Page 316 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 305

smile and tried. A tiny streak of blood trickled down my chin.
“Can I ask you for one more favor?”
“For you a thousand times over,” Farid said.
And, just like that, I was crying. I hitched gusts of air, tears
gushing down my cheeks, stinging the raw flesh of my lips.
“What’s the matter?” Farid said, alarmed.
I buried my face in one hand and held up the other. I knew the
whole room was watching me. After, I felt tired, hollow. “I’m sorry,”
I said. Sohrab was looking at me with a frown creasing his brow.
When I could talk again, I told Farid what I needed. “Rahim
Khan said they live here in Peshawar.”
“Maybe you should write down their names,” Farid said, eye-
ing me cautiously, as if wondering what might set me off next. I
scribbled their names on a scrap of paper towel. “John and Betty
Caldwell.”
Farid pocketed the folded piece of paper. “I will look for them
as soon as I can,” he said. He turned to Sohrab. “As for you, I’ll
pick you up this evening. Don’t tire Amir agha too much.”
But Sohrab had wandered to the window, where a half-dozen
pigeons strutted back and forth on the sill, pecking at wood and
scraps of old bread.

In the middle drawer of the dresser beside my bed, I had
foundanold National Geographic magazine, a chewed-up pencil,
a comb with missing teeth, and what I was reaching for now,
sweat pouring down my face from the effort: a deck of cards. I
had counted them earlier and, surprisingly, found the deck com-
plete. I asked Sohrab if he wanted to play. I didn’t expect him to
answer, let alone play. He’d been quiet since we had fled Kabul.