The Kite Runner

נסה את זה בחינם!

I've learned, abut how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
"He took you for someone else," I whispered. "He took you for someone else."
"If I hadn't seen the doctor pull him out of my wife with my own eyes, I'd never believe he's my son."
History isn't easy to overcome. Neither is religion. In the end, I was a Pashtun and he was a Hazara, I was Sunni and he was Shi'a, and nothing was ever going to change that. Nothing.
If idiots like you and your father didn't take these people in, we'd be rid of them by now. They'd all just go rot in Hazarajat where they belong.
"You'd do that? . . . Eat dirt if I told you to," I said. I knew I was being cruel, like when I'd taunt him if he didn't know some big word. But there was something fascinating- albeit in a sick way- about teasing Hassan. Kind of like when we played insect torture. Except now, he was the ant and I was holding the magnifying glass.

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