Page 261 - The Kite Runner

250 Khaled Hosseini

class. The last time was on a rainy day just before final exams
when we shared a marvelous slice of almond cake together.
Almond cake with hot tea and honey. She was rather obviously
pregnant by then, and all the more beautiful for it. I will never for-
get what she said to me that day.”
“What? Please tell me.” Baba had always described my mother
to me in broad strokes, like, “She was a great woman.” But what I
had always thirsted for were the details: the way her hair glinted
in the sunlight, her favorite ice cream flavor, the songs she liked to
hum, did she bite her nails? Baba took his memories of her to the
grave with him. Maybe speaking her name would have reminded
him of his guilt, of what he had done so soon after she had died.
Or maybe his loss had been so great, his pain so deep, he couldn’t
bear to talk about her. Maybe both.
“She said, ‘I’m so afraid.’ And I said, ‘Why?,’ and she said,
‘Because I’m so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this
is frightening.’ I asked her why and she said, ‘They only let you be
this happy if they’re preparing to take something from you,’ and I
said, ‘Hush up, now. Enough of this silliness.’”
Farid took my arm. “We should go, Amir agha,” he said softly. I
snatched my arm away. “What else? What else did she say?”
The old man’s features softened. “I wish I remembered for
you. But I don’t. Your mother passed away a long time ago and my
memory is as shattered as these buildings. I am sorry.”
“But even a small thing, anything at all.”
The old man smiled. “I’ll try to remember and that’s a prom-
ise. Come back and find me.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.” And I meant it.
Now I knew my mother had liked almond cake with honey and hot
tea, that she’d once used the word “profoundly,” that she’d fretted