Page 294 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 283

ended up there one night, when a group of Parchami soldiers
marched into our house and ordered my father and me at gun-
point to follow them. The bastards didn’t give a reason, and they
wouldn’t answer my mother’s questions. Not that it was a mys-
tery; everyone knew the communists had no class. They came
from poor families with no name. The same dogs who weren’t fit
to lick my shoes before the Shorawi came were now ordering me
at gunpoint, Parchami flag on their lapels, making their little
point about the fall of the bourgeoisie and acting like they were
the ones with class. It was happening all over: Round up the rich,
throw them in jail, make an example for the comrades.
“Anyway, we were crammed in groups of six in these tiny cells
each the size of a refrigerator. Every night the commandant, a
half-Hazara, half-Uzbek thing who smelled like a rotting donkey,
would have one of the prisoners dragged out of the cell and he’d
beat him until sweat poured from his fat face. Then he’d light a
cigarette, crack his joints, and leave. The next night, he’d pick
someone else. One night, he picked me. It couldn’t have come at a
worse time. I’d been peeing blood for three days. Kidney stones.
And if you’ve never had one, believe me when I say it’s the worst
imaginable pain. My mother used to get them too, and I remember
she told me once she’d rather give birth than pass a kidney stone.
Anyway, what could I do? They dragged me out and he started kick-
ing me. He had knee-high boots with steel toes that he wore every
night for his little kicking game, and he used them on me. I was
screaming and screaming and he kept kicking me and then, sud-
denly, he kicked me on the left kidney and the stone passed. Just
like that! Oh, the relief!” Assef laughed. “And I yelled ‘Allah-u-
akbar’ and he kicked me even harder and I started laughing. He got
mad and hit me harder, and the harder he kicked me, the harder I