Never be a real man

There are two things I can’t stop thinking about: the resignation in Hassan’s face, and his brown corduroy pants which were laid against the pile of eroded bricks. I almost said something. Almost. But I will never be the mard my father expects me to be. Never be a real man. But does it matter now? Was it all worth it? After all, Baba is proud of me now, and he doesn’t have to know what I did.

And now, it will be happily ever after, of course. Why should I let Hassan ruin that for me? After all, isn’t he just a Hazara? My Hazara? He is just the lamb I had to slay to win Baba. And I did it; I won Baba.

When I returned home with the kite, my blue kite, and Baba had welcomed me, like a hero, finally acknowledging my worthiness, I had forgotten about it, just for a minute. And that felt good.

But now, I am unworthy. I will never grow up to be like Baba, never have a reputation like his. Never have his nang. Namoos. His honour and his pride. Because I am a coward, and that is all I aspire to be. Baba even said, I’m not like the other boys, and I’m not like him. And he’s right. I did nothing. I just stood and watched my lamb, my Hassan, prepare to be slaughtered. And then I ran. I didn’t want to get hurt.

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I didn’t want to face Assef. I didn’t want to save him. And I wish things had turned out another way, I really do, but they never could have because I am a coward.

Baba would never even look at me again if he knew what I did. I’ve finally made him proud, finally won his heart. But that would all change if he knew. And now I’m unsure as to which one I’d rather have; Baba’s love, or Hassan’s pure devotion. Hassan is the one who has always loved me. His first word was ‘Amir’. We had a brotherhood, a kinship that nothing could break, because we had fed from the same breast. We were the sultans of Kabul.

Now I can’t even look him in the eye. I’m too afraid of what I will see. Does he know I know? Will he blame me for what happened? Or worse, will he still call me his best friend, still look at me with guileless devotion?

If I were more like Hassan or Baba, or any other boy my age, I could have fought for him, just like he always does for me. But now I’m going to fight. Fight against him. How can I live with him always being here? I don’t want Baba giving any of his new-found affections for me to Hassan either. I can be the one who makes his stone jump the most time now, I’m the one who can look after myself, and I’m the one who father is proud of. Now there will be no reason as to why Baba should ever pat Hassan on the back again, and never see me fail next to him. Baba will always love me more, from now on. Without Hassan here any more, maybe I can forget what I have done, and I can accept Baba’s love without guilt.