Page 351 - The Kite Runner

340 Khaled Hosseini

He waved as he pulled away. Standing outside the hotel room
and waving back, I wished Soraya could be there with me.

Sohrab had turned off the TV when I went back into
the room. I sat on the edge of my bed, asked him to sit next to me.
“Mr. Faisal thinks there is a way I can take you to America with
me,” I said.
“He does?” Sohrab said, smiling faintly for the first time in
days. “When can we go?”
“Well, that’s the thing. It might take a little while. But he said
it can be done and he’s going to help us.” I put my hand on the
back of his neck. From outside, the call to prayer blared through
the streets.
“How long?” Sohrab asked.
“I don’t know. A while.”
Sohrab shrugged and smiled, wider this time. “I don’t mind. I
can wait. It’s like the sour apples.”
“Sour apples?”
“One time, when I was really little, I climbed a tree and ate
these green, sour apples. My stomach swelled and became hard
like a drum, it hurt a lot. Mother said that if I’d just waited for the
apples to ripen, I wouldn’t have become sick. So now, whenever I
really want something, I try to remember what she said about the
apples.”
“Sour apples,” I said. “Mashallah, you’re just about the
smartest little guy I’ve ever met, Sohrab jan.” His ears reddened
with a blush.
“Will you take me to that red bridge? The one with the fog?”
he said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Absolutely.”