Chapter 8 kite chaser

Chapter 8

For a week, I hardly saw Hassan. When I got up, I found the bread had been baked, the tea had been soaked, and a boiled egg had been put on the kitchen table. The clothes I had to wear that day had been ironed and placed on the rattan chair on the porch, where Hasan iron his clothes. He always waits for me to sit down and have breakfast before ironing -- so we can have a chance to talk about it. In the past, he sang, and in the iron's hissing, he sang the old harzara folk songs and sang the wild tulips in full bloom. Now I am greeted by stacked clothes, and the breakfast that I can't eat anymore. On a cloudy morning, I was hitting the boiled eggs in the tray. Alibaba came in with a bundle of raw wood. I asked him where Hasan went. "He went back to bed ." Ali said that he kneel down in front of the fire and opened the small square door. "Will Hassan play with me today ?" Ali was holding a piece of wood in his hand, and his face was a bit worried. "Later, it seems that he only wants to go to bed. He finished his work-I watched him finish it-but then he was willing to wrap it under the blanket. Can I ask you something ?" "Ask ." "After the kite race, he went home a little bleeding and his shirt broke. I asked him what happened. He said it was okay, but he had a conflict with a few children while fighting for a kite ." I didn't say anything. I just kept hitting the egg on the plate. "What's wrong with him, Master Amel? Does he hide anything from me ?" I shrugged: "Where do I know ?" "You will tell me, right? God bless. If you know what happened, will you tell me ?" "As I said, where do I know what's wrong with him ?" I said impatiently, "Maybe he is ill. People will always get sick, Ali. Look, do you want to freeze me, or are you going to ignition the stove ?" That night, I asked my father if he could take me to jalabad on Friday .). He sat in the leather swivel chair behind his desk and looked at the newspaper. He put down his newspaper and took off the movie mirror that I hated. Dad is not old. He is not old at all. He has been living for many years. But why should he wear that stupid pair of glasses? "Of course !" He said. Recently, my father is responsive to me. More than that. Two nights ago, he asked me if I would like to go to the Yana cinema to see charton Heston's hero of the world. "Do you want Hasan to follow jalabad ?" Why is Dad always so disappointing? "He is not feeling well ." I said. "Really ?" Dad is still sitting in the chair. "What's wrong with him ?" I shrugged and sat down on the sofa by the fire. "He may have caught a cold or something. Alibaba said that he always goes to bed every day ." "I have seldom seen Hassan in the past few days ." Dad said, "Is it just like this? Catch a cold ?" I was very dissatisfied when I saw that his eyebrows were tight and worried. "It's just a cold. Let's go on Friday, right, Dad ?" "Yes, yes," said Dad, pushing his desk and standing up. "Hassan cannot go. It's too bad. I think you would be happier if he could ." "Well, we can also be very happy ." I said. Dad smiled and blinked. "warm clothes ." We were supposed to have only two of us -- and I wanted this -- but on Wednesday, my father managed to invite another 20 people. He called his cousin Homa Yong-in fact he was his father's second cousin-and said he would go to jalabad on Friday. HOMA Yong once studied mechanical engineering in France and now has a house in jalabad. He said everyone is welcome. He will bring his children and two wives. Also, cousin xuefejia and her family visited Herat, and she is still there. Maybe she wants to go together. In this time, sephica lives in the home of his cousin Nadine, so he has to invite them to the house, even though Homa Yong and nadard have never been at odds. John invited Nadine. Naturally, he had to ask his brother Farak to hurt his feelings and marry his daughter next month, therefore, Homa Yong may not be invited ...... We are full of three travel vehicles. I used a car with my dad, Racine Khan, and Koma Yong "Kaka". When I was a child, my father taught me how to call my elders "Kaka", that is, my uncle and uncle, female elders are called "kahara", that is, aunt and aunt. Uncle Homa Yong's two wives are also with us-the older one is wrinkled and has a knot in his hands; the younger one smells like perfume, while dancing, my eyes closed, and my twin daughter, Uncle Homa Yong. I sat in the last row, got dizzy and dizzy, and the pair of twins were in the middle. They repeatedly crossed my knees and slapped each other. The road to jalabad is a winding mountain road. It takes two hours for the trip to complete. Every sudden turn of the car will make my stomach go through the sea. Everyone in the car is talking and talking loudly and shouting. This is the way the Afghan people talk. I asked one of the twins, faisula or Kalima. I couldn't tell who they were. I asked her if she wanted me to switch to the window, because I got dizzy, take a breath of fresh air. She stretched out her tongue and said no. I told her it doesn't matter, but I may vomit and dirty her new clothes. After a while, I put my head out of the window. I saw the rugged roads, high and low ups and downs, hovering and disappearing over the mountain; counting the trucks passing by our cars, they were colorful, full of noisy passengers, stumbling forward. I tried to close my eyes and let the wind blow my cheek; I opened my mouth and swallowed up the clean air, but still did not feel better. Someone stabbed me with a finger, either farira or Kalima. "Why ?" I said. "I just told you about the kite competition !" Dad said, sitting in the driving seat. Uncle Homa Yong and his two wives sat in the middle row and smiled at me. "There must be one hundred kites that day, right ?" Dad said, "Right, Amil ?" "I think it should be ." I muttered. "The one hundred kite, dear huoma Yong, is not a boast. The last kite that was flying in the sky was from Amir. He also got the last kite and brought it home, a beautiful blue kite. Hasan and Amir are chasing back together ." "Congratulations ." Said Uncle Homa Yong. His first wife, with a tumor in his hand, shot up and said, "Wow, wow, dear Amil, we are all proud of you !" The young wife also joined, and then they all applauded and admired, telling me how proud they were to me. Only Racine Khan sat in the co-pilot's seat, close to his father, and said nothing. He looked at me strangely. "Please stop, Dad ." I said. "Why ?" "I got dizzy ." I muttered to myself, falling into my seat, leaning against Uncle Homa Yong's daughter. Faqira or Kalima's face changed. "Stop, uncle! He looks yellow! I don't want him to dirty my new clothes !" She scream. Dad started to brake, but I couldn't hold it up. After a few minutes, I sat on a rock on the side of the road and they let the wind blow out the smell of the car. Dad smoked a cigarette and was with Uncle Homa Yong. He was comforting faisira or Kalima and asked her not to cry. He told her that jaladabad would buy her another set of new clothes. I close my eyes and face the sun. There was a small shadow behind the eyelid, as if playing the shadows on the wall with your hands. They were distorted and mixed into a picture: Hasan's brown corduroy pants, threw it on a pile of old bricks in that alley. Uncle Homa Yong has a two-story high floor in the White House in jalabad with a balcony. He can see a large garden surrounded by walls and planted apple trees and persimmon trees. There are also trees planted there. In the summer, the gardener will cut it into an animal shape. There is also a swimming pool with emerald green tiles. There is no water in the swimming pool. There is a layer of semi-melted snow at the bottom of the pool. I am sitting in the pool, and my feet are swaying in the pool. Uncle Homa Yong's children play hide-and-seek at the other end of the yard. When women cook in the kitchen, I smell fried onions, hear the pressure cooker, music, and laughter. Dad, lasinhan, Uncle Homa Yong, and Uncle nadard sat on the balcony smoking. Uncle Homa Yong said that he had brought a projector and he could show the slides in France. He has been back from Paris for ten years and is still showing off the silly slides. This is not the case. Dad and I finally became friends. A few days ago, we went to the zoo and watched the lion named "ma yang". I threw a rock at the bear while no one noticed it. Afterwards, we went to the "dada" barbecue restaurant opposite the cinema Park to have dinner, and ordered roast mutton and the bread from the Indian oven. Dad told me the story of his going to India and Russia and told me the people he met, for example, he is in Mumbai (Bombay, the city of India .) I saw a couple who had no hands or feet. They had been married for forty-seven years and had 11 children. It's so interesting to have a day with Dad and hear him tell a story. I finally got what I dreamed of over the years. But now I get it, but I feel very empty, just like the swimming pool where I shake my legs inside. At dusk, ladies and daughters have dinner-rice, bread meatballs, and chicken curry. We eat in the traditional way, spread tablecloths on the ground, sit on the cushions all over the room, and every four or five people share a large light disk, holding things with their hands to eat. I'm not hungry, but I sat down with my father, Farak, and Uncle Homa Yong. Dad drank some spirits before dinner and was boasting about a kite competition with them. He vividly described how I beat everyone else and how I took the last kite back home. People looked up from the ultra-pan and congratulated me one after another. Uncle Farak patted my back with his clean hand. I felt like a knife was penetrating my eyes. Later, after midnight, my father played poker with his relatives for a few hours and finally fell down at the house where we had dinner, lying on the parallel carpet and shouting for a sleep. Women go upstairs. After an hour, I still couldn't sleep. In my sleep, I muttered, sighed, or snore. I sat up, a ray of moonlight passed through the window, filled in. "I watched Hassan be raped ." I speak for myself. Dad turned over in his dream, and Uncle Homa Yong was speaking a greeting. A part of me is eager for someone to wake up and hear me tell me, so that I can no longer bear this lie. But no one wakes up. In the silence that follows, I understand that this is a curse on me. In my life, I will carry this lie. I think of Hasan's dream, the dream of swimming in the lake. There are no ghosts there. He said only lake water is available. But he is wrong. There were ghosts in the lake. It grabbed Hassan's ankle and pulled him into the dark bottom of the lake. I am the ghost. Since that night, I have had insomnia. After another half a week, I spoke to Hassan. At that time, I had half of my lunch and Hasan was packing the dishes. I stepped up the stairs and went back to the room. Hassan asked me if I wanted to climb the mountains. I said I was tired. Hasan looked tired too-He was thin, his eyes were swollen, and there were gray circles below. But he asked me again, and I promised it for a while. We climbed the mountain and our boots burst on the muddy snow. No one spoke. We sat down under our pomegranate tree and I knew I had made a mistake. I should not come to the mountains. I used Alibaba's kitchen knife to engrave the text on the trunk: Amir, Hasan, the Sudan in Kabul ...... Now I cannot bear to see these words. He asked me to read "shanama" and I told him that I had changed my mind. Tell him I just want to go back to my room. He looked at the distance and shrugged. We walked down the road and no one spoke. For the first time in my life, I desire spring to arrive early. The remaining days of the winter of 1975 are vague in my memory. I remember every time my father was at home, I was very happy. We will have dinner together, watch movies together, and visit Uncle Homa Yong or Uncle Farak together. Sometimes Racine Khan visits, and my father will also let me drink tea in the study. He even asked me to read his own stories. Everything is beautiful, and I even believe it will never change. I think so, too. We know each other better. At least, in the months that followed the kite contest, my father and I had sweet fantasies about each other and got along in a way we never had before. We are actually deceiving ourselves and think that a toy made of cotton paper, glue, and bamboo can bridge the gap between them. However, whenever Dad is absent-he is often absent-I lock myself in the room. I have read a book in a few days, write stories, and learn to draw horses. Every morning, I will hear Hassan busy in the kitchen, the dingting sound of the silver generator collision, and the teot of the teapot boiling water. I will wait until he closes the door. On the calendar, I circled the day when I started school and started the last class. What makes me embarrassed is that Hasan has made every effort to restore our relationships. I remember the last time, in my room, I watched Ivanhoe, the Scottish writer Walter Scott (sirwalterscott, 1771 ~ 1832) tells the story of the medieval server guard in England .), He knocked on my door. "Who ?" "I'm going to buy a pancake in the baking room," he said. "I'm here ...... Ask if you want to go together ." "I think I just want to read a book," I said, rubbing my hands on the temples. Later, I had a headache every time Hassan was by my side. "Today's sunshine is good ." He said. "I know ." "Maybe it's fun to go out for a walk ." "You go ." "I hope you will also go ." He said. After stopping for a while, I didn't know what was hitting the door again. Maybe it was his forehead. "I don't know what I did wrong, Mr. amyr. You want to tell me. I don't know why we don't play together anymore ." "You didn't do anything wrong, Hassan. You should go away ." "You can tell me that I will change it ." I buried my head between my legs and squashed my knees into the temple. "I will tell you what I want you not to do ." I said, close your eyes tightly. "Let's talk about it ." "I want you to stop harassing me. I want you to leave ." I said impatiently. I hope that he will retaliate against me and break into the door and scold me. This will make things easier and better. But he didn't. After several minutes, I opened the door and he was no longer there. I fell into my bed and buried my head on my pillow. Since then, Hasan has disrupted my life. I try not to meet him every day and arrange my own life. Because whenever he is next to him, the oxygen in the room will be exhausted. My chest would shrink and I could not breathe; I would stand there surrounded by bubbles without air and breathe. But even if he is not with me, I still feel that he is there, and he is there, on the rattan chair, the clothes he washes and ironed with his hands, every time I went downstairs for breakfast in the warm shoes that were placed out of my door, he was on the burning wood in the fire. Wherever I go, I can see his loyal signal, his damn, unshaken loyalty. In the early spring of that year, my father and I planted tulips in the garden a few days before the school started. Most of the snow has melted, and the north side of the mountain began to show a piece of green grass. It was a cold and gloomy morning. Dad was beside me, talking, digging the dirt and planting the bulb I handed him. He told me that many people think that Autumn is the best season for planting Tulips, but that is wrong. At the beginning, I asked him a question: "Dad, have you ever thought about inviting a new servant ?" He dropped the bulb, inserted the shovel in the dirt, and threw away his work glove. It seems that I surprised him, "what? What did you say just now ?" "I just think about it. Nothing else ." "Why do I want to do that ?" Dad said in a rough voice. "You don't, I guess. That's just a problem ." I said, the voice is lowered. I already regret saying that. "Is it because you and Hassan? I know there is a problem between you, but no matter what the problem is, you are the one who should handle it, not me. I will stand ." "Sorry, Dad ." He put on his gloves again. "I grew up with Alibaba ." He gritted his teeth and said, "My father brought him home, and he looked at Alibaba as he was. Alibaba has been in my house for 40 years. And you think I will drive him away ?" He turned to me and blushed like a tulip. "I won't touch you, Amil, But if you dare to say it again ......" He turned his eyes away and shook his head. "You're ashamed of me. As for Hasan ...... Hasan won't go anywhere. Do you know ?" I looked at the ground, grabbed a cold dirt in my hand, and let it slide from my fingers. "I said, do you know ?" Dad roared. I am afraid: "I know, Dad ." "Hassan doesn't go anywhere," said his father angrily. He picked up the shovel and dug another hole on the ground. He used more strength to shovel the soil, "He's here to stay with us. He belongs here. This is his home, and we are his family. Don't ask me this again later !" "No, Dad. Sorry ." He smothered the rest of the tulips. I was relieved when I started school in the second week. The student got a new notebook with a sharp pencil in his hand and gathered together on the playground. He kicked off the dust and talked in groups, waiting for the monitor's whistle. Dad's car drove the dirt road leading to the school gate. The school is a two-storey old building, with air leakage in windows, and the dark light on the gravel-built porch. The original khaki paint can also be seen between the flushed mud. Most boys walk to class, and Dad's black Mustang car attracted more than just an eye of envy. I should have been very proud when he was driving me to school-I used to be like this-but now I feel a little embarrassed, embarrassed, and empty. Dad turned around and left without saying "goodbye. I did not compete with people like in the past, but instead stood in the team. When the bell rings, we go into the allocated classroom and find a seat. I am sitting behind the classroom. I prayed that I could not finish my homework when I handed out the textbooks. School gave me an excuse to stay in the room for a long time. And, for a while, I forgot what happened in winter and what happened to me. After several weeks, my mind was filled with gravity and power, atoms and cells, and the hero war. Instead of thinking about Hasan, I did not think about his experiences. However, my thoughts always go back to that alley. I always thought of the brown corduroy pants of Hasan lying on a brick, and those blooddrops that turned the snow into dark red and almost black. In the early summer of that year, I asked Hassan to go hiking with me in a sleepy afternoon. Tell him I want to read a new story for him. He was drying his clothes in the yard, and he gave me a look at his expectations. We climbed up the hill and talked for a moment. He asked me about the school and what I was learning. I talked about the teachers, especially the strict math teacher. He punished the students who spoke many words and put the iron bars in their fingers, then they pinch their fingers. Hassan was shocked and said he hoped I would never be punished. I said that I have been lucky so far, but I know that luck is okay. I also spoke in class, but my father is rich and everyone knows him, so I am not punished by the iron rod. We sat down on the low wall of the cemetery, under the tree shadows of the pomegranate tree. In a month or two, the yellow grass will fill the hillside, but the rain will last longer than in previous years. In the early summer, the rain will not stop, and the weeds will still be green, wild flowers are scattered. Under us, the white walls on the flat top of the house in the wasyr Akaba Khan District were shining brightly. The clothes were covered by the drying lines in the yard and danced like a butterfly in the wind. We picked more than a dozen pomegranate from the tree. I opened the story book, turned it to the first page, and then put it down. I stood up and picked up a ripe pomegranate that fell onto the ground. "What would you do if I beat you with this ?" I said, I threw the pomegranate in my hand. Hassan's smile withered. He looks bigger than I remember. No, not big, he's old. How can this happen? The wrinkles climbed onto his sunny face and climbed through his eyes, his lips. Maybe those wrinkles were carved out with my own knives. "What will you do ?" I already did. His face was bloodless. The story I promised to read to him was under his feet, and the pages were cracked by the breeze. I threw a pomegranate at him, hit him in his chest, and burst into a red flesh. Hassan burst into tears again with great surprise and pain. "Fight back !" I roar. Hassan looked at the stains on his chest and looked at me again. "Get up! Hit me !" I said. Hasan stood up, but he stood there with a stunned expression, like a man who had a pleasant walk on the beach just now, but was swept into the middle of the ocean by the waves. I threw another pomegranate. This time I hit him on the shoulder and the juice caught his face. "Fight back !" I shouted, "fight back, you damn guy !" I want him to fight back. I want him to satisfy my wishes and punish me so that I can fall asleep at night. Maybe things will return to the way we were. But Hassan couldn't move, so I threw him again and again. "You are a coward !" I said, "you are nothing, just a damn coward !" I don't know how many times I hit him. All I know is that when I finally stopped, exhausted, panting, Hasan turned red, as if I had been shot by a group of soldiers. My feet fell down, tired and dejected. Then Hasan picked up a pomegranate. He walked toward me, opened it, and ground it on his forehead. "So," he choked, and the red pomegranate juice dripped down his face like blood. "Are you satisfied? Do you feel better ?" He turned around and walked down the hill. I let tears break the bank, kneel on the ground, and shake my body. "What should I do with you, Hassan? What should I do with you ?" But when the tears dry, I walked home heavily and found the answer. My 13th birthday is in the summer of October 1976. This is the last peaceful period in Afghanistan. My relationships with me cool down again. I think this is because of the silly words I said on the day when we planted the tulips, the words about the new servant. I regret saying that-I really regret it-but I think that even if I didn't say it, we will end up in this short happy episode. It may not be so fast, but it will end. By the end of summer, the sound of a spoon and a fork hitting a plate replaced the conversation on the dinner table. Dad started to go back to the study after dinner and close the door. I went back to read the books of Hafez and amacho, bit my nails, and write a story. I put the story on the shelf at the bottom of the bed and kept them up for me to see if my father would, even though I suspect he would not. Dad's motto for holding a banquet is: If you don't invite people from all over the world, it's not a banquet. I remember one week before my birthday. I looked at the invitation list and found that it was among nearly four hundred people, at least 3/4 I don't know-including those uncles who will give me a birthday present to congratulate me on my 13-year-old life. Then I realized that they didn't really come because of me. That day is my birthday, but I know who is the superstar of the emperor at the banquet. For several days, the room was crowded with helpers from Dad. A butcher named salahudin dragged a calf and two sheep and refused to accept even a penny. He slaughtered the animals under the poplar tree in the yard. "Watering with blood is good for trees ." I remember that when the grass under the red tree was stained with blood, he said so. Some men I don't know have climbed onto the oak tree and hung on a string of bulbs and long wires. The others put dozens of tables in the yard and covered them with tablecloths. One night before the feast began, his father's friend del-Muhammad brought several bags of spices and he opened a barbecue shop in the Sandino area. Like the butcher, Del-Muhammad-Dad called him "droro"-refused to accept the money. He said his father had helped his house too much. While derro was holding the bacon, Rashan whispered to me that his father lent him the money for the restaurant and didn't ask him to pay back the money. It wasn't until one day that Mr. droo drove a Mercedes-Benz car and came to my door, saying that he wouldn't leave if he didn't receive the money, and his father would accept it. I think my birthday feast is extremely successful in all aspects, or at least in the evaluation of banquet standards. I have never seen so many people in the room. Guests can take glass in their hands, chat on the porch, smoke on the stairs, or lean against the door. They sat down as soon as they found the vacant room, and there was room on the counter in the kitchen, in the porch, and even below the stairs. In the yard, the blue, red, and green light bulbs are shining on the tree, and people are gathered below, and the kerosene lights lit around are illuminating their faces. Dad sets the stage on the balcony overlooking the garden, but the speakers covered the entire yard. Ahmet chahir played the accordion and sang songs. People danced under the stage. I had to say hello to the guests one by one. Dad asked him not to chew his tongue the next day, saying that he had a rude son. I kissed hundreds of cheeks, hugged all strangers, and thanked them for their gifts. My face hurts with a stiff smile. My father and I stood in front of the bar in the yard. Someone said, "Happy birthday, Amil ." It's MAF and his parents. MAF's father, maomud, is short, thin, dark, and has a small face. His mother tan ya is a little girl with a nervous face smiling and blinking. Now the husband stood between them, grinning, standing down and holding their shoulders. He came along with them as if they were carrying them. It seemed that he was the father and they were children. I felt dizzy. Dad thanked them for coming. "I personally selected a gift for you ." Said MAF. Tan ya's face moved from his eyes to me. She smiled and looked barely. I doubt whether my father has seen it. "Are you still playing football ?" Dad said he always wanted me to make friends with his husband. MAF smiled, and his sweet smile looked innocent. It was chilling. "Of course, dear uncle ." "Do you remember to play the right ?" "Yes, I have switched to midfield this year ." "Then I can have more balls," said MAF. We will compete with mercurayang next week. It will be wonderful. They have a few great players ." Dad nodded. "You know, I also played the midfield when I was young ." "I bet you can play well if you want ." MAF said, his face blinked naively and slapped his father's ass. Dad also blinked at him: "I think your dad has passed on his world-famous flattering technology to you ." He touched his father with his elbow and almost knocked down the little guy. The laughter of James is as hypocritical as tan ya's smile. Suddenly, I was thinking, maybe to some extent, they were afraid of their son. I tried to put on a smile, but all I could do was barely turn my mouth up. My stomach turned up when I saw my father and my husband so speculative. MAF turned his eyes to me. "Vari and camo are also here, so they won't miss your birthday ." He said with a smile. I nodded silently. "We are going to play volleyball at my house tomorrow," maF said. "Maybe you can come and play together. If you like, you can also bring Hasan ." "It sounds interesting ." Dad said, eyes are shining. "What do you think ?" "I really don't like volleyball ." I muttered to myself, seeing my father's eyes disappear, followed by an uncomfortable silence. "Sorry, dear MAF ." Dad said, shrugged. He apologized for me! It stabbed me. "No, it doesn't matter ." MAF said, "but the door is always open for you, dear Amir. Anyway, I heard that you like reading books, so I brought you one, my favorite ." He handed me a wrapped gift and said, "Happy birthday ." He wore a cotton shirt, blue trousers, a red tie, and a pair of shiny black leather shoes on his feet. The scent of Ancient Dragon water exists on him, and his golden hair is neatly combed to the back. In terms of appearance, he is the son of every parent's dream: Strong, tall, well-dressed, well-behaved, handsome, and talented, not to mention witty fun with adults. But in my opinion, his eyes betrayed him. I looked into his eyes and saw through his imaginary tables. There was a kind of madness hidden in him. "Why not accept it, Amil ?" Said dad. "Hmm ?" "Your gift," he said impatiently. "How about giving you a gift from my dear husband ." "Oh ." I said, I took the box from my husband and lowered my sight. It would be nice if I could stay alone in my room and stay away from these books. "Hello ?" Said dad. "What ?" Dad lowered his voice. Every time I embarrass him in public, he would say, "You don't want to thank my dear husband? He is so thoughtful ." I want my father to stop calling him like that. How many times have he called me "dear Amir? "Thank you ." I said. MAF's mother looked at me and wanted to stop talking. I realized that his parents had not said a word. In order not to embarrass myself and my father, but mainly because I didn't want to see his husband and his smiling face. I walked away. "Thank you for coming ." I said. I walked out of the crowded guests and sneaked out of the forged iron gate. There is a huge open space in our house with two houses going down. I heard my father tell Rashan that a judge had bought the place and the architect was designing a blueprint. Now, the land is deserted, only soil, stones and weeds. I opened the wrapping paper on the outside of his gift and used the moonlight to look at the cover of the book. It was an autobiography of Hitler. I threw it into the weeds. Leaning against the walls of my neighbor, I sat down on the ground, just sitting in the dark for a while, my knees reached my chest, raised my eyes and looked at the stars, waiting for the end of the night. "Do you not need to accompany your guests ?" A familiar voice said, lasinhan walked towards me along the walls. "They don't need me to accompany you. Where is Dad? Have you forgotten ?" I said. The ice in the Racine sweat glass burst and he sat beside me. "I don't know if you were drinking too ." "I'm drinking," he said, happily hitting me with his elbow. "But it's only important ." I smile: "Thank you ." He gave me a toast and took a sip. He lit a cigarette, a Pakistani cigarette without a filter mouth, which he and his father always smoked. "Did I tell you that I almost got married ?" "Really ?" I said, I couldn't help but smile if I thought Racine Khan was married. I always thought of him as a friend of mine, a writing mentor and a friend of mine. He was the one who never forgot to buy me some small gifts every time he traveled abroad. But husband? Father? He nodded. I was 18 years old that year. Her name is Hermela. She is the daughter of the harzara, the servant of my neighbor. She looks as good as a fairy, light brown hair, big brown eyes ...... She always smiles ...... Sometimes I can hear her laugh ." He shook his glass and said, "We often have a session in my father's apple garden, always at night. We chatted under the tree, and I took her hand ...... Are you embarrassed, Amil ?" "A little bit ." I said. "That's harmless to you," he said, taking another sip. "In any case, we have such fantasies. We will have a great, fantastic wedding, and invite friends and family to the event from gun-gun and Kabir. I will build a big house for us, white, tile on the terrace, and a big window. We will plant fruit trees in the garden, and all kinds of flowers. There is a lawn where our children play. On Friday, after praying at the mosque, everyone will have lunch at our house. We eat in the garden, and under the cherry tree, fetch water from the well. Then we drink tea, eat candy, and watch our children play with their children ......" He drank a mouthful of spirits and coughed. "Unfortunately, you couldn't see the expression on his face when I told my dad about it. My mother was completely dizzy, and my sisters slapped her face with cold water. They fanned at her as if I cut her throat with a knife. If it weren't for my father to stop it in time, my brother yarar would really catch his shotgun ." Rasinhan said, with a painful laugh, "I am fighting the whole world with Hema. And I tell you, dear Amir, at the end, the world always wins. That's all ." "What will happen later ?" "On that day, my father drove hermira and her family to a van and sent them to harzrahatte. I have never seen her again ." "Sorry ." I said. "But this may be the best result," racinhan said, shrugged. "She will be humiliated. My family will never treat her equally. You won't ask someone to clean your shoes, but later in the day, let her be 'sisters '." He looked at me and said, "You know, you can tell me anything you want to say, dear Amil, anytime ." "I know," I said. He looked at me for a long time and seemed to be waiting; his black eyes were bottomless, hiding a secret that was not said between us. At that moment, I almost told him that I almost told him everything, but what would he think of me then? He will hate me and make sense. "Here you are," he handed me something. "I almost forgot. Happy birthday ." It's a brown leather notebook. I stretched out my finger and found the edge of it with a golden wire and smelled leather. "It is used to write stories for you ." He said. I just want to thank him. Some things have exploded and the sky has ignited a flame. "Fireworks !" We rushed home and found all the guests standing in the yard looking at the sky. Every burst and whistling sound will lead to the children scream. Every time the flame burst and burst into a bouquet, it will make people cheer and clap their hands. Every few seconds, the backyard will be lit up by sudden bursts of fire, red, green, and yellow. In a short flash, I can see that the world will never forget: Hasan is carrying a silver disk, serving MAF and vari for drinking. The light disappeared, and it burst again, followed by an orange fire: MAF smiled, hitting Hasan's chest with a finger. Then, you can see nothing.