the kite runner-第75部分

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　was　the　first　grown…up　I　ever　thought　of　as　a　friend。　　I　pictured　him　and　Baba　drinking　tea　in　Baba　s　study；　then　smoking　near　the　window；　a　sweetbrier…scented　breeze　blowing　from　the　garden　and　bending　the　twin　columns　of　smoke。
　I　remember　you　telling　me　that；　　Soraya　said。　She　paused。　　How　long　will　you　be　gone？　
　I　don　t　know。　He　wants　to　see　me。　
　Is　it。。。　
　Yes；　it　s　safe。　I　ll　be　all　right；　Soraya。　　It　was　the　question　she　d　wanted　to　ask　all　along……fifteen　years　of　marriage　had　turned　us　into　mind　readers。　　I　m　going　to　go　for　a　walk。　
　Should　I　go　with　you？　
　Nay；　I　d　rather　be　alone。　
I　DROVE　TO　GOLDEN　GATE　PARK　and　walked　along　Spreckels　Lake　on　the　northern　edge　of　the　park。　It　was　a　beautiful　Sunday　afternoon；　the　sun　sparkled　on　the　water　where　dozens　of　miniature　boats　sailed；　propelled　by　a　crisp　San　Francisco　breeze。　I　sat　on　a　park　bench；　watched　a　man　toss　a　football　to　his　son；　telling　him　to　not　sidearm　the　ball；　to　throw　over　the　shoulder。　I　glanced　up　and　saw　a　pair　of　kites；　red　with　long　blue　tails。　They　floated　high　above　the　trees　on　the　west　end　of　the　park；　over　the　windmills。
I　thought　about　a　ment　Rahim　Khan　had　made　just　before　we　hung　up。　Made　it　in　passing；　almost　as　an　afterthought。　I　closed　my　eyes　and　saw　him　at　the　other　end　of　the　scratchy　longdistance　line；　saw　him　with　his　lips　slightly　parted；　head　tilted　to　one　side。　And　again；　something　in　his　bottomless　black　eyes　hinted　at　an　unspoken　secret　between　us。　Except　now　I　knew　he　knew。　My　suspicions　had　been　right　all　those　years。　He　knew　about　Assef；　the　kite；　the　money；　the　watch　with　the　lightning　bolt　hands。　He　had　always　known。
e。　There　is　a　way　to　be　good　again；　Rahim　Khan　had　said　on　the　phone　just　before　hanging　up。　Said　it　in　passing；　almost　as　an　afterthought。
A　way　to　be　good　again。
WHEN　I　CAME　HOME；　Soraya　was　on　the　phone　with　her　mother。　　Won　t　be　long；　Madarjan。　A　week；　maybe　two。。。　Yes；　you　and　Padar　can　stay　with　me。　
Two　years　earlier；　the　general　had　broken　his　right　hip。　He　d　had　one　of　his　migraines　again；　and　emerging　from　his　room；　bleary…eyed　and　dazed；　he　had　tripped　on　a　loose　carpet　edge。　His　scream　had　brought　Khala　Jamila　running　from　the　kitchen。　　It　sounded　like　a　jaroo；　a　broomstick；　snapping　in　half；　　she　was　always　fond　of　saying；　though　the　doctor　had　said　it　was　unlikely　she　d　heard　anything　of　the　sort。　The　general　s　shattered　hip……and　all　of　the　ensuing　plications；　the　pneumonia；　blood　poisoning；　the　protracted　stay　at　the　nursing　home……ended　Khala　Jamila　s　long…running　soliloquies　about　her　own　health。　And　started　new　ones　about　the　general　s。　She　d　tell　anyone　who　would　listen　that　the　doctors　had　told　them　his　kidneys　were　failing。　　But　then　they　had　never　seen　Afghan　kidneys；　had　they？　　she　d　say　proudly。　What　I　remember　most　about　the　general　s　hospital　stay　is　how　Khala　Jamila　would　wait　until　he　fell　asleep；　and　then　sing　to　him；　songs　I　remembered　from　Kabul；　playing　on　Baba　s　scratchy　old　transistor　radio。
The　general　s　frailty……and　time……had　softened　things　between　him　and　Soraya　too。　They　took　walks　together；　went　to　lunch　on　Saturdays；　and；　sometimes；　the　general　sat　in　on　some　of　her　classes。　He　d　sit　in　the　back　of　the　room；　dressed　in　his　shiny　old　gray　suit；　wooden　cane　across　his　lap；　smiling。　Sometimes　he　even　took　notes。
THAT　NIGHT；　Soraya　and　I　lay　in　bed；　her　back　pressed　to　my　chest；　my　face　buried　in　her　hair。　I　remembered　when　we　used　to　lay　forehead　to　forehead；　sharing　afterglow　kisses　and　whispering　until　our　eyes　drifted　closed；　whispering　about　tiny；　curled　toes；　first　smiles；　first　words；　first　steps。　We　still　did　sometimes；　but　the　whispers　were　about　school；　my　new　book；　a　giggle
over　someone　s　ridiculous　dress　at　a　party。　Our　lovemaking　was　still　good；　at　times　better　than　good；　but　some　nights　all　I　d　feel　was　a　relief　to　be　done　with　it；　to　be　free　to　drift　away　and　forget；　at　least　for　a　while；　about　the　futility　of　what　we　d　just　done。　She　never　said　so；　but　I　knew　sometimes　Soraya　felt　it　too。　On　those　nights；　we　d　each　roll　to　our　side　of　the　bed　and　let　our　own　savior　take　us　away。　Soraya