Page 245 - The Kite Runner

234 Khaled Hosseini

the irrigated plains around Jalalabad where farmers grew sugar-
cane, and impregnated the city’s air with a sweet scent. I closed
my eyes and searched for the sweetness. I didn’t find it.
“Let’s go,” Farid said impatiently. We walked up the dirt road
past a few leafless poplars along a row of broken mud walls. Farid
led me to a dilapidated one-story house and knocked on the wood-
plank door.
A young woman with ocean-green eyes and a white scarf
draped around her face peeked out. She saw me first, flinched,
spotted Farid and her eyes lit up. “Salaam alaykum, Kaka
Farid!”
“Salaam, Maryam jan,” Farid replied and gave her something
he’d denied me all day: a warm smile. He planted a kiss on the
top of her head. The young woman stepped out of the way, eye-
ing me a little apprehensively as I followed Farid into the small
house.
The adobe ceiling was low, the dirt walls entirely bare, and the
only light came from a pair of lanterns set in a corner. We took off
our shoes and stepped on the straw mat that covered the floor.
Along one of the walls sat three young boys, cross-legged, on a
mattress covered with a blanket with shredded borders. A tall
bearded man with broad shoulders stood up to greet us. Farid and
he hugged and kissed on the cheek. Farid introduced him to me as
Wahid, his older brother. “He’s from America,” he said to Wahid,
flicking his thumb toward me. He left us alone and went to greet
the boys.
Wahid sat with me against the wall across from the boys, who
had ambushed Farid and climbed his shoulders. Despite my
protests, Wahid ordered one of the boys to fetch another blanket
so I’d be more comfortable on the floor, and asked Maryam to