Page 274 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 263

I found the window to my old bedroom, second floor, third
window south of the main steps to the house. I stood on tiptoes,
saw nothing behind the window but shadows. Twenty-five years
earlier, I had stood behind that same window, thick rain dripping
down the panes and my breath fogging up the glass. I had
watched Hassan and Ali load their belongings into the trunk of
my father’s car.
“Amir agha,” Farid called again.
“I’m coming,” I shot back.
Insanely, I wanted to go in. Wanted to walk up the front steps
where Ali used to make Hassan and me take off our snow boots. I
wanted to step into the foyer, smell the orange peel Ali always
tossed into the stove to burn with sawdust. Sit at the kitchen
table, have tea with a slice of naan, listen to Hassan sing old Haz-
ara songs.
Another honk. I walked back to the Land Cruiser parked along
the sidewalk. Farid sat smoking behind the wheel.
“I have to look at one more thing,” I told him.
“Can you hurry?”
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Go, then.” Then, just as I was turning to go: “Just forget it all.
Makes it easier.”
“To what?”
“To go on,” Farid said. He flicked his cigarette out of the win-
dow. “How much more do you need to see? Let me save you the
trouble: Nothing that you remember has survived. Best to forget.”
“I don’t want to forget anymore,” I said. “Give me ten minutes.”

We hardly broke a sweat, Hassan and I, when we hiked
up the hill just north of Baba’s house. We scampered about the