Page 173 - The Kite Runner

162 Khaled Hosseini

I blinked. “Now?”
“Then when?”
I smiled. “Okay.” I gave him the phone and the little black
notebook where Baba had scribbled his Afghan friends’ numbers.
He looked up the Taheris. Dialed. Brought the receiver to his ear.
My heart was doing pirouettes in my chest.
“Jamila jan? Salaam alaykum,” he said. He introduced himself.
Paused. “Much better, thank you. It was so gracious of you to
come.” He listened for a while. Nodded. “I’ll remember that,
thank you. Is General Sahib home?” Pause. “Thank you.”
His eyes flicked to me. I wanted to laugh for some reason. Or
scream. I brought the ball of my hand to my mouth and bit on it.
Baba laughed softly through his nose.
“General Sahib, Salaam alaykum ...Yes, much much better . . .
Balay ...You’re so kind. General Sahib, I’m calling to ask if I may
pay you and Khanum Taheri a visit tomorrow morning. It’s an
honorable matter ...Yes ... Eleven o’clock is just fine. Until then.
Khoda hafez.”
He hung up. We looked at each other. I burst into giggles.
Baba joined in.

Baba wet his hair and combed it back. I helped him into a
clean white shirt and knotted his tie for him, noting the two
inches of empty space between the collar button and Baba’s neck.
I thought of all the empty spaces Baba would leave behind when
he was gone, and I made myself think of something else. He
wasn’t gone. Not yet. And this was a day for good thoughts. The
jacket of his brown suit, the one he’d worn to my graduation,
hung over him—too much of Baba had melted away to fill it any-