Page 344 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 333

On the other side of the closed bathroom door the water
was running. Since the day we’d checked into the hotel, Sohrab
took a long bath every night before bed. In Kabul, hot running
water had been like fathers, a rare commodity. Now Sohrab spent
almost an hour a night in the bath, soaking in the soapy water,
scrubbing. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I called Soraya. I
glanced at the thin line of light under the bathroom door. Do you
feel clean yet, Sohrab?
I passed on to Soraya what Raymond Andrews had told me.
“So what do you think?” I said.
“We have to think he’s wrong.” She told me she had called a
few adoption agencies that arranged international adoptions. She
hadn’t yet found one that would consider doing an Afghan adop-
tion, but she was still looking.
“How are your parents taking the news?”
“Madar is happy for us. You know how she feels about you,
Amir, you can do no wrong in her eyes. Padar . . . well, as always,
he’s a little harder to read. He’s not saying much.”
“And you? Are you happy?”
I heard her shifting the receiver to her other hand. “I think
we’ll be good for your nephew, but maybe that little boy will be
good for us too.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I find myself wondering what his
favorite qurma will be, or his favorite subject in school. I picture
myself helping him with homework . . .” She laughed. In the bath-
room, the water had stopped running. I could hear Sohrab in
there, shifting in the tub, spilling water over the sides.
“You’re going to be great,” I said.
“Oh, I almost forgot! I called Kaka Sharif.”
I remembered him reciting a poem at our nika from a scrap of