There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir. A man who takes what’s not his to take, be it a life, or a loaf of naan. I spit on such a man. And if I ever cross paths with him, God help him. Do you understand?
When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. Do you see?
I wonder how much time would pass before we talked again like this because the truth is Baba hates me a little, doesn’t he? Didn’t I had stolen his beloved wife by being born?
That’s not what I mean, Rahim. There’s just something missing in that boy. A boy who won’t stand up for himself becomes a man who can’t stand up to anything.
Amir carved Hassan and his name on a pomegranate tree near the entrance of the cemetery: Amir and Hassan, the sultans of Kabul. The tree was theirs. Under that tree, Amir would read Hassan poems and stories. Sometimes, Amir would also give harmless pranks to Hassan.
‘Imbecile’. What does that word mean?
You don’t know what it means? It’s such as common word. ‘Imbecile’ means smart, intelligent. Hassan is an imbecile.
After the chit chat, Amir told Hassan a story that he had made. Hassan loved Amir’s story, so it became Amir’s motivation to write his first short story. Amir tried to show it to Baba, but Baba was not interested at all. Instead of Baba, Rahim Khan read his story and wrote Amir a nice note about the story.