追风筝的人是真实的吗 残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(78)

残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(78)  

Fremont
California. 1980s
Baba loved the idea of America.
It was living in America that gave him an ulcer.
I remember the o of us walking through Lake Elizabeth Park in Fremont
a few streets down from our apartment
and watching boys at batting practice
little girls giggling on the swings in the playground. Baba would enlighten me with his politics during those walks with long-winded dissertations. “There are only three real men in this world
Amir
” he’d say. He’d count them off on his fingers: America the brash savior
Britain
and Israel. “The rest of them--” he used to wave his hand and make a phht sound “--they’re like gossiping old women.”
The bit about Israel used to draw the ire of Afghans in Fremont who accused him of being pro-Jewish and
de facto
anti Islam. Baba would meet them for tea and rowt cake at the park
drive them crazy with his politics. “What they don’t understand
” he’d tell me later
“is that religion has nothing to do with it.” In Baba’s view
Israel was an island of “real men” in a sea of Arabs too busy getting fat off their oil to care for their own. “Israel does this
Israel does that
” Baba would say in a mock-Arabic accent. “Then do something about it! Take action. You’re Arabs
help the Palestinians
then!”
He loathed Jimmy Carter
whom he called a “big-toothed cretin.” In 1980
when we were still in Kabul
the U.S. announced it would be boycotting the Olympic Games in Moscow. “Wah wah!” Baba exclaimed with disgust. “Brezhnev is massacring Afghans and all that peanut eater can say is I won’t e swim in your pool.” Baba believed Carter had unwittingly done more for munism than Leonid Brezhnev. “He’s not fit to run this country. It’s like putting a boy who can’t ride a bike behind the wheel of a brand new Cadillac.” What America and the world needed was a hard man. A man to be reckoned with
someone who took action instead of wringing his hands. That someone came in the form of Ronald Reagan. And when Reagan went on TV and called the Shorawi “the Evil Empire
” Baba went out and bought a picture of the grinning president giving a thumbs up. He framed the picture and hung it in our hallway
nailing it right next to the old black-and-white of himself in his thin necktie shaking hands with King Zahir Shah. Most of our neighbors in Fremont were bus drivers
policemen
gas station attendants
and unwed mothers collecting welfare
exactly the sort of blue-collar people who would soon suffocate under the pillow Reganomics pressed to their faces. Baba was the lone Republican in our building.
But the Bay Area’s smog stung his eyes
the traffic noise gave him headaches
and the pollen made him cough. The fruit was never sweet enough
the water never clean enough
and where were all the trees and open fields? For o years
I tried to get Baba to enroll in ESL classes to improve his broken English. But he scoffed at the idea. “Maybe I’ll spell ‘cat’ and the teacher will give me a glittery little star so I can run home and show it off to you
” he’d grumble.
One Sunday in the spring of 1983
I walked into a small bookstore that sold used paperbacks
next to the Indian movie theater just west of where Amtrak crossed Fremont Boulevard. I told Baba I’d be out in five minutes and he shrugged. He had been working at a gas station in Fremont and had the day off. I watched him jaywalk across Fremont Boulevard and enter Fast & Easy
a little grocery store run by an elderly Vietnamese couple
Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen. They were gray-haired
friendly people; she had Parkinson’s
he’d had his hip replaced. “He’s like Six Million Dollar Man now
” she always said to me
laughing toothlessly. “Remember Six Million Dollar Man
Amir?” Then Mr. Nguyen would scowl like Lee Majors
pretend he was running in slow motion.
I was flipping through a worn copy of a Mike Hammer mystery when I heard screaming and glass breaking. I dropped the book and hurried across the street. I found the Nguyens behind the counter
all the way against the wall
faces ashen
Mr. Nguyen’s arms wrapped around his wife. On the floor: oranges
an overturned magazine rack
a broken jar of beef jerky
and shards of glass at Baba’s feet.
It turned out that Baba had had no cash on him for the oranges. He’d written Mr. Nguyen a check and Mr. Nguyen had asked for an ID. “He wants to see my license
” Baba bellowed in Farsi. “Almost o years we’ve bought his damn fruits and put money in his pocket and the son of a dog wants to see my license!”
“Baba
it’s not personal
” I said
smiling at the Nguyens. “They’re supposed to ask for an ID.”
“I don’t want you here
” Mr. Nguyen said
stepping in front of his wife. He was pointing at Baba with his cane. He turned to me.“You’re nice young man but your father
he’s crazy. Not wele anymore.”