Page 174 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 163

more. I had to roll up the sleeves. I stooped and tied his shoelaces
for him.
The Taheris lived in a flat, one-story house in one of the resi-
dential areas in Fremont known for housing a large number of
Afghans. It had bay windows, a pitched roof, and an enclosed
front porch on which I saw potted geraniums. The general’s gray
van was parked in the driveway.
I helped Baba out of the Ford and slipped back behind the
wheel. He leaned in the passenger window. “Be home, I’ll call you
in an hour.”
“Okay, Baba,” I said. “Good luck.”
He smiled.
I drove away. In the rearview mirror, Baba was hobbling up the
Taheris’ driveway for one last fatherly duty.

I paced the living room of our apartment waiting for
Baba’s call. Fifteen paces long. Ten and a half paces wide. What if
the general said no? What if he hated me? I kept going to the
kitchen, checking the oven clock.
The phone rang just before noon. It was Baba.
“Well?”
“The general accepted.”
I let out a burst of air. Sat down. My hands were shaking.
“He did?”
“Yes, but Soraya jan is upstairs in her room. She wants to talk
to you first.”
“Okay.”
Baba said something to someone and there was a double click
as he hung up.