a tell Rahim Khan that a judge had bought the land and that an architect was working on the design。 For now； the lot was bare； save for dirt； stones； and weeds。
I tore the wrapping paper from Assef s present and tilted the book cover in the moonlight。 It was a biography of Hitler。 I threw it amid a tangle of weeds。
I leaned against the neighbor s wall； slid down to the ground。 I just sat in the dark for a while； knees drawn to my chest； looking up at the stars； waiting for the night to be over。
Shouldn t you be entertaining your guests？ a familiar voice said。 Rahim Khan was walking toward me along the wall。
They don t need me for that。 Baba s there； remember？ I said。 The ice in Rahim Khan s drink clinked when he sat next to me。 I didn t know you drank。
Turns out I do； he said。 Elbowed me playfully。 But only on the most important occasions。
I smiled。 Thanks。
He tipped his drink to me and took a sip。 He lit a cigarette； one of the unfiltered Pakistani cigarettes he and Baba were always smoking。 Did I ever tell you I was almost married once？
Really？ I said； smiling a little at the notion of Rahim Khan getting married。 I d always thought of him as Baba s quiet alter ego； my writing mentor； my pal； the one who never forgot to bring me a souvenir； a saughat； when he returned from a trip abroad。 But a husband？ A father？
He nodded。 It s true。 I was eighteen。 Her name was Homaira。 She was a Hazara； the daughter of our neighbor s servants。 She was as beautiful as a pari； light brown hair； big hazel eyes。。。 she had this laugh。。。 I can still hear it sometimes。 He twirled his glass。 We used to meet secretly in my father s apple orchards； always after midnight when everyone had gone to sleep。 We d walk under the trees and I d hold her hand。。。 Am I embarrassing you； Amir jan？
A little； I said。
It won t kill you； he said； taking another puff。 Anyway； we had this fantasy。 We d have a great； fancy wedding and invite family and friends from Kabul to Kandahar。 I would build us a big house； white with a tiled patio and large windows。 We would plant fruit trees in the garden and grow all sorts of flowers； have a lawn for our kids to play on。 On Fridays； after _namaz_ at the mosque； everyone would get together at our house for lunch and we d eat in the garden； under cherry trees； drink fresh water from the well。 Then tea with candy as we watched our kids play with their cousins。。。
He took a long gulp of his scotch。 Coughed。 You should have seen the look on my father s face when I told him。 My mother actually fainted。 My sisters splashed her face with water。 They fanned her and looked at me as if I had slit her throat。 My brother Jalal actually went to fetch his hunting rifle before my father stopped him。 Rahim Khan barked a bitter laughter。 It was Homaira and me against the world。 And I ll tell you this； Amir jan： In the end； the world always wins。 That s just the way of things。
So what happened？
That same day； my father put Homaira and her family on a lorry and sent them off to Hazarajat。 I never saw her again。
I m sorry； I said。
Probably for the best； though； Rahim Khan said； shrugging。 She would have suffered。 My family would have never accepted her as an equal。 You don t order someone to polish your shoes one day and call them sister the next。 He looked at me。 You know； you can tell me anything you want； Amir jan。 Anytime。
I know； I said uncertainly。 He looked at me for a long time； like he was waiting； his black bottomless eyes hinting at an unspoken secret between us。 For a moment； I almost did tell him。 Almost told him everything； but then what would he think of me？ He d hate me； and rightfully。
Here。 He handed me something。 I almost forgot。 Happy birthday。 It was a brown leather…bound notebook。 I traced my fingers along the gold…colored stitching on the borders。 I smelled the
leather。 For your stories； he said。 I was going to thank him when something exploded and bursts of fire lit up the sky。
Fireworks！
We hurried back to the house and found the guests all standing in the yard； looking up to the sky。 Kids hooted and screamed with each crackle and whoosh。 People cheered； burst into applause each time flares sizzled and exploded into bouquets of fire。 Every few seconds； the backyard lit up in sudden flashes of red； green； and yellow。
In one of those brief bursts of light； I saw something I ll never forget： Hassan serving drinks to Assef and Wali from a silver platter。 The light winked out； a hiss and a crackle； then another flicker of orange light： Assef grinning； kneading Hassan in the chest with a knuckle。
Then； mercifully； darkness。
NINE
Sitting in the middle of my room the next morning； I ripped open box after box of presents。 I don t know why I even bothered； since I just gave them a joyless glance and pitched them to the corner of the room。 The pile was growing there： a Polaroid camera； a transistor radio； an elaborate electric train set……and several sealed envelopes containing cash。 I knew I d never spend the money or listen to the radio； and the electric train would never trundle down its tracks in my room。 I didn t want any of it……it was all blood money； Baba would have never thrown me a party like that if I hadn t won the tournament。
Baba gave me two presents。 One was sure to bee the envy of every kid in the neighborhood： a brand new Schwinn Stingray； the king of all bicycles。 Only a handful of kids in all of Kabul owned a new Stingray and now I was one of them。 It had high…rise handlebars with black rubber grips and its famous banana seat。 The spokes were gold colored and the steel…frame body red； like