Page 82 - The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner 71

clay houses—no more than mud shacks in most cases—separated
by narrow alleys.
I heard the voices again, louder this time, coming from one of
the alleys. I crept close to the mouth of the alley. Held my breath.
Peeked around the corner.
Hassan was standing at the blind end of the alley in a defiant
stance: fists curled, legs slightly apart. Behind him, sitting on piles
of scrap and rubble, was the blue kite. My key to Baba’s heart.
Blocking Hassan’s way out of the alley were three boys, the
same three from that day on the hill, the day after Daoud Khan’s
coup, when Hassan had saved us with his slingshot. Wali was
standing on one side, Kamal on the other, and in the middle,
Assef. I felt my body clench up, and something cold rippled up my
spine. Assef seemed relaxed, confident. He was twirling his brass
knuckles. The other two guys shifted nervously on their feet, look-
ing from Assef to Hassan, like they’d cornered some kind of wild
animal that only Assef could tame.
“Where is your slingshot, Hazara?” Assef said, turning the
brass knuckles in his hand. “What was it you said? ‘They’ll have to
call you One-Eyed Assef.’ That’s right. One-Eyed Assef. That was
clever. Really clever. Then again, it’s easy to be clever when you’re
holding a loaded weapon.”
I realized I still hadn’t breathed out. I exhaled, slowly, quietly.
I felt paralyzed. I watched them close in on the boy I’d grown up
with, the boy whose harelipped face had been my first memory.
“But today is your lucky day, Hazara,” Assef said. He had his
back to me, but I would have bet he was grinning. “I’m in a mood
to forgive. What do you say to that, boys?”
“That’s generous,” Kamal blurted, “Especially after the rude
manners he showed us last time.” He was trying to sound like