Page 106 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 95

Ahmad Zahir was playing an accordion and singing on the stage
over masses of dancing bodies.
I had to greet each of the guests personally—Baba made sure
of that; no one was going to gossip the next day about how he’d
raised a son with no manners. I kissed hundreds of cheeks,
hugged total strangers, thanked them for their gifts. My face
ached from the strain of my plastered smile.
I was standing with Baba in the yard near the bar when some-
one said, “Happy birthday, Amir.” It was Assef, with his parents.
Assef’s father, Mahmood, was a short, lanky sort with dark skin
and a narrow face. His mother, Tanya, was a small, nervous
woman who smiled and blinked a lot. Assef was standing between
the two of them now, grinning, looming over both, his arms rest-
ing on their shoulders. He led them toward us, like he had
brought them here. Like he was the parent, and they his children.
A wave of dizziness rushed through me. Baba thanked them for
coming.
“I picked out your present myself,” Assef said. Tanya’s face
twitched and her eyes flicked from Assef to me. She smiled,
unconvincingly, and blinked. I wondered if Baba had noticed.
“Still playing soccer, Assef jan?” Baba said. He’d always
wanted me to be friends with Assef.
Assef smiled. It was creepy how genuinely sweet he made it
look. “Of course, Kaka jan.”
“Right wing, as I recall?”
“Actually, I switched to center forward this year,” Assef said.
“You get to score more that way. We’re playing the Mekro-Rayan
team next week. Should be a good match. They have some good
players.”
Baba nodded. “You know, I played center forward too when I
was young.”