Page 309 - The Kite Runner

298 Khaled Hosseini

“Thank you, Farid,” I said through jaws wired shut. Armand
was right—I did sound like Al Pacino from The Godfather. And my
tongue surprised me every time it poked in one of the empty
spaces left by the teeth I had swallowed. “I mean, thank you. For
everything.”
He waved a hand, blushed a little. “Bas, it’s not worthy of
thanks,” he said. I turned to Sohrab. He was wearing a new outfit,
light brown pirhan-tumban that looked a bit big for him, and a
black skullcap. He was looking down at his feet, toying with the
IV line coiled on the bed.
“We were never properly introduced,” I said. I offered him my
hand. “I am Amir.”
He looked at my hand, then to me. “You are the Amir agha
Father told me about?” he said.
“Yes.” I remembered the words from Hassan’s letter. I have
told much about you to Farzana jan and Sohrab, about us growing
up together and playing games and running in the streets. They
laugh at the stories of all the mischief you and I used to cause! “I
owe you thanks too, Sohrab jan,” I said. “You saved my life.”
He didn’t say anything. I dropped my hand when he didn’t
take it. “I like your new clothes,” I mumbled.
“They’re my son’s,” Farid said. “He has outgrown them. They
fit Sohrab pretty well, I would say.” Sohrab could stay with him,
he said, until we found a place for him. “We don’t have a lot of
room, but what can I do? I can’t leave him to the streets. Besides,
my children have taken a liking to him. Ha, Sohrab?” But the boy
just kept looking down, twirling the line with his finger.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Farid said, a little hesitantly.
“What happened in that house? What happened between you and
the Talib?”
“Let’s just say we both got what we deserved,” I said.