crossed his face. "Lately, it seems all he wants to do is sleep. He does his chores – I see to that – but then he just wants to crawl under his blanket. Can I ask you something?"
"If you have to."
"After that kite tournament, he came home a little bloodied and his shirt was torn. I asked him what had happened and he said Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner it was nothing, that he'd gotten into a little scuffle with some kids over the kite."
I didn't say anything. Just kept pushing the egg around on my plate.
"Did something happen to him, Amir agha? Something he's not telling me?"
I shrugged. "How should I know?"
"You would tell me, nay? Inshallah, you would tell me if something had happened?"
"Like I said, how should I know what's wrong with him?" I snapped. "Maybe he's sick. People get sick all the time, Ali. Now, am I going to freeze to death or are you planning on lighting the stove today?"
T
HAT NIGHT
I asked Baba if we could go to Jalalabad on Friday. He was rocking on the leather swivel chair behind his desk, reading Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner a newspaper. He put it down, took off the reading glasses I disliked so much – Baba wasn't old, not at all, and he had lots of years left to live, so why did he have to wear those stupid glasses?
"Why not!" he said. Lately, Baba agreed to everything I asked. Not only that, just two nights before, he 'd asked me if I wanted to see El Cid with Charlton Heston at Cinema Aryana. "Do you want to ask Hassan to come along to Jalalabad?"
Why did Baba have to spoil it like that?
"He's mareez," I said. Not feeling well.
"Really?" Baba stopped rocking in his chair. "What's wrong with him?"
I gave a shrug and sank in the sofa by the fireplace. "He's got a cold or something. Ali says he's sleeping it off."
Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner "I haven't seen much of Hassan the last few days," Baba said. "That's all it is, then, a cold?" I couldn't help hating the way his brow furrowed with worry.
"Just a cold. So are we going Friday,
Baba?"
"Yes, yes," Baba said, pushing away from the desk. "Too bad about Hassan. I thought you might have had more fun if he came."
"Well, the two of us can have fun together," I said.
Baba smiled. Winked. "Dress warm," he said.
I
T SHOULD HAVE BEEN
just the two of us – that was the way I wanted it – but by Wednesday night, Baba had managed to invite another two dozen people. He called Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner his cousin Homayoun – he was actually Baba's second cousin – and mentioned he was going to Jalalabad on Friday, and Homayoun, who had studied engineering in France and had a house in Jalalabad, said he'd love to have everyone over, he'd bring the kids, his two wives, and, while he was at it, cousin Shafiqa and her family were visiting from Herat, maybe she'd like to tag along, and since she was staying with cousin Nader in Kabul, his family would have to be invited as well even though Homayoun and Nader had a bit of a feud going, and if Nader was invited, surely his brother Faruq had to be asked too or his feelings would be hurt and he might not invite them to his daughter's wedding next month and…
We filled three vans. I rode with Baba,
Rahim Khan, Kaka Homayoun – Baba had Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner taught me at a young age to call any older male Kaka, or Uncle, and any older female, Khala, or Aunt. Kaka Homayoun's two wives rode with us too – the pinch-faced older one with the warts on her hands and the younger one who always smelled of perfume and danced with her eyes close – as did Kaka Homayoun's twin girls. I sat in the back row, carsick and dizzy, sandwiched between the seven-year-old twins who kept reaching over my lap to slap at each other. The road to Jalalabad is a two-hour trek through mountain roads winding along a steep drop, and my stomach lurched with each hairpin turn. Everyone in the van was talking, talking loudly and at the same time, nearly shrieking, which is
"If you have to."
"After that kite tournament, he came home a little bloodied and his shirt was torn. I asked him what had happened and he said Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner it was nothing, that he'd gotten into a little scuffle with some kids over the kite."
I didn't say anything. Just kept pushing the egg around on my plate.
"Did something happen to him, Amir agha? Something he's not telling me?"
I shrugged. "How should I know?"
"You would tell me, nay? Inshallah, you would tell me if something had happened?"
"Like I said, how should I know what's wrong with him?" I snapped. "Maybe he's sick. People get sick all the time, Ali. Now, am I going to freeze to death or are you planning on lighting the stove today?"
T
HAT NIGHT
I asked Baba if we could go to Jalalabad on Friday. He was rocking on the leather swivel chair behind his desk, reading Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner a newspaper. He put it down, took off the reading glasses I disliked so much – Baba wasn't old, not at all, and he had lots of years left to live, so why did he have to wear those stupid glasses?
"Why not!" he said. Lately, Baba agreed to everything I asked. Not only that, just two nights before, he 'd asked me if I wanted to see El Cid with Charlton Heston at Cinema Aryana. "Do you want to ask Hassan to come along to Jalalabad?"
Why did Baba have to spoil it like that?
"He's mareez," I said. Not feeling well.
"Really?" Baba stopped rocking in his chair. "What's wrong with him?"
I gave a shrug and sank in the sofa by the fireplace. "He's got a cold or something. Ali says he's sleeping it off."
Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner "I haven't seen much of Hassan the last few days," Baba said. "That's all it is, then, a cold?" I couldn't help hating the way his brow furrowed with worry.
"Just a cold. So are we going Friday,
Baba?"
"Yes, yes," Baba said, pushing away from the desk. "Too bad about Hassan. I thought you might have had more fun if he came."
"Well, the two of us can have fun together," I said.
Baba smiled. Winked. "Dress warm," he said.
I
T SHOULD HAVE BEEN
just the two of us – that was the way I wanted it – but by Wednesday night, Baba had managed to invite another two dozen people. He called Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner his cousin Homayoun – he was actually Baba's second cousin – and mentioned he was going to Jalalabad on Friday, and Homayoun, who had studied engineering in France and had a house in Jalalabad, said he'd love to have everyone over, he'd bring the kids, his two wives, and, while he was at it, cousin Shafiqa and her family were visiting from Herat, maybe she'd like to tag along, and since she was staying with cousin Nader in Kabul, his family would have to be invited as well even though Homayoun and Nader had a bit of a feud going, and if Nader was invited, surely his brother Faruq had to be asked too or his feelings would be hurt and he might not invite them to his daughter's wedding next month and…
We filled three vans. I rode with Baba,
Rahim Khan, Kaka Homayoun – Baba had Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner taught me at a young age to call any older male Kaka, or Uncle, and any older female, Khala, or Aunt. Kaka Homayoun's two wives rode with us too – the pinch-faced older one with the warts on her hands and the younger one who always smelled of perfume and danced with her eyes close – as did Kaka Homayoun's twin girls. I sat in the back row, carsick and dizzy, sandwiched between the seven-year-old twins who kept reaching over my lap to slap at each other. The road to Jalalabad is a two-hour trek through mountain roads winding along a steep drop, and my stomach lurched with each hairpin turn. Everyone in the van was talking, talking loudly and at the same time, nearly shrieking, which is
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