Page 298 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 287

ten to me,” he said to them. “In a moment, I’m going to close the
door. Then he and I are going to finish an old bit of business. No
matter what you hear, don’t come in! Do you hear me? Don’t
come in!”
The guards nodded. Looked from Assef to me. “Yes, Agha
sahib.”
“When it’s all done, only one of us will walk out of this room
alive,” Assef said. “If it’s him, then he’s earned his freedom and
you let him pass, do you understand?”
The older guard shifted on his feet. “But Agha sahib—”
“If it’s him, you let him pass!” Assef screamed. The two men
flinched but nodded again. They turned to go. One of them
reached for Sohrab.
“Let him stay,” Assef said. He grinned. “Let him watch.
Lessons are good things for boys.”
The guards left. Assef put down his prayer beads. Reached
in the breast pocket of his black vest. What he fished out of
that pocket didn’t surprise me one bit: stainless-steel brass
knuckles.

He has gel in his hair and a Clark Gable mustache above
his thick lips. The gel has soaked through the green paper surgical
cap, made a dark stain the shape of Africa. I remember that about
him. That, and the gold Allah chain around his dark neck. He is
peering down at me, speaking rapidly in a language I don’t under-
stand, Urdu, I think. My eyes keep going to his Adam’s apple bob-
bing up and down, up and down, and I want to ask him how old he
is anyway—he looks far too young, like an actor from some foreign
soap opera—but all I can mutter is, I think I gave him a good fight.
I think I gave him a good fight.