We both looked.
“Please, no more.”
I remembered something the orphanage director had said when he’d opened the door to me and Farid. What had been his name? Zaman? He’s inseparable from that thing, he had said. He tucks it in the waist of his pants everywhere he goes.
“No more.”
Twin trails of black mascara, mixed with tears, had rolled down his cheeks, smeared the rouge. His lower lip trembled. Mucus seeped from his nose. “Bas,” he croaked.
His hand was cocked above his shoulder, holding the cup of the slingshot at the end of the elastic band which was pulled all the way back. There was something in the cup, something shiny and yellow. I blinked the blood from my eyes and saw it was one of the brass balls from the ring in the table base. Sohrab had the slingshot pointed to Assef’s face.
“No more, Agha. Please,” he said, his voice husky and trembling. “Stop hurting him.”Assef’s mouth moved wordlessly. He began to say something, stopped. “What do you think you’re you doing?” he finally said.
“Please stop,” Sohrab said, fresh tears pooling in his green eyes, mixing with mascara.
“Put it down, Hazara,” Assef hissed. “Put it down or what I’m doing to him will be a gentle ear twisting compared to what I’ll do to you.”
The tears broke free. Sohrab shook his head.

“Please, Agha,” he said. “Stop.”
“Put it down.”
“Don’t hurt him anymore.”
“Put it down.”
“Please.”
我们都看着。
“求求你，别再打了。”
我想起在恤孤院的时候，负责人给我和法里德开门，说了一句话。他叫什么名字来着？察曼？那东西跟他形影不离。他说，他无论走到那儿，都会将它塞在裤带上。
“别再打了。”

眼影混着泪珠，在他脸上冲出两道黑色的痕迹，弄糊了胭脂。他下唇颤抖着，流着鼻涕，“别打了。”他哽咽道。
弹弓被拉满，他的手高举过肩，握着橡皮筋末端的弓杯。弓杯里面有个东西，黄色的，闪闪发光。我将血从眼上眨落，看到那是一个铜球，从桌子的底座取下来的。索拉博将弹弓瞄准阿塞夫的脸。
“别再打了，老爷。”他说，嘶哑的声音颤抖着，“别再伤害他。”阿塞夫的嘴巴无言地扭曲，欲言又止。“你知道你自己在干什么吗？”最后他说。
“求求你，停下来。”索拉博说，泪水又从绿色的眼睛涌出，和眼影混在一起。

“把它放下，哈扎拉人。”阿塞夫气急败坏，“把它放下，不然我会处置你，相比之下，我刚才对他做的，不过是温柔地拧拧耳朵罢了。”
泪水流个不停。索拉博摇摇头。
“求求你，老爷，”他说， “停下来。”
“放下。”
“别再伤害他了。”
“放下。”
“求求你。”