the kite runner-第38章

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　We　can　t　live　here　anymore；　　Ali　said。
　But　I　forgive　him；　Ali；　didn　t　you　hear？　　said　Baba。
　Life　here　is　impossible　for　us　now；　Agha　sahib。　We　re　leaving。　　Ali　drew　Hassan　to　him；　curled　his　arm　around　his　son　s　shoulder。　It　was　a　protective　gesture　and　I　knew　whom　Ali　was　protecting　him　from。　Ali　glanced　my　way　and　in　his　cold；　unforgiving　look；　I　saw　that　Hassan　had　told　him。　He　had　told　him　everything；　about　what　Assef　and　his　friends　had　done　to　him；　about　the　kite；　about　me。　Strangely；　I　was　glad　that　someone　knew　me　for　who　I　really　was；　I　was　tired　of　pretending。
　I　don　t　care　about　the　money　or　the　watch；　　Baba　said；　his　arms　open；　palms　up。　　I　don　t　understand　why　you　re　doing　this。。。　what　do　you　mean　　impossible　？　
　I　m　sorry；　Agha　sahib；　but　our　bags　are　already　packed。　We　have　made　our　decision。　
Baba　stood　up；　a　sheen　of　grief　across　his　face。　　Ali；　haven　t　I　provided　well　for　you？　Haven　t　I　been　good　to　you　and　Hassan？　You　re　the　brother　I　never　had；　Ali；　you　know　that。　Please　don　t　do　this。　
　Don　t　make　this　even　more　difficult　than　it　already　is；　Agha　sahib；　　Ali　said。　His　mouth　twitched　and；　for　a　moment；　I　thought　I　saw　a　grimace。　That　was　when　I　understood　the　depth　of　the　pain　I　had　caused；　the　blackness　of　the　grief　I　had　brought　onto　everyone；　that　not　even　Ali　s　paralyzed　face　could　mask　his　sorrow。　I　forced　myself　to　look　at　Hassan；　but　his　head　was　downcast；　his　shoulders　slumped；　his　finger　twirling　a　loose　string　on　the　hem　of　his　shirt。
Baba　was　pleading　now。　　At　least　tell　me　why。　I　need　to　know！　
Ali　didn　t　tell　Baba；　just　as　he　didn　t　protest　when　Hassan　confessed　to　the　stealing。　I　ll　never　really　know　why；　but　I　could　imagine　the　two　of　them　in　that　dim　little　hut；　weeping；　Hassan　pleading　him　not　to　give　me　away。　But　I　couldn　t　imagine　the　restraint　it　must　have　taken　Ali　to　keep　that　promise。
　Will　you　drive　us　to　the　bus　station？　
　I　forbid　you　to　do　this！　　Baba　bellowed。　　Do　you　hear　me？　I　forbid　you！　
　Respectfully；　you　can　t　forbid　me　anything；　Agha　sahib；　　Ali　said。　　We　don　t　work　for　you　anymore。　
　Where　will　you　go？　　Baba　asked。　His　voice　was　breaking。
　Hazarajat。　
　To　your　cousin？　
　Yes。　Will　you　take　us　to　the　bus　station；　Agha　sahib？　
Then　I　saw　Baba　do　something　I　had　never　seen　him　do　before：
He　cried。　It　scared　me　a　little；　seeing　a　grown　man　sob。　Fathers　weren　t　supposed　to　cry。　　Please；　　Baba　was　saying；　but　Ali　had　already　turned　to　the　door；　Hassan　trailing　him。　I　ll　never　forget　the　way　Baba　said　that；　the　pain　in　his　plea；　the　fear。
IN　KABUL；　it　rarely　rained　in　the　summer。　Blue　skies　stood　tall　and　far；　the　sun　like　a　branding　iron　searing　the　back　of　your　neck。　Creeks　where　Hassan　and　I　skipped　stones　all　spring　turned　dry；　and　rickshaws　stirred　dust　when　they　sputtered　by。　People　went　to　mosques　for　their　ten　raka　ts　of　noontime　prayer　and　then　retreated　to　whatever　shade　they　could　find　to　nap　in；　waiting　for　the　cool　of　early　evening。　Summer　meant　long　school　days　sweating　in　tightly　packed；　poorly　ventilated　classrooms　learning　to　recite　ayats　from　the　Koran；　struggling　with　those　tongue…twisting；　exotic　Arabic　words。　It　meant　catching　flies　in　your　palm　while　the　mullah　droned　on　and　a　hot　breeze　brought　with　it　the　smell　of　shit　from　the　outhouse　across　the　schoolyard；　churning　dust　around　the　lone　rickety　basketball　hoop。
But　it　rained　the　afternoon　Baba　took　Ali　and　Hassan　to　the　bus　station。　Thunderheads　rolled　in；　painted　the　sky　iron　gray。　Within　minutes；　sheets　of　rain　were　sweeping　in；　the　steady　hiss　of　falling　water　swelling　in　my　ears。
Baba　had　offered　to　drive　them　to　Bamiyan　himself；　but　Ali　refused。　Through　the　blurry；　rain…soaked　window　of　my　bedroom；　I　watched　Ali　haul　the　lone　suitcase　carrying　all　of　their　belongings　to　Baba　s　car　idling　outside　the　gates。　Hassan　lugged　his　mattress；　rolled　tightly　and　tied　with　a　rope；　on　his　back。　He　d　left　all　of　his　toys　behind　in　the　empty　shack……I　discovered　them　the　next　day；　piled　in　a　corner　just　like　the　birthday　presents　in　my　room。
Slithering　beads　of　rain　sluiced　down　my　window。　I　saw　Baba　slam　the　trunk　shut。　Already　drenched；　he　walked　to　the　driver　s　side。　Leaned　in　and　said　something　to　Ali　in　the　backseat；　perhaps　one　last…ditch　effort　to　change　his　mind。　They　talked　that　way　awhile；　Baba　getting　soaked；　stooping；　one　arm　on　the　roof　of　the　car。　But　when　he　straightened；　I　saw　in　his　slumping　shoulders　that　the　life　I　had　known　since　I　d　been　born　was　over。　Baba　slid　in。　The　headlights　came　on　and　cut　twin　funnels　of　light　in　the　rain。　If　this　were　one　of　the　Hindi　movies　Hassan　and　I　used　to　watch；　this　was　the　part　wh