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nd 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。。。 if you wanted to e along。
I think I m just going to read； I said； rubbing my temples。 Lately； every time Hassan was around； I was getting a headache。
It s a sunny day； he said。
I can see that。
Might be fun to go for a walk。
You go。
I wish you d e along； he said。 Paused。 Something thumped against the door； maybe his forehead。 I don t know what I ve done； Amir agha。 I wish you d tell me。 I don t know why we don t play anymore。
You haven t done anything； Hassan。 Just go。
You can tell me； I ll stop doing it。
I buried my head in my lap； squeezed my temples with my knees； like a vice。 I ll tell you what I want you to stop doing； I said； eyes pressed shut。
Anything。
I want you to stop harassing me。 I want you to go away； I snapped。 I wished he would give it right back to me； break the door open and tell me off……it would have made things easier； better。 But he didn t do anything like that； and when I opened the door minutes later； he wasn t there。 I fell on my bed； buried my head under the pillow； and cried。
HASSAN MILLED ABOUT the periphery of my life after that。 I made sure our paths crossed as little as possible； planned my day that way。 Because when he was around； the oxygen seeped out of the room。 My chest tightened and I couldn t draw enough air； I d stand there； gasping in my own little airless bubble of atmosphere。 But even when he wasn t around； he was。 He was there in the hand…washed and ironed clothes on the cane…seat chair； in the warm slippers left outside my door； in the wood already burning in the stove when I came down for breakfast。 Everywhere I turned； I saw signs of his loyalty； his goddamn unwavering loyalty。
Early that spring； a few days before the new school year started； Baba and I were planting tulips in the garden。 Most of the snow had melted and the hills in
the north were already dotted with patches of green grass。 It was a cool； gray morning； and Baba was squatting next to me； digging the soil and planting the bulbs I handed to him。 He was telling me how