Page 239 - The Kite Runner

NINETEEN

Again, the car sickness. By the time we drove past the bullet-
riddled sign that read THE KHYBER PASS WELCOMES YOU, my mouth
had begun to water. Something inside my stomach churned and
twisted. Farid, my driver, threw me a cold glance. There was no
empathy in his eyes.
“Can we roll down the window?” I asked.
He lit a cigarette and tucked it between the remaining two fin-
gers of his left hand, the one resting on the steering wheel. Keep-
ing his black eyes on the road, he stooped forward, picked up the
screwdriver lying between his feet, and handed it to me. I stuck it
in the small hole in the door where the handle belonged and
turned it to roll down my window.
Farid gave me another dismissive look, this one with a hint of
barely suppressed animosity, and went back to smoking his ciga-
rette. He hadn’t said more than a dozen words since we’d departed
from Jamrud Fort.
“Tashakor,” I muttered. I leaned my head out of the window