Page 186 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

he had seen everything there was to see and nothing surprised him.

“My name is Adel.”
“Gholam.” They shook hands. Gholam’s grip was strong, his palm dry and
callused.
“How old are you anyway?”
Gholam gave a shrug. “Thirteen, I guess. Could be fourteen by now.”

“You don’t know your own birthday?”
Gholam grinned. “I bet you know yours. I bet you count down.”
“I do not,” Adel said defensively. “I mean, I don’t count down.”

“I should go. My father’s waiting alone.”
“I thought that was your grandfather.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Do you want to play a shoot-out?” Adel asked.
“You mean like a penalty shoot-out?”

“Five each … best of.”
Gholam spat again, squinted toward the road and back at Adel. Adel noticed
that his chin was a bit small for his face and that he had overlapping extra
canines in the front, one of them chipped badly and rotting. His left eyebrow was
split in half by a short, narrow scar. Also, he smelled. But Adel hadn’t had a
conversation—let alone played a game—with a boy his age in nearly two years,
discounting the monthly visits to Jalalabad. Adel prepared himself for
disappointment, but Gholam shrugged and said, “Shit, why not? But I get first
dibs on shooting.”

For goalposts, they used two rocks placed eight steps apart. Gholam took his
five shots. Scored one, off target twice, and Adel easily saved two. Gholam’s
goaltending was even worse than his shooting. Adel managed to score four,
tricking him into leaning in the wrong direction each time, and the one shot he
missed wasn’t even on goal.
“Fucker,” Gholam said, bent in half, palms on his kneecaps.
“Rematch?” Adel tried not to gloat, but it was hard. He was soaring inside.

Gholam agreed, and the result was even more lopsided. He again managed
one goal, and this time Adel converted all five of his attempts.
“That’s it, I’m winded,” Gholam said, throwing up his hands. He trudged
over to the tree stump and sat down with a tired groan. Adel cradled the ball and
sat next to him.
“These probably aren’t helping,” Gholam said, fishing a pack of cigarettes

from the front pocket of his jeans. He had one left. He lit it with a single strike of