“Oh,” Wahid said, nodding and blushing a bit. "You know best, of course. It’s not for me to suggest...
Just then, Maryam and the other woman came into the room with a pair of cups and a teapot on a small platter. I stood up in respect, pressed my hand to my chest, and bowed my head. “Salaam alaykum,” I said.
The woman, who had now wrapped her hijab to conceal her lower face, bowed her head too. “Sataam,” she replied in a barely audible voice. We never made eye contact. She poured the tea while I stood.The woman placed the steaming cup of tea before me and exited the room, her bare feet making no sound at all as she disappeared. I sat down and sipped the strong black tea. Wahid finally broke the uneasy silence that followed.“So what brings you back to Afghanistan?”“What brings them all back to Afghanistan, dear brother?” Farid said, speaking to Wahid but fixing me with a contemptuous gaze.“Bas!” Wahid snapped.“It’s always the same thing,” Farid said. “Sell this land, sell that house, collect the money, and run away like a mouse. Go back to America, spend the money on a family vacation to Mexico.”“Farid!” Wahid roared. His children, and even Farid, flinched. “Have you forgotten your-manners? This is my house! Amir agha is my guest tonight and I will not allow you to dishonor me like this!”Farid opened his mouth, almost said something, reconsidered and said nothing. He slumped against the wall, muttered some thing under his breath, and crossed his mutilated foot over the good one. His accusing eyes never left me.“Forgive us, Amir agha,” Wahid said. “Since childhood, my brother’s mouth has been two steps ahead of his head.”
“It’s my fault, really,” I said, trying to smile under Farid’s intense gaze. “I am not offended. I should have explained to him my business here in Afghanistan. I am not here to sell property. I’m going to Kabul to find a boy.”
“A boy,” Wahid repeated.
“Yes.” I fished the Polaroid from the pocket of my shirt. Seeing Hassan’s picture again tore the fresh scab off his death. I had to turn my eyes away from it. I handed it to Wahid. He studied the photo. Looked from me to the photo and back again. “This boy?”
I nodded.
“哦，”瓦希德说，点点头，有点脸红，“你知道得最清楚，当然。我不该建议你……”
就在那时，玛丽亚和另一个妇女走进来，端着一个小盘子，上面有茶壶和两个茶杯。我毕恭毕敬地站起来，双手交叉放在胸前，弯身鞠躬。 “你好。”我说。
那妇女放下面纱，遮住下半边脸，也鞠躬。 “你好。”她的声音细不可闻。我们不看对方的眼睛。她倒茶水的时候我站立着。那妇人将热气腾腾的茶杯放在我面前，退出房间。离开的时候，她赤裸的双脚没有发出任何声音。我坐下，喝起那杯浓浓的红茶。瓦希德终于打破那之后令人不安的沉默。“是什么让你回到阿富汗呢？”是什么让他们这些人回到阿富汗呢，亲爱的哥哥？”法里德说，他在跟瓦希德说话，鄙夷的眼光却一直看着我。 “住口！”瓦希德怒道。 “总是同样的事情。”法里德说，“卖掉土地，卖掉房子，收钱，像老鼠那样跑开。回到美国去，用那笔钱带上家人去墨西哥度假。” “法里德！”瓦希德咆哮。他的孩子，甚至还有法里德都害怕起来。“你的礼貌哪里去了？这是我的房子！阿米尔老爷今晚是我的客人，我不容许你这样给我丢脸！”法里德张开口，几乎就要说出些什么，想了想又没说出来。他颓然倚着墙，无声说着些什么，将那只残废的脚放在完好的脚上面，鄙薄的眼光一直盯着我。“原谅我们，阿米尔老爷。”瓦希德说，“打小时候起，我弟弟的嘴巴就比脑袋快两步。”
“那是我的错，真的。”我说，试图在法里德的逼视之下露出笑脸。“我没觉得被冒犯了。我应该把我到阿富汗来的任务跟他说。我不是来卖田产的，我要去喀布尔找个小男孩。”
“小男孩？”瓦希德重复说。
“是的。”我从衬衣的口袋掏出宝丽莱照片。再次看到哈桑的照片，再次让我的心因为他的死揪痛起来。我不得不将眼光移开，把它递给瓦希德。他端详着那张照片，抬眼望望我，又看回去。“这个男孩？”
我点点头。