Page 205 - The Kite Runner

194 Khaled Hosseini

I lay in the dark the night Rahim Khan called and traced with
my eyes the parallel silver lines on the wall made by moonlight
pouring through the blinds. At some point, maybe just before
dawn, I drifted to sleep. And dreamed of Hassan running in the
snow, the hem of his green chapan dragging behind him, snow
crunching under his black rubber boots. He was yelling over his
shoulder: For you, a thousand times over!

A week later, I sat on a window seat aboard a Pakistani
International Airlines flight, watching a pair of uniformed airline
workers remove the wheel chocks. The plane taxied out of the ter-
minal and, soon, we were airborne, cutting through the clouds. I
rested my head against the window. Waited, in vain, for sleep.