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frica。 I remember that about him。 That； and the gold Allah chain around his dark neck。 He is peering down at me； speaking rapidly in a language I don t understand； Urdu； I think。 My eyes keep going to his Adam s apple bob bing up and down； up and down； and I want to ask him how old he is anyway……he looks far too young； like an actor from some foreign soap opera……but all I can mutter is； I think I gave him a good fight。 I think I gave him a good fight。
I DON T KNOW if I gave Assef a good fight。 I don t think I did。 How could I have？ That was the first time I d fought anyone。 I had never so much as thrown a punch in my entire life。
My memory of the fight with Assef is amazingly vivid in stretches： I remember Assef turning on the music before slipping on his brass knuckles。 The prayer rug； the one with the oblong； woven Mecca； came loose from the wall at one point and landed on my head； the dust from it made me sneeze。 I remember Assef shoving grapes in my face； his snarl all spit…shining teeth； his bloodshot eyes rolling。 His turban fell at some point； let loose curls of shoulder…length blond hair。
And the end； of course。 That； I still see with perfect clarity。 I always will。
Mostly； I remember this： His brass knuckles flashing in the afternoon light； how cold they felt with the first few blows and how quickly they warmed with my blood。 Getting thrown against the wall； a nail where a framed picture may have hung once jabbing at my back。 Sohrab screaming。 Tabla； harmonium； a dil…roba。 Getting hurled against the wall。 The knuckles shattering my jaw。 Choking on my own teeth； swallowing them； thinking about all the countless hours I d spent flossing and brushing。 Getting hurled against the wall。 Lying on the floor； blood from my split upper lip staining the mauve carpet； pain ripping through my belly； and wondering when I d be able to breathe again。 The sound of my ribs snapping like the tree branches Hassan and I used to break to swordfight like Sinbad in those old movies。 Sohrab screaming。 The side of my face slamming against the corner of the television stand。 That snapping sound again； this time just under my left eye。 Music。 Sohrab screaming。 Fingers grasping my hair； pulling my head back； the twinkle of stainless steel。 Here they 〃eome。 That snapping sound yet again； now my nose。 Biting down in pain； noticing how my teeth didn t align like they used to。 Getting kicked。 Sohrab screaming。
I don t know at what point I started laughing； but I did。 It hurt to laugh； hurt my jaws； my ribs； my throat。 But I was laughing and laughing。 And the harder I laughed； the harder he kicked me； punched me； scratched me。
WHAT S SO FUNNY？ Assef kept roaring with each blow。 His spittle landed in my eye。 Sohrab screamed。
WHAT S SO FUNNY？ Assef bellowed。 Another rib snapped； this time left lower。 What was so funny was that； for the first time since the winter of 1975； I felt at peace。 I laughed because I saw that； in some hidden nook in a corner of my mind； I d even been looking forward to this。 I remembered the day on the hill I had pelted Hassan with pomegranates and tried to provoke him。 He d just stood there； doing nothing； red juice soaking through his shirt like blood。 Then he d taken the pomegranate from my hand； crushed it against his forehead。 Are you satisfied now？ he d hissed。 Do you feel better？ I hadn t been happy and I hadn t felt better； not at all。 But I did now。 My body was broken……just how badly I wouldn t find out until later……but I felt healed。 Healed at last。 I laughed。
Then the end。 That； I ll take to my grave：
I was on the ground laughing； Assef straddling my chest； his face a mask of lunacy； framed by snarls of his hair swaying inches from my face。 His free hand was locked around my throat。 The other； the one with the brass knuckles； cocked above his shoulder。 He raised his fist higher； raised it for another blow。
Then： Bas。 A thin voice。
We both looked。
Please； no more。
I remembered something the orphanage director had said when he d opened the door to me and Farid。 What had been his name？ Zaman？ He s inseparable from that thing； he had said。 He tucks it in the waist of his pants everywhere he goes。
No more。
Twin trails of black mascara； mixed with tears； had rolled down his cheeks； smeared the rouge。 His lower lip trembled。 Mucus seeped from his nose。 Bas； he croaked。
His hand was cocked above his shoulder； holding the cup of the slingshot at the end of the elastic band which was pulled all the way back。 There was something in the cup； something shiny and yellow。 I blinked the blood from my eyes and saw it was one of the brass balls from the ring in the table base。 Sohrab had the slingshot pointed to Assef s face。
No more； Agha。 Please； he said； his voice husky and trembling。 Stop hurting him。
Assef s mouth moved wordlessly。 He began to say something； stopped。 What do you think you re you doing？ he finally said。
Please stop； Sohrab said； fresh tears pooling in his green eyes； mixing with mascara。
Put it down； Hazara； Assef hissed。 Put it down or what I m doing to him will be a gentle ear twisting pared to what I ll do to you。
The tears broke free。 Sohrab shook his head。 Please； Agha； he said。 Stop。
Put it down。
Don t hurt him anymore。
Put it down。
Please。
PUT IT DOWN！
PUT IT DOWN！ Assef let go of my throat。 Lunged at Sohrab。
The slingshot made a thwiiiiit sound when Sohrab released the cup。 Then Assef was screaming。 He put his hand where his left eye had been just a moment ago。 Blood oozed between his fingers。 Blood and something else； something white and gel…like。 That s called vitreous fluid； I thought with clarity。 I ve read that somewhere。 Vitreous fluid。
Assef rolled on the carpet。 Rolled side to side； shrieking； his hand still cupped over the bloody socket。
Let s go！ Sohrab said。 He took my hand。 Helped me to my feet。 Every inch of my battered body wailed with pain。 Behind us； Assef kept shrieking。
OUT！ GET IT OUT！ he screamed。
Teetering； I opened the door。 The guards eyes widened when they saw me and I wondered what I looked like。 My stomach hurt with each breath。 One of the guards said something in Pashtu and then they blew past us； running into the room where Assef was still screaming。 OUT！
Bia； Sohrab said； pulling my hand。 Let s go！
I stumbled down the hallway； Sohrab s little hand in mine。 I took a final look over my shoulder。 The guards were huddled over Assef； doing something to his face。 Then I understood： The brass ball was still stuck in his empty eye socket。
The whole world rocking up and down； swooping side to side； I hobbled down the steps； leaning on Sohrab。 From above； Ass