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through the window。
I watched Hassan get raped； I said to no one。 Baba stirred in his sleep。 Kaka Homayoun grunted。 A part of me was hoping someone would wake up and hear； so I wouldn t have to live with this lie anymore。 But no one woke up and in the silence that followed； I understood the nature of my new curse： I was going to get away with it。
I thought about Hassan s dream； the one about us swimming in the lake。 There is no monster； he d said； just water。 Except he d been wrong about that。 There was a monster in the lake。 It had grabbed Hassan by the ankles； dragged him to the murky bottom。 I was that monster。
That was the night I became an insomniac。
I DIDN T SPEAK TO HASSAN until the middle of the next week。 I had just half…eaten my lunch and Hassan was doing the dishes。 I was walking upstairs； going to my room； when Hassan asked if I wanted to hike up the hill。 I said I was tired。 Hassan looked tired too……he d lost weight and gray circles had formed under his puffed…up eyes。 But when he asked again； I reluctantly agreed。
We trekked up the hill； our boots squishing in the muddy snow。 Neither one of us said anything。 We sat under our pomegranate tree and I knew I d made a mistake。 I shouldn t have e up the hill。 The words I d carved on the tree trunk with Ali s kitchen knife； Amir and Hassan： The Sultans of Kabul。。。 I couldn t stand looking at them now。
He asked me to read to him from the _Shahnamah_ and I told him I d changed my mind。 Told him I just wanted to go back to my room。 He looked away and shrugged。 We walked back down the way we d gone up in silence。 And for the first time in my life； I couldn t wait for spring。
MY MEMORY OF THE REST of that winter of 1975 is pretty hazy。 I remember I was fairly happy when Baba was home。 We d eat together； go to see a film； visit Kaka Homayoun or Kaka Faruq。 Sometimes Rahim Khan came over and Baba let me sit in his study and sip tea with them。 He d even have me read him some of my stories。 It was good and I even believed it would last。 And Baba believed it too； I think。 We both should have known better。 For at least a few months after the kite tournament； Baba and I immersed ourselves in a sweet illusion； saw each other in a way that we never had before。 We d actually deceived ourselves into thinking that a toy made of tissue paper； glue； and bamboo could somehow close the chasm between us。
But when Baba was out……and he was out a lot……I closed myself in my room。 I read a book every couple of days； wrote sto ries； learned to draw horses。 I d hear
Hassan shuffling around the kitchen in the morning； hear the clinking of silverware； the whistle of the teapot。 I d wait to hear the door shut and only then I would walk down to eat。 On my calendar； I circled the date of the first day of school and began a countdown。
To my dismay； Hassan kept trying to rekindle things between us。 I remember the last time。 I was in my room； reading an abbreviated Farsi translation of Ivanhoe； when he knocked on my door。
What is it？
I m going to the baker to buy _naan_； he said from the other side。 I was wondering if you。。。