第二十二章 - 追风筝的人 - 蜗牛双语阅读

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追风筝的人 | 第二十二章

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Farid eased the Land Cruiser up the driveway of a big house in Wazir Akbar Khan. He parked in the shadows of willow trees that spilled over the walls of the compound located on Street 15, Sarak-e-Mehmana, Street of the Guests. He killed the engine and we sat for a minute, listening to the tink-tink of the engine cooling off, neither one of us saying anything. Farid shifted on his seat and toyed with the keys still hanging from the ignition switch. I could tell he was readying himself to tell me something.

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"I guess I'll wait in the car for you," he said finally, his tone a little apologetic. He wouldn't look at me. "This is your Business now. I …"

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I patted his arm. "You've done much more than I've paid you for. I don't expect you to go with me." But I wished I didn't have to go in alone. Despite what I had learned about Baba, I wished he were standing alongside me now. Baba would have busted through the front doors and demanded to be taken to the man in charge, piss on the beard of anyone who stood in his way. But Baba was long dead, buried in the Afghan section of a little cemetery in Hayward. Just last month, Soraya and I had placed a bouquet of daisies and freesias beside his headstone. I was on my own.

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I stepped out of the car and walked to the tall, wooden front gates of the house. I rang the bell but no buzz came -- still no electricity -- and I had to pound on the doors. A moment later, I heard terse voices from the other side and a pair of men toting Kalashnikovs answered the door.

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I glanced at Farid sitting in the car and mouthed, I'll be back, not so sure at all that I would be.

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追风筝的人 | 第二十二章

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