《the kite runner》

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the kite runner- 第80部分


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 Good。 I ll tell you;  he said。  I spent some time in jail; at Poleh…Charkhi; just after Babrak Karmal took over in 1980。 I ended up there one night; when a group of Parc hami soldiers marched into our house and ordered my father and me at gun point to follow them。 The bastards didn t give a reason; and they wouldn t answer my mother s questions。 Not that it was a mys tery; everyone knew the munists had no class。 They came from poor families with no name。 The same dogs who weren t fit to lick my shoes before the Shorawi came were now ordering me at gunpoint; Parchami flag on their lapels; making their little point about the fall of the bourgeoisie and acting like they were the ones with class。 It was happening all over: Round up the rich; throw them in jail; make an example for the rades。
 Anyway; we were crammed in groups of six in these tiny cells each the size of a refrigerator。 Every night the mandant; a haif…Hazara; half…Uzbek thing who smelled like a rotting donkey; would have one of the prisoners dragged out of the cell and he d beat him until sweat poured from his fat face。 Then he d light a cigarette; crack his joints; and leave。 The next night; he d pick someone else。 One night; he picked me。 It couldn t have e at a worse time。 I d been peeing blood for three days。 Kidney stones。 And if you ve never had one; believe me when I say it s the worst imaginable pain。 My mother used to get them too; and I remember she told me once she d rather give birth than pass a kidney stone。 Anyway; what could I do? They dragged me out and he started kick ing me。 He had knee…high boots with steel toes that he wore every night for his little kicking game; and he used them on me。 I was screaming and screaming and he kept kicking me and then; suddenly; he kicked me on the left kidney and the stone passed。 Just like that! Oh; the relief!  Assef laughed。  And I yelled  Allah…u akbar  and he kicked me even harder and I started laughing。 He got mad and hit me harder; and the harder he kicked me; the harder I laughed。 They threw me back in the cell laughing。 I kept laughing and laughing because suddenly I knew that had been a message from God: He was on my side。 He wanted me to live for a reason。
 You know; I ran into that mandant on the battlefield a few years later……funny how God works。 I found him in a trench just outside Meymanah; bleeding from a piece of shrapnel in his chest。 He was still wearing those same boots。 I asked him if he remembered me。 He said no。 I told him the same thing I just told you; that I never forget a face。 Then I shot him in the balls。 I ve been on a mission since。 
 What mission is that?  I heard myself say。  Stoning adulterers? Raping children? Flogging women for wearing high heels? Massacring Hazaras? All in the name of Islam?  The words spilled suddenly and unexpectedly; came out before I could yank the leash。 I wished I could take them back。 Swallow them。 But they were out。 I had crossed a line; and whatever little hope I had of getting out alive had vanished with those words。
A look of surprise passed across Assef s face; briefly; and disappeared。  I see this may turn out to be enjoyable after all;  he said; snickering。  But there are things traitors like you don t understand。 
 Like what? 
Assef s brow twitched。  Like pride in your people; your customs; your language。 Afghanistan is like a beautiful mansion littered with garbage; and someone has to take out the garbage。 
 That s what you were doing in Mazar; going door…to…door? Taking out the garbage? 
 Precisely。 
 In the west; they have an expression for that;  I said。  They call it ethnic cleansing。 
 Do they?  Assef s face brightened。  Ethnic cleansing。 I like it。 I like the sound of it。 
 All I want is the boy。 
 Ethnic cleansing;  Assef murmured; tasting the words。
 I want the boy;  I said again。 Sohrab s eyes flicked to me。 They were slaughter sheep s eyes。 They even had the mascara……I remembered how; on the day of Eid of qorban; the mullah in our backyard used to apply mascara to the eyes of the sheep and feed it a cube of sugar before slicing its throat。 I thought I saw pleading in Sohrab s eyes。
 Tell me why;  Assef said。 He pinched Sohrab s earlobe between his teeth。 Let go。 Sweat beads rolled down his brow。
 That s my business。 
 What do you want to do with him?  he said。 Then a coy smile。  Or to him。 
 That s disgusting;  I said。
 How would you know? Have you tried it? 
 I want to take him to a better place。 
 Tell me why。 
 That s my business;  I said。 I didn t know what had emboldened me to be so curt; maybe the fact that I thought I was going to die anyway。
 I wonder;  Assef said。  I wonder why you ve e all this way; Amir; e all this way for a Hazara? Why are you here? Why are you really here? 
 I have my reasons;  I said。
 Very well then;  Assef said; sneering。 He shoved Sohrab in the back; pushed him right into the table。 Sohrab s hips struck the table; knocking it upside down and spilling the grapes。 He fell on them; face first; and stained his shirt purple with grape juice。 The
table s legs; crossing through the ring of brass balls; were now pointing to the ceiling。
 Take him; then;  Assef said。 I helped Sohrab to his feet; swat ted the bits of crushed grape that had stuck to his pants like bar nacles to a pier。
 Go; take him;  Assef said; pointing to the door。
I took Sohrab s hand。 It was small; the skin dry and calloused。 His fingers moved; laced themselves with mine。 I saw Sohrab in that Polaroid again; the way his arm was wrapped around Hassan s leg; his head resting against his father s hip。 They d both been smiling。 The bells jingled as we crossed the roo
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