the kite runner-第94章

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I　supposed　to　do？　　he　said　in　a　strained　voice。
　……to　find　something　tomorrow　　She　sounded　near　tears。　　What　do　I　feed……　
I　tiptoed　away。　I　understood　now　why　the　boys　hadn　t　shown　any　interest　in　the　watch。　They　hadn　t　been　staring　at　the　watch　at　all。　They　d　been　staring　at　my　food。
WE　SAID　OUR　GOOD　…　BYE　S　early　the　next　morning。　Just　before　I　climbed　into　the　Land　Cruiser；　I　thanked　Wahid　for　his　hospitality。　He　pointed　to　the　little　house　behind　him。　　This　is　your　home；　　he　said。　His　three　sons　were　standing　in　the　doorway　watching　us。　The　little　one　was　wearing　the　watch……it　dangled　around　his　twiggy　wrist。
I　glanced　in　the　side…view　mirror　as　we　pulled　away。　Wahid　stood　surrounded　by　his　boys　in　a　cloud　of　dust　whipped　up　by　the　truck。　It　occurred　to　me　that；　in　a　different　world；　those　boys　wouldn　t　have　been　too　hungry　to　chase　after　the　car。
Earlier　that　morning；　when　I　was　certain　no　one　was　looking；　I　did　something　I　had　done　twenty…six　years　earlier：　I　planted　a　fistful　of　crumpled　money　under　a　mattress。
TWENTY
Farid　had　warned　me。　He　had。　But；　as　it　turned　out；　he　had　wasted　his　breath。
We　were　driving　down　the　cratered　road　that　winds　from　Jalalabad　to　Kabul。　The　last　time　I　d　traveled　that　road　was　in　a　tarpaulin…covered　truck　going　the　other　way。　Baba　had　nearly　gotten　himself　shot　by　a　singing；　stoned　Roussi　officer……Baba　had　made　me　so　mad　that　night；　so　scared；　and；　ultimately；　so　proud。　The　trek　between　Kabul　and　Jalalabad；　a　bone…jarring　ride　down　a　teetering　pass　snaking　through　the　rocks；　had　bee　a　relic　now；　a　relic　of　two　wars。　Twenty　years　earlier；　I　had　seen　some　of　the　first　war　with　my　own　eyes。　Grim　reminders　of　it　were　strewn　along　the　road：　burned　carcasses　of　old　Soviet　tanks；　overturned　military　trucks　gone　to　rust；　a　crushed　Russian　jeep　that　had　plunged　over　the　mountainside。　The　second　war；　I　had　watched　on　my　TV　screen。　And　now　I　was　seeing　it　through　Farid　s　eyes。
Swerving　effortlessly　around　potholes　in　the　middle　of　the　broken　road；　Farid　was　a　man　in　his　element。　He　had　bee　much　chattier　since　our　overnight　stay　at　Wahid　s　house。　He　had　me　sit　in　the　passenger　seat　and　looked　at　me　when　he　spoke。　He　even　smiled　once　or　twice。　Maneuvering　the　steering　wheel　with　his　mangled　hand；　he　pointed　to　mud…hut　villages　along　the　way　where　he　d　known　people　years　before。　Most　of　those　people；　he　said；　were　either　dead　or　in　refugee　camps　in　Pakistan。　　And　sometimes　the　dead　are　luckier；　　he　said。
He　pointed　to　the　crumbled；　charred　remains　of　a　tiny　village。　It　was　just　a　tuft　of　blackened；　roofless　walls　now。　I　saw　a　dog　sleeping　along　one　of　the　walls。　　I　had　a　friend　there　once；　　Farid　said。　　He　was　a　very　good　bicycle　repairman。　He　played　the　tabla　well　too。　The　Taliban　killed　him　and　his　family　and　burned　the　village。　
We　drove　past　the　burned　village；　and　the　dog　didn　t　move。
IN　THE　OLD　DAYS；　the　drive　from　Jalalabad　to　Kabul　took　two　hours；　maybe　a　little　more。　It　took　Farid　and　me　over　four　hours　to　reach　Kabul。　And　when　we　did。。。　Farid　warned　me　just　after　we　passed　the　Mahipar　dam。
　Kabul　is　not　the　way　you　remember　it；　　he　said。
　So　I　hear。　
Farid　gave　me　a　look　that　said　hearing　is　not　the　same　as　seeing。　And　he　was　right。　Because　when　Kabul　finally　did　unroll　before　us；　I　was　certain；　absolutely　certain；　that　he　had　taken　a　wrong　turn　somewhere。　Farid　must　have　seen　my　stupefied　expression；　shuttling　people　back　and　forth　to　Kabul；　he　would　have　bee　familiar　with　that　expression　on　the　faces　of　those　who　hadn　t　seen　Kabul　for　a　long　time。
He　patted　me　on　the　shoulder。　　Wele　back；　　he　said　morosely。
RUBBLE　AND　BEGGARS。　Everywhere　I　looked；　that　was　what　I　saw。　I　remembered　beggars　in　the　old　days　too……Baba　always　carried　an　extra　handful　of　Afghani　bills　in　his　pocket　just　for　them；　I　d　never　seen　him　deny　a　peddler。　Now；　though；　they　squatted　at　every　street　corner；　dressed　in　shredded　burlap　rags；　mud…caked　hands　held　out　for　a　coin。　And　the　beggars　were　mostly　children　now；　thin　and　grim…faced；　some　no　older　than　five　or　six。　They　sat　in　the　laps　of　their　burqa…clad　mothers　alongside　gutters　at　busy　street