the kite runner-第65部分

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　Of　course；　　I　said。　　You　have　nothing　to　apologize　for。　I　understand。　
It　was　midway　through　tea　after　shorwa　that　Hassan　asked　about　you。　I　told　him　you　were　in　America；　but　that　I　did　not　know　much　more。　Hassan　had　so　many　questions　about　you。　Had　you　married？　Did　you　have　children？　How　tall　were　you？　Did　you　still　fly　kites　and　go　to　the　cinema？　Were　you　happy？　He　said　he　had　befriended　an　old　Farsi　teacher　in　Bamiyan　who　had　taught　him　to　read　and　write。　If　he　wrote　you　a　letter；　would　I　pass　it　on　to　you？　And　did　I　think　you　would　write　back？　I　told　him　what　I　knew　of　you　from　the　few　phone　conversations　I　had　had　with　your　father；　but　mostly　I　did　not　know　how　to　answer　him。　Then　he　asked　me　about　your　father。　When　I　told　him；　Hassan　buried　his　face　in　his　hands　and　broke　into　tears。　He　wept　like　a　child　for　the　rest　of　that　night。
They　insisted　that　I　spend　the　night　there。　Farzana　fixed　a　cot　for　me　and　left　me　a　glass　of　well　water　in　case　I　got　thirsty。　All　night；　I　heard　her　whispering　to　Hassan；　and　heard　him　sobbing。
In　the　morning；　Hassan　told　me　he　and　Farzana　had　decided　to　move　to　Kabul　with　me。
　I　should　not　have　e　here；　　I　said。　　You　were　right；　Hassan　jan。　You　have　a　zendagi；　a　life　here。　It　was　presumptuous　of　me　to　just　show　up　and　ask　you　to　drop　everything。　It　is　me　who　needs　to　be　forgiven。　
　We　don　t　have　that　much　to　drop；　Rahim　Khan；　　Hassan　said。　His　eyes　were　still　red　and　puffy。　　We　ll　go　with　you。　We　ll　help　you　take　care　of　the　house。　
　Are　you　absolutely　sure？　
He　nodded　and　dropped　his　head。　　Agha　sahib　was　like　my　second　father。。。　God　give　him　peace。　
They　piled　their　things　in　the　center　of　a　few　worn　rags　and　tied　the　corners　together。　We　loaded　the　bundle　into　the　Buick。　Hassan　stood　in　the　threshold　of　the　house　and　held　the　Koran　as　we　all　kissed　it　and　passed　under　it。　Then　we　left　for　Kabul。　I　remember　as　I　was　pulling　away；　Hassan　turned　to　take　a　last　look　at　their　home。
When　we　got　to　Kabul；　I　discovered　that　Hassan　had　no　intention　of　moving　into　the　house。　　But　all　these　rooms　are　empty；　Hassan　jan。　No　one　is　going　to　live　in　them；　　I　said。
But　he　would　not。　He　said　it　was　a　matter　of　ihtiram；　a　matter　of　respect。　He　and　Farzana　moved　their　things　into　the　hut　in　the　backyard；　where　he　was　born。　I　pleaded　for　them　to　move　into　one　of　the　guest　bedrooms　upstairs；　but　Hassan　would　hear　nothing　of　it。　　What　will　Amir　agha　think？　　he　said　to　me。　　What　will　he　think　when　he　es　back　to　Kabul　after　the　war　and　finds　that　I　have　assumed　his　place　in　the　house？　　Then；　in　mourning　for　your　father；　Hassan　wore　black　for　the　next　forty　days。
I　did　not　want　them　to；　but　the　two　of　them　did　all　the　cooking；　all　the　cleaning。　Hassan　tended　to　the　flowers　in　the　garden；　soaked　the　roots；　picked　off　yellowing　leaves；　and　planted　rosebushes。　He　painted　the　walls。　In　the　house；　he　swept　rooms　no　one　had　slept　in　for　years；　and　cleaned　bathrooms　no　one　had　bathed　in。　Like　he　was　preparing　the　house　for　someone　s　return。　Do　you　remember　the　wall　behind　the　row　of　corn　your　father　had　planted；　Amir　jan？　What　did　you　and　Hassan　call　it；　　the　Wall　of　Ailing　Corn　？　A　rocket　destroyed　a　whole　section　of　that　wall　in　the　middle　of　the　night　early　that　fall。　Hassan　rebuilt　the　wall　with　his　own　hands；　brick　by　brick；　until　it　stood　　whole　again。　I　do　not　know　what　I　would　have　done　if　he　had　not　been　there。　Then　late　that　fall；　Farzana　gave　birth　to　a　stillborn　baby　girl。　Hassan　kissed　the　baby　s　lifeless　face；　and　we　buried　her　in　the　backyard；　near　the　sweetbrier　bushes。　We　covered　the　little　mound　with　leaves　from　the　poplar　trees。　I　said　a　prayer　for　her。　Farzana　stayed　in　the　hut　all　day　and　wailed……it　is　a　heartbreaking　sound；　Amir　jan；　the　wailing　of　a　mother。　I　pray　to　Allah　you　never　hear　it。
Outside　the　walls　of　that　house；　there　was　a　war　raging。　But　the　three　of　us；　in　your　father　s　house；　we　made　our　own　little　haven　from　it。　My　vision　started　going　by　the　late　1980s；　so　I　had　Hassan　read　me　your　mother　s　books。　We　would　sit　in　the　foyer；　by　the　stove；　and　Hassan　would　read　me　from　_Masnawi_　or　_Khayy醡_；　as　Farzana　cooked　in　the　kitchen。　And　every　morning；　Hassan　placed　a　flower　on　the　little　mound　by　the　sweetbrier　bushes。
In　early　1990；　Farzana　became　pregnant　again。　It　was　that　same　year；　in　the　middle　of　the　summer；　that　a　woman　covered　in　a　sky　blue　burqa　knocked　on　the　front　gates　one　morning。　When　I　walked　up　to　the　gates；　she　was　swaying　on　her　feet；　like　she　was　too　weak　to　even　stand。　I　asked　her　what　she　wanted；　but　she　would　not　answer。
　Who　are　you？　　I　said。　But　she　just　collapsed　right　there　in　the　driveway。　I　yelled　for　Hassan　and　he　helped　me　carry　her　into　the　house；　to　the　living　room。　We　lay　her　on　the　sofa　and　took　off　her　burqa。　Beneath　it；　we　found　a　toothless　woman　with　stringy　graying　hair　and　sores　on　her　arms。　She　looked　like　she　had　not　eaten　for　days。　But　the　worst　of　it　by　far　was　her　face。　Someone　had　taken　a　knife　to　it　and。。。　Amir　jan；　the　slashes　cut　this　way　and　that　way。　One　of　the　cuts　went　from　cheekbone　to　hairline　and　it　had　not　spared　her　left　eye　on　the　way。　It　was　grotesque。　I　patted