the kite runner-第14部分

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Your　friend；
Rahim
Buoyed　by　Rahim　Khan　s　note；　I　grabbed　the　story　and　hurried　downstairs　to　the　foyer　where　Ali　and　Hassan　were　sleeping　on　a　mattress。　That　was　the　only　time　they　slept　in　the　house；　when　Baba　was　away　and　Ali　had　to　watch　over　me。　I　shook　Hassan　awake　and　asked　him　if　he　wanted　to　hear　a　story。
He　rubbed　his　sleep…clogged　eyes　and　stretched。　　Now？　What　time　is　it？　
　Never　mind　the　time。　This　story　s　special。　I　wrote　it　myself；　　I　whispered；　hoping　not　to　wake　Ali。　Hassan　s　face　brightened。
　Then　I　_have_　to　hear　it；　　he　said；　already　pulling　the　blanket　off　him。
I　read　it　to　him　in　the　living　room　by　the　marble　fireplace。　No　playful　straying　from　the　words　this　time；　this　was　about　me！　Hassan　was　the　perfect　audience　in　many　ways；　totally　immersed　in　the　tale；　his　face　shifting　with　the　changing　tones　in　the　story。　When　I　read　the　last　sentence；　he　made　a　muted　clapping　sound　with　his　hands。
　_Mashallah_；　Amir　agha。　Bravo！　　He　was　beaming。
　You　liked　it？　　I　said；　getting　my　second　taste……and　how　sweet　it　was……of　a　positive　review。
　Some　day；　_Inshallah_；　you　will　be　a　great　writer；　　Hassan　said。　　And　people　all　over　the　world　will　read　your　stories。　
　You　exaggerate；　Hassan；　　I　said；　loving　him　for　it。
　No。　You　will　be　great　and　famous；　　he　insisted。　Then　he　paused；　as　if　on　the　verge　of　adding　something。　He　weighed　his　words　and　cleared　his　throat。　　But　will　you　permit　me　to　ask　a　question　about　the　story？　　he　said　shyly。
　Of　course。　
　Well。。。　　he　started；　broke　off。
　Tell　me；　Hassan；　　I　said。　I　smiled；　though　suddenly　the　insecure　writer　in　me　wasn　t　so　sure　he　wanted　to　hear　it。
　Well；　　he　said；　　if　I　may　ask；　why　did　the　man　kill　his　wife？　In　fact；　why　did　he　ever　have　to　feel　sad　to　shed　tears？　Couldn　t　he　have　just　smelled　an　onion？　
I　was　stunned。　That　particular　point；　so　obvious　it　was　utterly　stupid；　hadn　t　even　occurred　to　me。　I　moved　my　lips　soundlessly。　It　appeared　that　on　the　same　night　I　had　learned　about　one　of　writing　s　objectives；　irony；　I　would　also　be　introduced　to　one　of　its　pitfalls：　the　Plot　Hole。　Taught　by　Hassan；　of　all　people。　Hassan　who　couldn　t　read　and　had　never　written　a　single　word　in　his
entire　life。　A　voice；　cold　and　dark；　suddenly　whispered　in　my　ear；　_What　does　he　know；　that　illiterate　Hazara？　He　ll　never　be　anything　but　a　cook。　How　dare　he　criticize　you？_
　Well；　　I　began。　But　I　never　got　to　finish　that　sentence。
Because　suddenly　Afghanistan　changed　forever。
FIVE
Something　roared　like　thunder。　The　earth　shook　a　little　and　we　heard　the　_rat…a…tat…tat_　of　gunfire。　　Father！　　Hassan　cried。　We　sprung　to　our　feet　and　raced　out　of　the　living　room。　We　found　Ali　hobbling　frantically　across　the　foyer。
　Father！　What　s　that　sound？　　Hassan　yelped；　his　hands　outstretched　toward　Ali。　Ali　wrapped　his　arms　around　us。　A　white　light　flashed；　lit　the　sky　in　silver。　It　flashed　again　and　was　followed　by　a　rapid　staccato　of　gunfire。
　They　re　hunting　ducks；　　Ali　said　in　a　hoarse　voice。　　They　hunt　ducks　at　night；　you　know。　Don　t　be　afraid。　
A　siren　went　off　in　the　distance。　Somewhere　glass　shattered　and　someone　shouted。　I　heard　people　on　the　street；　jolted　from　sleep　and　probably　still　in　their　pajamas；　with　ruffled　hair　and　puffy　eyes。　Hassan　was　crying。　Ali　pulled　him　close；　clutched　him　with　tenderness。　Later；　I　would　tell　myself　I　hadn　t　felt　envious　of　Hassan。　Not　at　all。
We　stayed　huddled　that　way　until　the　early　hours　of　the　morning。　The　shootings　and　explosions　had　lasted　less　than　an　hour；　but　they　had　frightened　us　badly；　because　none　of　us　had　ever　heard　gunshots　in　the　streets。　They　were　foreign　sounds　to　us　then。　The　generation　of　Afghan　children　whose　ears　would　know　nothing　but　the　sounds　of　bombs　and　gunfire　was　not　yet　born。　Huddled　together　in　the　dining　room　and　waiting　for　the　sun　to　rise；　none　of　us　had　any　notion　that　a　way　of　life　had　ended。　Our　way　of　life。　If　not　quite　yet；　then　at　least　it　was　the　beginning　of　the　end。　The　end；　the　_official_　end；　would　e　first　in　April　1978　with　the　munist　coup　d　閠at；　and　then　in　December　1979；　when　Russian　tanks　would　roll　into　the　very　same　streets　wher