Page 185 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

of apple juice on the tree stump and practiced juggling his ball. His personal best

was sixty-eight touches without the ball hitting the ground. He had set that
record in the spring, and now it was midsummer and he was still trying to best it.
Adel had reached twenty-eight when he became aware that someone was
watching him. It was the boy, the one with the old man who had tried to
approach Baba jan at the school’s opening ceremony. He was squatting now in
the shade of the brick shed.
“What are you doing here?” Adel said, trying to bark the words like Kabir did
when he spoke to strangers.
“Getting some shade,” the boy said. “Don’t report me.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Neither are you.”
“What?”
The boy chuckled. “Never mind.” He stretched his arms wide and rose to his
feet. Adel tried to see if his pockets were full. Maybe he had come to steal fruit.

The boy walked over to Adel and flipped up the ball with one foot, gave it a pair
of quick juggles, and kicked it with his heel to Adel. Adel caught the ball and
cradled it under his arm.
“Where your goon had us wait, over by the road, me and my father? There’s
no shade. And not a damn cloud in the sky.”
Adel felt a need to rise to Kabir’s defense. “He is not a goon.”
“Well, he made sure we got an eyeful of his Kalashnikov, I can tell you that.”
He looked at Adel, a lazy, amused grin on his lips. He dropped a wad of spit at

his feet. “So I see you’re a fan of the head-butter.”
It took Adel a moment to realize who he was referring to. “You can’t judge
him by one mistake,” he said. “He was the best. He was a wizard in the
midfield.”
“I’ve seen better.”

“Yeah? Like who?”
“Like Maradona.”
“Maradona?” Adel said, outraged. He’d had this debate before with one of his
half brothers in Jalalabad. “Maradona was a cheater! ‘Hand of God,’
remember?”
“Everyone cheats and everyone lies.”

The boy yawned and started to go. He was about the same height as Adel,
maybe a hair taller, and probably just around his age too, Adel thought. But
somehow he walked like he was older, without hurry and with a kind of air, as if