Page 180 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 169

mings. Baba’s hand took mine and tightened. Khanum Taheri
burst into fresh tears. Slowly, Soraya came to us, tailed by a pro-
cession of young female relatives.
She kissed my father’s hands. Sat beside me at last, her eyes
downcast.
The applause swelled.

According to tradition, Soraya’s family would have
thrown the engagement party, the Shirini-khori—or “Eating of the
Sweets” ceremony. Then an engagement period would have fol-
lowed which would have lasted a few months. Then the wedding,
which would be paid for by Baba.
We all agreed that Soraya and I would forgo the Shirini-khori.
Everyone knew the reason, so no one had to actually say it: that
Baba didn’t have months to live.
Soraya and I never went out alone together while preparations
for the wedding proceeded—since we weren’t married yet, hadn’t
even had a Shirini-khori, it was considered improper. So I had to
make do with going over to the Taheris with Baba for dinner. Sit
across from Soraya at the dinner table. Imagine what it would be
like to feel her head on my chest, smell her hair. Kiss her. Make
love to her.
Baba spent $35,000, nearly the balance of his life savings, on
the awroussi, the wedding ceremony. He rented a large Afghan
banquet hall in Fremont—the man who owned it knew him from
Kabul and gave him a substantial discount. Baba paid for the chi-
las, our matching wedding bands, and for the diamond ring I
picked out. He bought my tuxedo, and my traditional green suit
for the nika—the swearing ceremony.