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train would never trundle down its tracks in my room。 I didn t want any of it……it was all blood money； Baba would have never thrown me a party like that if I hadn t won the tournament。
Baba gave me two presents。 One was sure to bee the envy of every kid in the neighborhood： a brand new Schwinn Stingray； the king of all bicycles。 Only a handful of kids in all of Kabul owned a new Stingray and now I was one of them。 It had high…rise handlebars with black rubber grips and its famous banana seat。 The spokes were gold colored and the steel…frame body red； like a candy apple。 Or blood。 Any other kid would have hopped on the bike immediately and taken it for a full block skid。 I might have done the same a few months ago。
You like it？ Baba said； leaning in the doorway to my room。 I gave him a sheepish grin and a quick Thank you。 I wished I could have mustered more。
We could go for a ride； Baba said。 An invitation； but only a halfhearted one。
Maybe later。 I m a little tired； I said。
Sure； Baba said。
Baba？
Yes？
Thanks for the fireworks； I said。 A thank…you； but only a halfhearted one。
Get some rest； Baba said； walking toward his room。
The other present Baba gave me……and he didn t wait around for me to open this one……was a wristwatch。 It had a blue face with gold hands in the shape of lightning bolts。 I didn t even try it on。 I tossed it on the pile of toys in the corner。 The only gift I didn t toss on that mound was Rahim Khan s leather…bound notebook。 That was the only one that didn t feel like blood money。
I sat on the edge of my bed； turned the notebook in my hands； thought about what Rahim Khan had said about Homaira； how his father s dismissing her had been for the best in the end。 She would have suffered。 Like the times Kaka Homayoun s projector got stuck on the same slide； the same image kept flashing in my mind over and over： Hassan； his head downcast； serving drinks to Assef and Wali。 Maybe it would be for the best。 Lessen his suffering。 And mine too。 Either way； this much had bee clear： One of us had to go。
Later that afternoon； I took the Schwinn for its first and last spin。 I pedaled around the block a couple of times and came back。 I rolled up the driveway to the backyard where Hassan and Ali were cleaning up the mess from last night s party。 Paper cups； crumpled napkins； and empty bottles of soda littered the yard。 Ali was folding chairs； setting them along the wall。 He saw me and waved。
Salaam； All； I said； waving back。
He held up a finger； asking me to wait； and walked to his living quarters。 A moment later； he emerged with something in his hands。 The opportunity never presented itself last night for Hassan and me to give you this； he said； handing me a box。 It s mod est and not worthy of you； Amir agha。 But we hope you like it still。 Happy birthday。
A lump was rising in my throat。 Thank you； Ali； I said。 I wished they hadn t bought me anything。 I opened the box and found a brand new _Shahnamah_； a hardback with glossy colored illustrations beneath the passages。 Here was Ferangis gazing at her newborn son； Kai Khosrau。