Page 292 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 281

“I’ve been wondering,” the Talib said, his bloodshot eyes peer-
ing at me over Sohrab’s shoulder. “Whatever happened to old
Babalu, anyway?”
The question hit me like a hammer between the eyes. I felt the
color drain from my face. My legs went cold. Numb.
He laughed. “What did you think? That you’d put on a fake
beard and I wouldn’t recognize you? Here’s something I’ll bet you
never knew about me: I never forget a face. Not ever.” He brushed
his lips against Sohrab’s ear, kept his eye on me. “I heard your
father died. Tsk-tsk. I always did want to take him on. Looks like
I’ll have to settle for his weakling of a son.” Then he took off his
sunglasses and locked his bloodshot blue eyes on mine.
I tried to take a breath and couldn’t. I tried to blink and
couldn’t. The moment felt surreal—no, not surreal, absurd—it
had knocked the breath out of me, brought the world around me
to a standstill. My face was burning. What was the old saying
about the bad penny? My past was like that, always turning up.
His name rose from the deep and I didn’t want to say it, as if
uttering it might conjure him. But he was already here, in the
flesh, sitting less than ten feet from me, after all these years. His
name escaped my lips: “Assef.”
“Amir jan.”
“What are you doing here?” I said, knowing how utterly foolish
the question sounded, yet unable to think of anything else to say.
“Me?” Assef arched an eyebrow. “I’m in my element. The
question is what are you doing here?”
“I already told you,” I said. My voice was trembling. I wished it
wouldn’t do that, wished my flesh wasn’t shrinking against my
bones.
“The boy?”
“Yes.”