“They were heroes,” Rahim Khan said.
“Peace at last.”
“Yes, hope is a strange thing. Peace at last. But at what price?” A violent coughing fit gripped Rahim Khan and rocked his gaunt body back and forth. When he spat into his handkerchief, it immediately stained red. I thought that was as good a time as any to address the elephant sweating with us in the tiny room.
“How are you?” I asked. “I mean really, how are you?”
“Dying, actually,” he said in a gurgling voice. Another round of coughing. More blood on the handkerchief. He wiped his mouth, blotted his sweaty brow from one wasted temple to the other with his sleeve, and gave me a quick glance. When he nodded, I knew he had read the next question on my face. “Not long,” he breathed.
“How long?”
He shrugged. Coughed again. “I don’t think I’ll see the end of this summer,” he said.
“Let me take you home with me. I can find you a good doctor. They’re coming up with new treatments all the time. There are new drugs and experimental treatments, we could enroll you in one...” I was rambling and I knew it. But it was better than crying, which I was probably going to do anyway.
He let out a chuff of laughter, revealed missing lower incisors. It was the most tired laughter I’d ever heard. “I see America has infused you with the optimism that has made her so great. That’s very good. We’re a melancholic people, we Afghans, aren’t we? Often, we wallow too much in ghamkhori and self-pity. We give in to loss, to suffering, accept it as a fact of life, even see it as necessary. Zendagi migzara, we say, life goes on. But I am not surrendering to fate here, I am being pragmatic. I have seen several good doctors here and they have given the same answer. I trust them and believe them. There is such a thing as God’s will.”
“There is only what you do and what you don’t do,” I said.
Rahim Khan laughed. “You sounded like your father just now. I miss him so much. But it is God’s will, Amir jan. It really is.” He paused. “Besides, there’s another reason I asked you to come here. I wanted to see you before I go, yes, but something else too.”
“Anything.”
“他们是英雄。”拉辛汗说。
“至少带来了和平。”
“是的，希望是奇怪的东西。至少带来了和平。但代价是什么呢？”拉辛汗剧烈地咳嗽起来，瘦弱的身体咳得前后摇晃。他掏出手帕，往里面吐痰，立刻将它染红。我想这当头，说一头汗流浃背的大象跟我们同在这小小的房间里面，那再也贴切不过。
“你怎么样？”我说，“别说客套话，你身体怎样？”
“实际上，来日无多了。”他用沙哑的声音说，又是一轮咳嗽。手帕染上更多的血。他擦擦嘴巴，用袖子从一边塌陷的太阳穴抹向另一边，抹去额头上的汗珠，匆匆瞥了我一眼。他点点头，我知道他读懂了我脸上的疑问。
“不久了。”他喘息着。
“多久？”他耸耸肩，再次咳嗽。“我想我活不到夏天结束。”他说。
“跟我回家吧。我给你找个好大夫。他们总有各种各样的新疗法。那边有新药，实验性疗法，我们可以让你住进……”我知道自己在信口开河。但这总比哭喊好，我终究可能还是会哭的。
他发出一阵咔咔的笑声，下排牙齿已经不见了。那是我有生以来听到最疲累的笑声。“我知道美国给你灌输了乐观的性子，这也是她了不起的地方。那非常好。我们是忧郁的民族，我们阿富汗人，对吧？我们总是陷在悲伤和自恋中。我们在失败、灾难面前屈服，将这些当成生活的实质，甚至视为必须。我们总是说，生活会继续的。但我在这里，没有向命运投降，我看过几个很好的大夫，他们给的答案都一样。我信任他们，相信他们。像这样的事情，是真主的旨意。”
“只有你想做和不想做的事情罢了。”我说。

拉辛汗大笑。“你刚才的口气可真像你父亲。我很怀念他。但这真的是真主的旨意，亲爱的阿米尔。这真的是。”他停下。“另外，我要你来这里还有另一个原因。我希望在离开人世之前看到你，但也还有其他缘故。”
“什么原因都行。”