Page 320 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 309

“Absolutely nobody,” he said gravely, swinging his index finger the
same way Armand had.
Driving through Peshawar with so much money in a paper bag
was a slightly frightening experience. Plus, I suspected every
bearded man who stared at me to be a Talib killer, sent by Assef.
Two things compounded my fears: There are a lot of bearded men
in Peshawar, and everybody stares.
“What do we do with him?” Farid said, walking me slowly from
the hospital accounting office back to the car. Sohrab was in the
backseat of the Land Cruiser, looking at traffic through the rolled-
down window, chin resting on his palms.
“He can’t stay in Peshawar,” I said, panting.
“Nay, Amir agha, he can’t,” Farid said. He’d read the question
in my words. “I’m sorry. I wish I—”
“That’s all right, Farid,” I said. I managed a tired smile. “You
have mouths to feed.” A dog was standing next to the truck now,
propped on its rear legs, paws on the truck’s door, tail wagging.
Sohrab was petting the dog. “I guess he goes to Islamabad for
now,” I said.

I slept through almost the entire four-hour ride to Islam-
abad. I dreamed a lot, and most of it I only remember as a hodge-
podge of images, snippets of visual memory flashing in my head
like cards in a Rolodex: Baba marinating lamb for my thirteenth
birthday party. Soraya and I making love for the first time, the sun
rising in the east, our ears still ringing from the wedding music,
her henna-painted hands laced in mine. The time Baba had taken
Hassan and me to a strawberry field in Jalalabad—the owner had
told us we could eat as much as we wanted to as long as we
bought at least four kilos—and how we’d both ended up with