Page 268 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 257

cles slacken. He dropped his hands, rose to his feet. He looked
down on Zaman and dropped a mouthful of spit on his face. Then
he walked to the door and closed it.
Zaman struggled to his feet, blotted his bloody lips with his
sleeve, wiped the spit off his cheek. Coughing and wheezing, he
put on his skullcap, his glasses, saw both lenses had cracked, and
took them off. He buried his face in his hands. None of us said
anything for a long time.
“He took Sohrab a month ago,” Zaman finally croaked, hands
still shielding his face.
“You call yourself a director?” Farid said.
Zaman dropped his hands. “I haven’t been paid in over six
months. I’m broke because I’ve spent my life’s savings on this
orphanage. Everything I ever owned or inherited I sold to run this
godforsaken place. You think I don’t have family in Pakistan and
Iran? I could have run like everyone else. But I didn’t. I stayed. I
stayed because of them.” He pointed to the door. “If I deny him
one child, he takes ten. So I let him take one and leave the judging
to Allah. I swallow my pride and take his goddamn filthy ...dirty
money. Then I go to the bazaar and buy food for the children.”
Farid dropped his eyes.
“What happens to the children he takes?” I asked.
Zaman rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “Some-
times they come back.”
“Who is he? How do we find him?” I said.
“Go to Ghazi Stadium tomorrow. You’ll see him at halftime.
He’ll be the one wearing black sunglasses.” He picked up his bro-
ken glasses and turned them in his hands. “I want you to go now.
The children are frightened.”
He escorted us out.