the kite runner-第90章

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ad　taken　root　between　us　too。　What　had　happened　in　that　room　with　Assef　had　irrevocably　bound　us。
I　d　been　looking　for　the　right　time；　the　right　moment；　to　ask　the　question　that　had　been　buzzing　around　in　my　head　and　keep　ing　me　up　at　night。　I　decided　the　moment　was　now；　right　here；　right　now；　with　the　bright　lights　of　the　house　of　God　shining　on　us。
　Would　you　like　to　e　live　in　America　with　me　and　my　wife？　
He　didn　t　answer。　He　sobbed　into　my　shirt　and　I　let　him。
FOR　A　WEEK；　neither　one　of　us　mentioned　what　I　had　asked　him；　as　if　the　question　hadn　t　been　posed　at　all。　Then　one　day；　Sohrab　and　I　took　a　taxicab　to　the　Daman…e…Koh　Viewpoint……or　　the　hem　of　the　mountain。　　Perched　midway　up　the　Margalla　Hills；　it　gives　a　panoramic　view　of　Islamabad；　its　rows　of　clean；　tree…lined　avenues　and　white　houses。　The　driver　told　us　we　could　see　the　presidential　palace　from　up　there。　　If　it　has　rained　and　the　air　is　clear；　you　can　even　see　past　Rawalpindi；　　he　said。　I　saw　his　eyes　in　his　rearview　mirror；　skipping　from　Sohrab　to　me；　back　and　forth；　back　and　forth。　I　saw　my　own　face　too。　It　wasn　t　as　swollen　as　before；　but　it　had　taken　on　a　yellow　tint　from　my　assortment　of　fading　bruises。
We　sat　on　a　bench　in　one　of　the　picnic　areas；　in　the　shade　of　a　gum　tree。　It　was　a　warm　day；　the　sun　perched　high　in　a　topaz　blue　sky。　On　benches　nearby；　families　snacked　on　samosas　and　pakoras。　Somewhere；　a　radio　played　a　Hindi　song　I　thought　I　remembered　from　an　old　movie；　maybe　Pakeeza。　Kids；　many　of　them　Sohrab　s　age；　chased　soccer　balls；　giggling；　yelling。　I　thought　about　the　orphanage　in　Karteh…Seh；　thought　about　the　rat　that　had　scurried　between　my　feet　in　Zaman　s　office。　My　chest　tightened　with　a　surge　of　unexpected　anger　at　the　way　my　countrymen　were　destroying　their　own　land。
　What？　　Sohrab　asked。　I　forced　a　smile　and　told　him　it　wasn　t　important。
We　unrolled　one　of　the　hotel　s　bathroom　towels　on　the　picnic　table　and　played　panjpar　on　it。　It　felt　good　being　there；　with　my　half　brother　s　son；　playing
cards；　the　warmth　of　the　sun　patting　the　back　of　my　neck。　The　song　ended　and　another　one　started；　one　I　didn　t　recognize。
　Look；　　Sohrab　said。　He　was　pointing　to　the　sky　with　his　cards。　I　looked　up；　saw　a　hawk　circling　in　the　broad　seamless　sky。　　Didn　t　know　there　were　hawks　in　Islamabad；　　I　said。
　Me　neither；　　he　said；　his　eyes　tracing　the　bird　s　circular　flight。　　Do　they　have　them　where　you　live？　
　San　Francisco？　I　guess　so。　I　can　t　say　I　ve　seen　too　many；　though。　
　Oh；　　he　said。　I　was　hoping　he　d　ask　more；　but　he　dealt　another　hand　and　asked　if　we　could　eat。　I　opened　the　paper　bag　and　gave　him　his　meatball　sandwich。　My　lunch　consisted　of　yet　another　cup　of　blended　bananas　and　oranges……I　d　rented　Mrs。　Fayyaz　s　blender　for　the　week。　I　sucked　through　the　straw　and　my　mouth　filled　with　the　sweet；　blended　fruit。　Some　of　it　dripped　from　the　corner　of　my　lips。　Sohrab　handed　me　a　napkin　and　watched　me　dab　at　my　lips。　I　smiled　and　he　smiled　back。
　Your　father　and　I　were　brothers；　　I　said。　It　just　came　out。　I　had　wanted　to　tell　him　the　night　we　had　sat　by　the　mosque；　but　I　hadn　t。　But　he　had　a　right　to　know；　I　didn　t　want　to　hide　anything　anymore。　　Half　brothers；　really。　We　had　the　same　father。　
Sohrab　stopped　chewing。　Put　the　sandwich　down。　　Father　never　said　he　had　a　brother。　
　That　s　because　he　didn　t　know。　
　Why　didn　t　he　know？　
　No　one　told　him；　　I　said。　　No　one　told　me　either。　I　just　found　out　recently。　
Sohrab　blinked。　Like　he　was　looking　at　me；　really　looking　at　me；　for　the　very　first　time。　　But　why　did　people　hide　it　from　Father　and　you？　
　You　know；　I　asked　myself　that　same　question　the　other　day。　And　there　s　an　answer；　but　not　a　good　one。　Let　s　just　say　they　didn　t　tell　us　because　your　father　and　I。。。　we　weren　t　supposed　to　be　brothers。　
　Because　he　was　a　Hazara？　
I　willed　my　eyes　to　stay　on　him。　　Yes。　
　Did　your　father；　　he　began；　eyeing　his　food；　　did　your　father　love　you　and　my　father　equally？　
I　thought　of　a　long　ago　day　at　Ghargha　Lake；　when　Baba　had　allowed　himself　to　pat　Hassan　on　the　back　when　Hassan　s　stone　had　outskipped　mine。　I　pictured　Baba　in　the　hospital　room；　beaming　as　they　removed　the　bandages　from　Hassan　s　lips。　　I　think　he　loved　us　equally　but　differently。　
　Was　he　ashamed　of　my　father？　
　No；　　I　said。　　I　think　he　was　ashamed　of　himself。　
He　picked　up　his　sandwich　and　nibbled　at　it　silently。
WE　LEFT　LATE　THAT　AFTERNOON；　tired　from　the　heat；　but　tired　in　a　pleasant　way。　All　the　way　back；　I　felt　Sohrab　watching　me。　I　had　the　driver　pull　over　at　a　store　that　sold　calling　cards。　I　gave　him　the　money　and　a　tip　for　running　in　and　buying　me　one。
That　night；　we　were　lying　on　our　beds；　watching　a　talk　show　on　TV。　Two　clerics　with　pepper　gray　long　beards　and　white　turbans　were　taking　calls　from　the　faithful　all　over　the　world。　One　caller　from　Finland；　a　guy　named　Ayub；　asked　if　his　teenaged　son　could　go　to　hell　for　wearing　his　baggy　pants　so　low　the　seam　of　his　underwear　showed。
　I　saw　a　picture　of　San　Francisco　once；　　Sohrab　said。
　Really？　
　There　was　a　red　bridge　and　a　building　with　a　pointy　top。　
　You　should　see　the　streets；　　I　said。
　What　about　them？　　He　was　looking　at　me　now。　On　the　TV　screen；　the　two　mullahs　were　consulting　each　other。
　They　re　so　steep；　when　you　drive　up　all　you　see　is　the　hood　of　your　car　and　the　sky；　　I　said。
　It　sounds　scary；　　he　said。　He　rolled　to　his　side；　facing　me；　his　back　to　the　TV。
　It　is　the　first　few　times；　　I　said。　　But　you　get　used　to　it。　
　Does　it　snow　there？　
　No；　but　we　get　a　lot　of　fog。　You　know　that　red　bridge　you　saw？　
　Yes。　
　Sometimes　the　fog　is　so　thick　in　the　morning；　all　you　see　is　the　tip　of　the　two　to