Page 213 - The Kite Runner

202 Khaled Hosseini

“There is only what you do and what you don’t do,” I said.
Rahim Khan laughed. “You sounded like your father just now.
I miss him so much. But it is God’s will, Amir jan. It really is.” He
paused. “Besides, there’s another reason I asked you to come
here. I wanted to see you before I go, yes, but something else too.”
“Anything.”
“You know all those years I lived in your father’s house after
you left?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t alone for all of them. Hassan lived there with me.”
“Hassan,” I said. When was the last time I had spoken his
name? Those thorny old barbs of guilt bore into me once more, as
if speaking his name had broken a spell, set them free to torment
me anew. Suddenly the air in Rahim Khan’s little flat was too
thick, too hot, too rich with the smell of the street.
“I thought about writing you and telling you before, but I
wasn’t sure you wanted to know. Was I wrong?”
The truth was no. The lie was yes. I settled for something in
between. “I don’t know.”
He coughed another patch of blood into the handkerchief.
When he bent his head to spit, I saw honey-crusted sores on his
scalp. “I brought you here because I am going to ask something of
you. I’m going to ask you to do something for me. But before I do,
I want to tell you about Hassan. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“I want to tell you about him. I want to tell you everything. You
will listen?”
I nodded.
Then Rahim Khan sipped some more tea. Rested his head
against the wall and spoke.