Page 263 - The Kite Runner

252 Khaled Hosseini

“Salaam alaykum,” I said. I showed him the Polaroid. “We’re
searching for this boy.”
He gave the photo a cursory glance. “I am sorry. I have never
seen him.”
“You barely looked at the picture, my friend,” Farid said. “Why
not take a closer look?”
“Lotfan,” I added. Please.
The man behind the door took the picture. Studied it.
Handed it back to me. “Nay, sorry. I know just about every single
child in this institution and that one doesn’t look familiar. Now, if
you’ll permit me, I have work to do.” He closed the door. Locked
the bolt.
I rapped on the door with my knuckles. “Agha! Agha, please
open the door. We don’t mean him any harm.”
“I told you. He’s not here,” his voice came from the other side.
“Now, please go away.”
Farid stepped up to the door, rested his forehead on it. “Friend,
we are not with the Taliban,” he said in a low, cautious voice. “The
man who is with me wants to take this boy to a safe place.”
“I come from Peshawar,” I said. “A good friend of mine knows
an American couple there who run a charity home for children.” I
felt the man’s presence on the other side of the door. Sensed him
standing there, listening, hesitating, caught between suspicion
and hope. “Look, I knew Sohrab’s father,” I said. “His name was
Hassan. His mother’s name was Farzana. He called his grand-
mother Sasa. He knows how to read and write. And he’s good with
the slingshot. There’s hope for this boy, Agha, a way out. Please
open the door.”
From the other side, only silence.
“I’m his half uncle,” I said.
A moment passed. Then a key rattled in the lock. The man’s