Page 172 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 161

touch. I took it. Brought it to my face. My eyes. I let it go. “You’d
better go back inside. Or your father will come after me.”
She smiled and nodded. “I should.” She turned to go.
“Soraya?”
“Yes?”
“I’m happy you came. It means ...the world to me.”

They discharged Baba two days later. They brought in a
specialist called a radiation oncologist to talk Baba into getting
radiation treatment. Baba refused. They tried to talk me into talk-
ing him into it. But I’d seen the look on Baba’s face. I thanked
them, signed their forms, and took Baba home in my Ford Torino.
That night, Baba was lying on the couch, a wool blanket cover-
ing him. I brought him hot tea and roasted almonds. Wrapped my
arms around his back and pulled him up much too easily. His shoul-
der blade felt like a bird’s wing under my fingers. I pulled the blan-
ket back up to his chest where ribs stretched his thin, sallow skin.
“Can I do anything else for you, Baba?”
“Nay, bachem. Thank you.”
I sat beside him. “Then I wonder if you’ll do something for me.
If you’re not too exhausted.”
“What?”
“I want you to go khastegari. I want you to ask General Taheri
for his daughter’s hand.”
Baba’s dry lips stretched into a smile. A spot of green on a
wilted leaf. “Are you sure?”
“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”
“You’ve thought it over?”
“Balay, Baba.”
“Then give me the phone. And my little notebook.”