Reads, Farid driver looked at me coldly, eyes no sympathy.
his hand clutching the steering wheel, the other hand only two fingers clamped a lit cigarette. His dark eyes still stared straight ahead, bending down, picked up on the feet of the screwdriver, to me. I insert it into a small hole inside the door, where the original had a cranks, to roll down the window on my side.
Farid and looked at me with scorn,Bailey UGG boots, revulsion not to cover the eyes, and then look back and continue to smoke. Ever since we left Fort Yamu Rood since he told me, and only a few words.
The road through the Khyber Pass in the tribal lands, winding cliffs of shale and limestone, the like, as I remember - the 1974, my father and I have to drive pass through this rugged area. Barren and imposing mountains that sits on a large sink deep groove, which rise amid high rises. Cliffs above the brick walls of the fortress there Zuozuo, dilapidated, collapsed left leaning. I tried to look Dinglao in the north of the Hindu Kush mountain range [Hindu Kush Mountains, east from the southern edge of the Pamirs, extending southwest through Pakistan to Afghanistan. Majestic mountains, the
way I will take a. Just thought I ate something sour, enough of my nausea. Farid cold smile, In that case, maybe you can give me some. I bite, wait a few minutes. As the Afghans, I know would rather Suffering nor rude, and I out weak smile.
He plays to the ash, to feel good from the rearview mirror looking at himself. He is a Tajik, dark, tall and thin, his face weathered; his shoulder is not wide, thin neck, turned around, people can get a glimpse behind his long beard protruding Adam's apple. He was dressed like me much, but I think people in the vicinity should not be like this: He was wearing a vest and a gray Gua, the outside line is also covered with coarse blankets woven into the sheep. He wore a brown hat, slightly oblique side, like the Tajik hero Ahmad Shah ? ? Masood - the Tajiks as
in Peshawar, Racine, introduced me to Farid Khan. He told me, twenty-year-old Farid, but his alert face is wrinkled, old look to her second child. He was born in Mazar-e Sharif, where he lives, until the age of ten, his father moved his family to 贾拉拉巴特. The age of fourteen, he and his father joined the MKO, the fight against E Guolao. Their resistance in the Panjshir Valley for two years, until the helicopter fire to his father blown to pieces. Farid married two wives, five children. went to his toes and three fingers of his left hand. After that, he moved with his wife and children from the Sava.
I am a little paralyzed in their seats, arms Bao Xiong, forgetting the feeling of vertigo. But I do not worry, two Afghan militia towards our old Land Cruiser Zheliang came hurriedly looked at the car, waved us away.
in Racine Khan and I am going to list, Farid was the first, the list also includes the dollars into Kardashian [Kaldar, Pakistan's currency name] and Afghani notes, my robe and hat - ironically, the real life of those years in Afghanistan, the two things I did all through - Hassan and Suo Labo Polaroid photo, the last and perhaps most important are: a fake black beard, long and chest. Said of Islam - at least in the eyes of Islam the Taliban - the friendly. Racine Khan in Peshawar know a few good at this guy, sometimes they report the war for those who come to Western journalists services.
Racine Khan had asked me to accompany him a few days, plan some more detail. But I know I have to leave as soon as possible. I was afraid he would change his mind. I was afraid I would hesitate,UGG boots, indecisive, and sleepless nights, looking for reasons to convince myself not to go. I was afraid the temptation of life from the United States will pull me back, but I will not wade into this river, so that my forgotten, so that everything these days submerged in the bottom. I fear the river will wash away I will be doing my part I rushed away from those responsibilities, washed away from Hassan, washed away from that is calling me back, washed away the last chance of redemption. So I had a chance to place it all off before. As Suola Ya, I did not tell her I was not wise to return to Afghanistan. If I do that, she would own reservations, get the next group of aircraft flying to Afghanistan.
We have crossed the border, seen everywhere signs of poverty. On both sides of the road, I saw a village with an, as discarded toys like, scattered among the rocks; and those broken mud houses and huts, is nothing more than four poles, with the roof rag. I saw naked children chasing a soccer ball outside the house. A few more miles, I saw a man bent squat group, as a group of crows, sitting in a dilapidated Russian tanks burnt, cold wind blows in the edge of their blankets around, fluttering sound. Behind them, dressed in brown robes with a woman carrying a large jar on the shoulder along the trail rutting hearted toward a row of mud houses.
Side of the road there is a shepherd, led a few skinny goats on their way.
Farid sneer, throw away cigarette butts, heart beyond their expectations.
I nodded:
After the side view mirror, I saw a look of his eyes flashing. were locked. your father drive American cars. you have a servant, it is estimated that the Hazara people. your parents hired workers, decorating their party room, so that their friends come to drink tea, bragging about their travel in the United States and Europe. and I dare cross any of my son's eyes, bet, this is the first time you wear a hat. ?
He pointed to a ragged old clothes, carrying sacks full of straw, on the dirt roads to travel forward. me, in Afghanistan, do not expect people to stay and fight those who would give me a good face to see. dead.
he sighs, but also to light a cigarette, without saying anything.
last stop, I'll spit it out.
close to the evening, the terrain changed, from the burning hot sun baked the hills and bare cliff into a pack of more green countryside. Down the road from the Blue to Cotonou, through the new Warri area, Direct Blue to Qana. We Tuo Erkan [Blue to Cotonou (Landi Kotal), New Warri (Shinwari), blue to Qana (Landi Khana) and the Tuo Erkan (Torkham) are a small town along the Khyber Pass] to enter Afghanistan. The cypress trees lined both hands much less than I remembered, but through the Khyber Pass in the period after a tedious journey, once again see the trees, or look refreshing. We are close to , Farid had a brother there, we will spend the night at his house.
we enter , the sun was not completely down. The city is the Nangarhar province [Nangarhar, Afghanistan province of] the capital of the past, mild climate and fruit famous. Farid passing through the center of buildings and stone houses. There is also no memory of palm trees, and that some houses have been turned into a few block walls without roofs, piles of clutter in the soil.
Farid onto a dirt road, the Land Cruiser parked next to a dry ditch. I slipped out of his car,UGG boots cheap, stretching fist, took a deep breath. Previously, wind blowing 贾拉拉巴特 fertile plains planted with sugar cane farmers, the city's air was filled with the sweet fragrance. I close my eyes, search flavor, but not found.
We set foot on the piece of dirt road, through several strains of bare poplars and a row of broken walls. Farid will I receive a dilapidated bungalow, knock wood door.
have covered my face with a white scarf girl stuck his head out, exposing the sea-blue eyes. She first saw me, the body of a contraction, and then see Farid, his eyes light up. . He kissed her forehead. Girls make a way out, looked at me a little nervous with Fareed walked into the small house.
low mud brick roof, four walls empty, which is the corner of the two lighting lanterns. Mats covered the ground, we take off your shoes, foot to go. Three young boys sitting cross-legged on a mat under a wall, the following blanket covered with curling. There is a tall bearded man stood up to greet us. Farid and his hugging and kissing each other on the cheek. Farid Wahid said his name was his brother.
Wahid Leaning against the wall and I sit opposite the boys, they joked with Farid, climbed onto his shoulders. Although I have repeatedly turned down, Wahid made one of the boys to give me a blanket so that I can sit comfortably, letting Maria gave me some tea. He asked to journey from Peshawar, Khyber Pass asked about the passing of the situation.
The same with the famous Khyber Pass is the robbers robbed in the past use of the terrain where the passengers. I have not answered, he blinked and said loudly: scratch his ribs. Giggling child, feet kicking. br> They all laughed and I laughed. I heard a woman's voice coming from next door. From where I sit, you can see half of the room. Maria and covered with brown veil, women whispered conversation from inside a large tea kettle to the pot. Older woman should be her mother.
I finally called a novel, away. This book is good. Some critics say it is the But suddenly, it makes me very embarrassed. I hope that Wahid will not be asked about its contents.
I'm not ... ... I is not the kind of writer.
Just then, Maria and another woman came in carrying a small plate, above a teapot and two cups. I respectfully stand up, hands folded on his chest, bending bow.
the woman down the veil, hidden under the half of his face, and bowed. We do not see each other's eyes. She poured tea when I stood.
woman on the steaming cup in front of me, left the room. Left, her bare feet without making a sound. I sat down,UGGs, drank the cup of thick black tea. Wahid finally broke the uncomfortable silence after that.
German words, the eyes of contempt has been looking at me.
Mexico vacation. His children, and even Farid are afraid.
open, almost necessary to say something, thought never said it. He slumped leaning against the wall, silently saying what will be on the good foot crippled bird's feet above the scorn of eyes staring at me.
really. Sid repeated.
Hassan saw the photos again, once again let my heart because of his death Jiutong up. I had to look away, and handed it to Wahid. He looked at the picture, cast his eyes looked at me, and look back.
is very important to me is the photo man, and now he is dead. , as if deep in her heart, I think the conservative father's secret. But the lies have been enough,
I, thick hand on my shoulder.
I told him a few polite, steal a look to Farid. Now he is head down, playing with the broken edge of the mat.
separated for a while, Maria-side with her mother to two bowls of steaming vegetable soup, two slices of bread. I let him eat with the kids, but Wahid said they had just eaten before we came. Farid and I rolled up sleeves, grasping bread, dipped in vegetable soup, and ate it.
eating, I looked at the son of Wahid, three of them are very thin, his face dirty, brown hair cropped short, wearing a straw hat boundless, secretly watching from time to time My electronic watches. Min said that in his ear what his brother, his brother nodded, her eyes had never left my watch. Biggest boy - I guess he was about twelve years old - swaying, eyes also fell on my watch. After eating, Maria fetched a jar of water, washed my hands and asked if I could get points Wahid gift to his son. He allowed, but I insisted to send, he reluctantly agreed. I took the watch off and handed the smallest of the three boys. He shyly said
Children nodded politely, to watch passed around, try them in turn. But they are not interested in quickly, and will throw in the mats watch.
Wahid's wife laid out mats for us, we two lay together.
hands tied behind his back, into his thick wrist Shengsuo Le, black cloth covered his eyes. He knelt in the street, kneeling on the edge of a ditch of stagnant water, his head drooping between the shoulders. He knelt on the hard ground, he prayed, body shaking, blood soaked pants. Almost dusk sky, his long, swaying back and forth on the figure in the gravel. He whispered something. I set foot before. A thousand times over, he whispered, as you, a thousand times over. He shook back and forth. He Yang Qilian, upper lip proper way I see tiny scars.
not just the two of us.
I first saw the barrel, then saw the man standing behind him. He was tall, wearing a herringbone vest and black robes. He looked down at the front of the blindfolded men, have eyes only for the endless emptiness. He step back, Ju Qiqiang tube, put the man behind the knees. At that time, a pale sun shone on that metal, shine.
rifle deafening sound.
I followed the arc of the barrel up and saw the muzzle braved the curl of smoke and saw the face behind it. I'm the guy who wears herringbone vest.
I woke up, screaming stuck in the throat.
I went outside. Half moon curved, silver dark, I stood and looked up at the stars over the night sky. Stealth chirping crickets chirping in the dark, the wind blowing the trees. Cold earth, my naked feet, a flash, since we cross the border, I felt the first time I'm back. Through all these years, I'm back, standing on ancestral land. It is in this land, my great-grandfather married a year before his death a third wife. That in 1915, cholera swept through Kabul to his life. Finally, she gave birth to his former wife failed to give birth to two: a son. It is in this land, my grandfather, King Nadir along with hunting, shooting deer. My mother died in this land. Also in this land, I love to get his father's struggling.
that I lean on a wall of the house walls to sit down. Suddenly, I feel, and this ancient land by blood ... ... I was so surprised. I left the very old, long enough to forget, but also enough to be forgotten. I have a home somewhere in the earth, for those who sleep in my side of the people leaning against the wall, the place may be far away as another galaxy. I thought I forgot this piece of land. But I did not forget. Moreover, in the moonlight, I felt my feet producing a low sound of Afghanistan. Maybe I have not forgotten Afghanistan.
west I looked and felt really wonderful, there's somewhere in the mountainous, Kabul remains. It really exists, not just distant memory, not just the Mountain West Block there somewhere sleeping city, my brother and me lip chasing kites in there. Somewhere over there, I dream that the blindfolded man died. Once, in the mountains over there, I made a choice. Now, after a lapse of a quarter of a century, it is the choice for me to return to this land.
I'm planning to go back, the house came to hear voices. I know there is Wahid's voice.
The voice was very tired.
Now I understand why the boys had no interest in the watch. They are not looking at the watch, they look at is my food.
we say goodbye in the morning the next day. As I climbed up the Land Cruiser, I thank you Wahid hospitality. He pointed to a small house behind tall. His three sons standing in the doorway, watching us. Minimum that wearing the watch - it's in his thin wrist swinging.
we left, I looked at the side mirrors. Wahid surrounded by his son, standing while the dust clouds rolled wheels. I suddenly thought, if in another world, these children will not be hungry even had no strength to chase cars.
Earlier that day, I'm sure no one pay attention, did a twenty-six years ago has been done before: a handful of crumpled bills stuffed in the mat below.
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