《the kite runner》

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the kite runner- 第43部分


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d me speaking for such an inappropriate length of time with his daughter。
 Maybe I ll bring you one someday;  I said。 I was about to say more when the woman I d seen on occasion with Soraya came walking up the aisle。 She was carrying a plastic bag full of fruit。 When she saw us; her eyes bounced from Soraya to me and back。 She smiled。
 Amir jan; good to see you;  she said; unloading the bag on the tablecloth。 Her brow glistened with a sheen of sweat。 Her red hair; coiffed like a helmet; glittered in the sunlight……I could see bits of her scalp where the hair had thinned。 She had small green eyes buried in a cabbage…round face; capped teeth; and little fingers like sausages。 A golden Allah rested on her chest; the chain burrowed under the skin tags and folds of her neck。  I am Jamila; Soraya jan s mother。 
 Salaam; Khala jan;  I said; embarrassed; as I often was around Afghans; that she knew me and I had no idea who she was。
 How is your father?  she said。
 He s well; thank you。 
 You know; your grandfather; Ghazi Sahib; the judge? Now; his uncle and my grandfather were cousins;  she said。  So you see; we re related。  She smiled a cap…toothed smile; and I noticed the right side of her mouth drooping a little。 Her eyes moved between Soraya and me again。
I d asked Baba once why General Taheri s daughter hadn t married yet。 No suitors; Baba said。 No suitable suitors; he amended。 But he wouldn t say more……Baba knew how lethal idle talk could prove to a young woman s prospects of marrying well。 Afghan men; especially those from reputable families; were fickle creatures。 A whisper here; an insinuation there; and they fled like startled birds。 So weddings had e and gone and no one had sung ahesta boro for Soraya; no one had painted her palms with henna; no one had held a Koran over her headdress; and it had been General Taheri who d danced with her at every wedding。
And now; this woman; this mother; with her heartbreakingly eager; crooked smile and the barely veiled hope in her eyes。 I cringed a little at the position of power I d been granted; and all because I had won at the genetic lottery that had determined my sex。
I could never read the thoughts in the general s eyes; but I knew this much about his wife: If I was going to have an adversary in this……whatever this was……it would not be her。
 Sit down; Amir jan;  she said。  Soraya; get him a chair; hachem。 And wash one of those peaches。 They re sweet and fresh。 
 Nay; thank you;  I said。  I should get going。 My father s waiting。 
 Oh?  Khanum Taheri said; clearly impressed that I d done the polite thing and declined the offer。  Then here; at least have this。  She threw a handful of kiwis and a few peaches into a paper bag and insisted I take them。  Carry my Salaam to your father。 And e back to see us again。 
 I will。 Thank you; Khala jan;  I said。 Out of the corner of my eye; I saw Soraya looking away。
 I THOUGHT YOU WERE GETTING COKES;  Baba said; taking the bag of peaches from me。 He was looking at me in a simultaneously serious and playful way。 I began to make some thing up; but he bit into a peach and waved his hand;  Don t bother; Amir。 Just remember what I said。 
THAT NIGHT IN BED; I thought of the way dappled sunlight had danced in Soraya s eyes; and of the delicate hollows above her collarbone。 I replayed our conversation over and over in my head。 Had she said I heard you write or I heard you re a writer? Which was it? I tossed in my sheets and stared at the ceiling; dismayed at the thought of six laborious; interminable nights of yelda until I saw her again。
IT WENT ON LIKE THAT for a few weeks。 I d wait until the general went for a stroll; then I d walk past the Taheris  stand。 If Khanum Taheri was there; she d offer me tea and a kolcha and we d chat about Kabul in the old days; the people we knew; her arthritis。 Undoubtedly; she had noticed that my appearances always coincided with her husband s absences; but she never let on。  Oh you just missed your Kaka;  she d say。 I actually liked it when Khanum Taheri was there; and not just because of her amiable ways; Soraya was more relaxed; more talkative with her mother around。 As if her presence legitimized whatever was happening between us……though certainly not to the same degree that the general s would have。 Khanum Taheri s chaperoning made our meetings; if not gossip…proof; then less gossip…worthy; even if her borderline fawning on me clearly embarrassed Soraya。
One day; Soraya and I were alone at their booth; talking。 She was telling me about school; how she too was working on her general education classes; at Ohlone Junior College in Fremont。
 What will you major in? 
 I want to be a teacher;  she said。
 Really? Why? 
 I ve always wanted to。 When we lived in Virginia; I became ESL certified and now I teach at the public library one night a week。 My mother was a teacher too; she taught Farsi and history at Zarghoona High School for girls in Kabul。 
A potbellied man in a deerstalker hat offered three dollars for a five…dollar set of candlesticks and Soraya let him have it。 She dropped the money in a little candy box by her feet。 She looked at me shyly。  I want to tell you a story;  she said;  but I m a little embarrassed about it。 
 Tell me。 
 It s kind of silly。 
 Please tell me。 
She laughed。  Well; when I was in fourth grade in Kabul; my father hired a woman named Ziba to help around the house。 She had a sister in Iran; in Mashad; and; since Ziba was illiterate; she d ask me to write her sister letters once in a while。 And when the sister replied; I d read her letter to Ziba。 One day; I asked her if she d like to learn to read and write。 She ga
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