Page 212 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 201

“Peace at last.”
“Yes, hope is a strange thing. Peace at last. But at what price?”
A violent coughing fit gripped Rahim Khan and rocked his gaunt
body back and forth. When he spat into his handkerchief, it
immediately stained red. I thought that was as good a time as any
to address the elephant sweating with us in the tiny room.
“How are you?” I asked. “I mean really, how are you?”
“Dying, actually,” he said in a gurgling voice. Another round of
coughing. More blood on the handkerchief. He wiped his mouth,
blotted his sweaty brow from one wasted temple to the other with
his sleeve, and gave me a quick glance. When he nodded, I knew
he had read the next question on my face. “Not long,” he breathed.
“How long?”
He shrugged. Coughed again. “I don’t think I’ll see the end of
this summer,” he said.
“Let me take you home with me. I can find you a good doctor.
They’re coming up with new treatments all the time. There are
new drugs and experimental treatments, we could enroll you in
one . . .” I was rambling and I knew it. But it was better than cry-
ing, which I was probably going to do anyway.
He let out a chuff of laughter, revealed missing lower incisors.
It was the most tired laughter I’d ever heard. “I see America has
infused you with the optimism that has made her so great. That’s
very good. We’re a melancholic people, we Afghans, aren’t we?
Often, we wallow too much in ghamkhori and self-pity. We give in
to loss, to suffering, accept it as a fact of life, even see it as neces-
sary. Zendagi migzara, we say, life goes on. But I am not surren-
dering to fate here, I am being pragmatic. I have seen several good
doctors here and they have given the same answer. I trust them
and believe them. There is such a thing as God’s will.”