the kite runner-第79部分

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Rahim　Khan　laughed。　　You　sounded　like　your　father　just　now。　I　miss　him　so　much。　But　it　is　God　s　will；　Amir　jan。　It　really　is。　　He　paused。　　Besides；　there　s　another　reason　I　asked　you　to　e　here。　I　wanted　to　see　you　before　I　go；　yes；　but　something　else　too。　
　Anything。　
　You　know　all　those　years　I　lived　in　your　father　s　house　after　you　left？　
　Yes。　
　I　wasn　t　alone　for　all　of　them。　Hassan　lived　there　with　me。　
　Hassan；　　I　said。　When　was　the　last　time　I　had　spoken　his　name？　Those　thorny　old　barbs　of　guilt　bore　into　me　once　more；　as　if　speaking　his　name　had　broken　a　spell；　set　them　free　to　torment　me　anew。　Suddenly　the　air　in　Rahim　Khan　s　little　flat　was　too　thick；　too　hot；　too　rich　with　the　smell　of　the　street。
　I　thought　about　writing　you　and　telling　you　before；　but　I　wasn　t　sure　you　wanted　to　know。　Was　I　wrong？　
The　truth　was　no。　The　lie　was　yes。　I　settled　for　something　in　between。　　I　don　t　know。　
He　coughed　another　patch　of　blood　into　the　handkerchief。　When　he　bent　his　head　to　spit；　I　saw　honey…crusted　sores　on　his　scalp。　　I　brought　you　here　because　I　am　going　to　ask　something　of　you。　I　m　going　to　ask　you　to　do　something　for　me。　But　before　I　do；　I　want　to　tell　you　about　Hassan。　Do　you　understand？　
　Yes；　　I　murmured。
　I　want　to　tell　you　about　him。　I　want　to　tell　you　everything。　You　will　listen？　
I　nodded。
Then　Rahim　Khan　sipped　some　more　tea。　Rested　his　head　against　the　wall　and　spoke。
SIXTEEN
There　were　a　lot　of　reasons　why　I　went　to　Hazarajat　to　find　Hassan　in　1986。　The　biggest　one；　Allah　forgive　me；　was　that　I　was　lonely。　By　then；　most　of　my　friends　and　relatives　had　either　been　killed　or　had　escaped　the　country　to　Pakistan　or　Iran。　I　barely　knew　anyone　in　Kabul　anymore；　the　city　where　I　had　lived　my　entire　life。　Everybody　had　fled。　I　would　take　a　walk　in　the　Karteh　Parwan　section……where　the　melon　vendors　used　to　hang　out　in　the　old　days；　you　remember　that　spot？……and　I　wouldn　t　recognize　anyone　there。　No　one　to　greet；　no　one　to　sit　down　with　for　chai；　no　one　to　share　stories　with；　just　Roussi　soldiers　patrolling　the　streets。　So　eventually；　I　stopped　going　out　to　the　city。　I　would　spend　my　days　in　your　father　s　house；　up　in　the　study；　reading　your
mother　s　old　books；　listening　to　the　news；　watching　the　munist　propaganda　on　television。　Then　I　would　pray　natnaz；　cook　something；　eat；　read　some　more；　pray　again；　and　go　to　bed。　I　would　rise　in　the　morning；　pray；　do　it　all　over　again。
And　with　my　arthritis；　it　was　getting　harder　for　me　to　maintain　the　house。　My　knees　and　back　were　always　aching……I　would　get　up　in　the　morning　and　it　would　take　me　at　least　an　hour　to　shake　the　stiffness　from　my　joints；　especially　in　the　wintertime。　I　did　not　want　to　let　your　father　s　house　go　to　rot；　we　had　all　had　many　good　times　in　that　house；　so　many　memories；　Amir　jan。　It　was　not　right……your　father　had　designed　that　house　himself；　it　had　meant　so　much　to　him；　and　besides；　I　had　promised　him　I　would　care　for　it　when　he　and　you　left　for　Pakistan。　Now　it　was　just　me　and　the　house　and。。。　I　did　my　best。　I　tried　to　water　the　trees　every　few　days；　cut　the　lawn；　tend　to　the　flowers；　fix　things　that　needed　fixing；　but；　even　then；　I　was　not　a　young　man　anymore。
But　even　so；　I　might　have　been　able　to　manage。　At　least　for　a　while　longer。　But　when　news　of　your　father　s　death　reached　me。。。　for　the　first　time；　I　felt　a　terrible　loneliness　in　that　house。　An　unbearable　emptiness。
So　one　day；　I　fueled　up　the　Buick　and　drove　up　to　Hazarajat。　I　remembered　that；　after　Ali　dismissed　himself　from　the　house；　your　father　told　me　he　and　Hassan　had　moved　to　a　small　village　just　outside　Bamiyan。　Ali　had　a　cousin　there　as　I　recalled。　I　had　no　idea　if　Hassan　would　still　be　there；　if　anyone　would　even　know　of　him　or　his　whereabouts。　After　all；　it　had　been　ten　years　since　Ali　and　Hassan　had　left　your　father　s　house。　Hassan　would　have　been　a　grown　man　in　1986；　twenty…two；　twenty…three　years　old。　If　he　was　even　alive；　that　is……the　Shorawi；　may　they　rot　in　hell　for　what　they　did　to　our　watan；　killed　so　many　of　our　young　men。　I　don　t　have　to　tell　you　that。
But；　with　the　grace　of　God；　I　found　him　there。　It