《追风筝的人之宽恕》羽尧

3、III

　　“Rahim! I thought you are leaving with us tomorrow!”
　　“Don’t be stupid. You know I will never leave here.”
　　“Why”
　　“Why should I leave Kabul is my home and nobody will never ever let me leave my home!”
　　“But we all know our home is unsafe now. You know this better than anyone else!”
　　“How should I not know But someone has to be in confidence of the country. I don’t believe our Afghanistan will let others destroy our homes like this. I won’t give up and I will stay till the end.”
　　Toophan was frustrated and this was the first and last time we talked about this coward action about giving up his own country. I know he did the right thing. I wouldn’t let my child grow up in such a hell, but someone should stay.
　　“Rahim” I almost forget that Amir is also in the room, “But we are families. Would you want to give us up” My heart suddenly hurts at that moment. I know what Amir is thinking about, but this time we can’t go through together.
　　“Amir, it’s time for you to grow up. Take care.”
　　Twentyyears later, when this grown-up man finally stood at my door, I almost cry. God Bless Afghanistan! Except for tiredness, I don’t say much torment or pain in this face. Instead, I see hope--the hope of all Afghanistan children. Even though the war came to this land unexpectedly, God still leaves us a way.

　　Amir and I kept silence for a while, but only a while. The awkwardness resulted from these emptyyears is vanished as soon as one begins to talk. The conversation goes well, even though the content of it can be the cruelest thing in the world. I’ve not talked like this for years, especially after Hassan’s family has gone. Thinking about Hassan, I can’t help but glance at Amir. It’s time to expose this deepest secret of the old generation, and it’s time for Amir to decide another innocent boy’s destiny. The sun was beginning to set, glittering red through the cracks between the ramshackle buildings.
　　“Is Hassan still in that house now” Amir asks uncertainty, and I’m so glad he does so to relieve my pain. Slowly, I fished an envelope from the breast pocket and handed to him. “For you.” The memory of Amir’s father came back again.