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Hassan walking slowly toward me。 I met him by a leafless birch tree on the edge of the ravine。
He had the blue kite in his hands； that was the first thing I saw。 And I can t lie now and say my eyes didn t scan it for any rips。 His chapan had mud smudges down the front and his shirt was ripped just below the collar。 He stopped。 Swayed on his feet like he was going to collapse。 Then he steadied himself。 Handed me the kite。
Where were you？ I looked for you； I said。 Speaking those words was like chewing on a rock。
Hassan dragged a sleeve across his face； wiped snot and tears。 I waited for him to say something； but we just stood there in silence； in the fading light。 I was grateful for the early…evening shadows that fell on Hassan s face and concealed mine。 I was glad I didn t have to return his gaze。 Did he know I knew？ And if he knew； then what would I see if I did look in his eyes？ Blame？ Indignation？ Or； God forbid； what I feared most： guileless devotion？ That； most of all； I couldn t bear to see。
He began to say something and his voice cracked。 He closed his mouth； opened it； and closed it again。 Took a step back。 Wiped his face。 And that was as close as Hassan and I ever came to discussing what had happened in the alley。 I thought he might burst into tears； but； to my relief； he didn t； and I pretended I hadn t heard the crack in his voice。 Just like I pretended I hadn t seen the dark stain in the seat of his pants。 Or those tiny drops that fell from between his legs and stained the snow black。
Agha sahib will worry； was all he said。 He turned from me and limped away。
IT HAPPENED JUST THE WAY I d imagined。 I opened the door to the smoky study and stepped in。 Baba and Rahim Khan were drinking tea and listening to the news crackling on the radio。 Their heads turned。 Then a smile played on my father s lips。 He opened his arms。 I put the kite down and walked into his thick hairy arms。 I buried my face in the warmth of his chest and wept。 Baba held me close to him； rocking me back and forth。 In his arms； I forgot what I d done。 And that was good。
EIGHT
For a week； I barely saw Hassan。 I woke up to find toasted bread； brewed tea； and a boiled egg already on the kitchen table。 My clothes for the day were
ironed and folded； left on the cane…seat chair in the foyer where Hassan usually did his ironing。 He used to wait for me to sit at the breakfast table before he started ironing……that way； we could talk。 Used to sing too； over the hissing of the iron； sang old Hazara songs about tulip fields。 Now only the folded clothes greeted me。 That； and a breakfast I hardly finished anymore。
One overcast morning； as I was pushing the boiled egg around on my plate； Ali walked in cradling a pile of chopped wood。 I asked him where Hassan was。
He went back to sleep； Ali said； kneeling before the stove。 He pulled the little square door open。
Would Hassan be able to play today？
Ali paused with a log in his hand。 A worried look crossed his face。 Lately； it seems all he wants to do is sleep。 He does his chores……I see to that……but then he just wants to crawl under his blanket。 Can I ask you something？
If you have to。
After that kite tournament； he came home a little bloodied and his shirt was torn。 I asked him what had happened and he said it was nothing； that he d gotten into a little scuffle with some kids over the kite。
I didn t say anything。 Just kept pushing the egg around on my plate。
Did something happen to him； Amir agha？ Something he s not telling me？
I shrugged。 How should I know？
You would tell me； nay？ _Inshallah_； you would tell me if some thing had happened？
Like I said； how should I know what s wrong with him？ I snapped。 Maybe he s sick。 People get sick all the time； Ali。 Now； am I going to freeze to death or are you planning on lighting the stove today？
THAT NIGHT I asked Baba if we could go to Jalalabad on Friday。 He was rocking on the leather swivel chair behind his desk； reading a newspaper。 He put it down； took off the reading glasses I disliked so much……Baba wasn t old； not at all； and he had lots of years left to live； so why did he have to wear those stupid glasses？
Why not！ he said。 Lately； Baba agreed to everything I asked。 Not only that； just two nights before； he d asked me if I wanted to see _El Cid_ with Charlton Heston at Cinema Aryana。 Do you want to ask Hassan to e along to Jalalabad？
Why did Baba have to spoil it like that？ He s mazreez； I said。 Not feeling well。
Really？ Baba stopped rocking in his chair。 What s wrong with him？
I gave a shrug and sank in the sofa by the fireplace。 He s got a cold or something。 Ali says he s sleeping it off。
I haven t seen much of Hassan the last few days； Baba said。 That s all it is； then； a cold？ I couldn t help hating the way his brow furrowed with worry。
Just a cold。 So are we going Friday； Baba？
Yes； yes； Baba said； pushing away from the desk。 Too bad about Hassan。 I thought you might have had more fun if he came。
Well； the two of us can have fun together； I said。 Baba smiled。 Winked。 Dress warm； he said。
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN just the two of us……that was the way； I wanted it……but by Wednesday night； Baba had managed to invite another two dozen people。 He called his cousin Homayoun……he was actually Baba s second cousin……and mentioned he was going to Jalalabad on Friday； and Homayoun； who had studied engineering in France and had a house in Jalalabad； said he d love to have everyone over； he d bring the kids； his two wives； and； while he was at it； cousin Shafiqa and her family were visiting from Herat； maybe she d like to tag along； and since she was staying with cousin Nader in Kabul； his family would have to be invited as well even though Homayoun and Nader had a bit of a feud going； and if Nader was invited； surely his brother Faruq had to be asked too or his feelings would be hurt and he might not invite them to his daughter s wedding next month and。。。
We filled three vans。 I rode with Baba； Rahim Khan； Kaka Homayoun……Baba had taught me at a young age to call any older male Kaka； or Uncle； and any older female； Khala； or Aunt。 Kaka Homayoun s two wives rode with us too……the pinch…faced older one with the warts on her hands and the younger one who always smelled of perfume and danced with her eyes close……as did Kaka Homayoun s twin girls。 I sat in the back row； carsick and dizzy； sandwiched between the seven…year…old twins who kept reaching over my lap to slap at each other。 The road to Jalalabad is a two…hour trek through mountain roads winding along a steep drop； and my stomach lurched with each hairpin turn。 Everyone in the van was talking； talking loudly