　I　d　have　to　find　it　on　my　own。
The　thought　of　it　terrified　me。
Earlier；　at　the　gravesite　in　the　small　Muslim　section　of　the　cemetery；　I　had　watched　them　lower　Baba　into　the　hole。　The　？？mul　Iah　and　another　man　got　into　an　argument　over　which　was　the　correct　ayat　of　the　Koran　to　recite　at　the　gravesite。　It　might　have　turned　ugly　had　General　Taheri　not　intervened。　The　mullah　chose　an　ayat　and　recited　it；　casting　the　other　fellow　nasty　glances。　I　watched　them　toss　the　first　shovelful　of　dirt　into　the　grave。　Then　I　left。　Walked　to　the　other　side　of　the　cemetery。　Sat　in　the　shade　of　a　red　maple。
Now　the　last　of　the　mourners　had　paid　their　respects　and　the　mosque　was　empty；　save　for　the　mullah　unplugging　the　microphone　and　wrapping　his　Koran　in　green　cloth。　The　general　and　I　stepped　out　into　a　late…afternoon　sun。　We　walked　down　the　steps；　past　men　smoking　in　clusters