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Kite Runner Chapter 7 Review

Last updated about 3 years ago
25 questions
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Who had a dream about monsters?

The next morning, Hassan told me he’d had a dream. “We were at Ghargha Lake, you, me, Father, Agha sahib, Rahim Khan, and thousands of other people,” he said. “It was warm and sunny, and the lake was clear like a mirror. But no one was swimming because they said a monster had come to the lake. It was swimming at the bottom, waiting.”
He poured me a cup and added sugar. Put it before me. “So everyone is scared to get in the water, and suddenly you kick off your shoes, Amir agha. ‘There’s no monster,’ you say. ‘I’ll show you all.’ And before anyone can stop you, you dive into the water. I follow you in and we’re both swimming.”
“Anyway, everyone is screaming, ‘Get out!’ but we just swim in the cold water. We make it way out to the middle of the lake and we stop swimming. We turn toward the shore and wave to the people. They see now. There is no monster, just water. They change the name of the lake after that, and call it the ‘Lake of Amir and Hassan, Sultans of Kabul,’”
“So what does it mean?” I said.
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Well, it’s a dumb dream. Nothing happens in it.”
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Describe the dream that Hassan has

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What do they rename the lake in Hassan's dream?

THE STREETS GLISTENED with fresh snow. Snow blanketed every rooftop overnight, it had nudged its way into every crack and gutter. I squinted against the blinding white when Hassan and I stepped through the wrought-iron gates. I had never seen so many people on our street. Kids were flinging snowballs, chasing one another. Kite fighters were huddling with their spool holders, making last-minute preparations. Already, rooftops were jammed with spectators. I turned my gaze to our rooftop, found Baba and Rahim Khan sitting on a bench sipping tea. Baba waved. I couldn’t tell if he was waving at me or Hassan.
“We should get started,” Hassan said. Sunlight washed over his face, and, in it, I saw how well the pink scar above his lip had healed. Suddenly I wanted to withdraw. Pack it all in, go back home. Why was I putting myself through this, when I already knew the outcome? Baba was on the roof, watching me. I felt his glare on me like the heat of a blistering sun. This would be failure on a grand scale.
“I’m not sure I want to fly a kite today,” I said.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Hassan said.
I shifted on my feet. “I don’t know. Maybe we should go home.” Then he stepped toward me and, in a low voice, said something that scared me a little.
“Remember, Amir agha. There’s no monster, just a beautiful day.” How could I be such an open book to him when, half the time, I had no idea what was milling around in his head? I was the one who went to school. I was the smart one. Hassan couldn’t read a first-grade textbook but he’d read me plenty.
“No monster,” I said, feeling a little better, to my own surprise. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Hassan’s face brightened. He lifted our kite. He licked his finger and held it up, tested the wind, then ran in its direction. I jerked the string twice, our usual signal, and Hassan tossed the kite. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled on the string. Within a minute, my kite was rocketing to the sky. Hassan clapped his hands and whistled. At least two dozen kites already hung in the sky, like paper sharks roaming for prey.
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Why doesn’t Amir want to compete in the kite fighting competition?

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The line that there are “no monsters” make Amir feel better.

Soon, the cutting started and the first of the defeated kites whirled out of control. I could hear the runners now, hollering as they ran the streets. Someone shouted reports of a fight breaking out two streets down. I kept stealing glances at Baba sitting with Rahim Khan on the roof, wondering what he was thinking. Was he cheering for me? Or did a part of him enjoy watching me fail? Was he surprised I had lasted as long as I had?
A red kite was closing in on me—I’d caught it just in time. I tangled a bit with it, ended up besting him when he became impatient and tried to cut me from below. Up and down the streets, kite runners were returning triumphantly, their captured kites held high. They showed them off to their parents, their friends. But they all knew the best was yet to come. The biggest prize of all was still flying.
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What is Amir wondering while he flying the kite?

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Why does Amir begin to have negative thoughts about the kite tournament?

Within another hour, the number of surviving kites dwindled from maybe fifty to a dozen. I was one of them. I knew this part of the tournament would take a while, because the guys who had lasted this long were good. By three o’clock that afternoon, tufts of clouds had drifted in and the sun had slipped behind them. The spectators on the roofs bundled up in scarves and thick coats. We were down to a half dozen and I was still flying. My legs ached and my neck was stiff. But with each defeated kite, hope grew in my heart. My eyes kept returning to a blue kite that had been wreaking havoc for the last hour.
“How many has he cut?” I asked.
“I counted eleven,” Hassan said.
After another thirty minutes, only four kites remained. And I was still flying. I’d never felt so in command. It felt intoxicating. I didn’t dare look up to the roof. Didn’t dare take my eyes off the sky. I had to concentrate, play it smart. Another fifteen minutes and what had seemed like a laughable dream that morning had suddenly become reality: It was just me and the other guy. The blue kite. The tension in the air was as taut as the glass string. People were stomping their feet, clapping, chanting, “Cut him! Cut him!” I wondered if Baba’s voice was one of them.
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Who is Amir's major opponent?

But all I heard—all I willed myself to hear—was the thudding of blood in my head. All I saw was the blue kite. All I smelled was victory. Salvation. Redemption. If Baba was wrong and there was a God like they said in school, then He’d let me win. This was my one chance to become someone who was looked at. If there was a God, He’d guide the winds, let them blow for me so that, with a tug of my string, I’d cut loose my pain, my longing. I’d endured too much, come too far. I was going to win.
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Why does Amir feel that he deserves to win?

It turned out to be sooner than later. A gust of wind lifted my kite and I took advantage. Looped my kite on top of the blue one. I held position. The blue kite knew it was in trouble. The crowd sensed the end was at hand.
“You’re almost there, Amir agha! Almost there!” Hassan was panting.
Then the moment came. I closed my eyes and loosened my grip on the string. It sliced my fingers again as the wind dragged it. And then . . . I didn’t need to hear the crowd’s roar to know. I didn’t need to see either.
“Bravo! Bravo, Amir agha!”
I opened my eyes, saw the blue kite spinning wildly like a tire come loose from a speeding car. I blinked, tried to say something. Nothing came out. Then I was screaming, and everything was color and sound. I was throwing my free arm around Hassan and we were hopping up and down, both of us laughing, both of us weeping. “You won, Amir agha! You won!”
“We won! We won!” was all I could say. I saw Baba on our roof. He was standing on the edge, pumping both of his fists. Hollering and clapping. And that right there was the single greatest moment of my twelve years of life, seeing Baba on that roof, proud of me at last. But he was doing something now, motioning with his hands in an urgent way. Then I understood. “Hassan, we—”
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Amir and Hassan won the Kite Fighting Tournament

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Then I was screaming, and everything was _______ and _______ . I was throwing my free arm around Hassan and we were hopping up and down, both of us laughing, both of us weeping. “You won, Amir agha! You won!”
“I know,” he said, breaking our embrace. “we’ll celebrate later. Right now, I’m going to run that blue kite for you,” he said.
“Hassan!” I called. “Come back with it!”
He was already turning the street corner he stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “For you a thousand times over!” he said. Then he smiled his Hassan smile and disappeared around the corner. I began to pull my kite back as people rushed to congratulate me. I shook hands with them, said my thanks. Hands patted my back and tousled my hair. I pulled on the string and returned every smile, but my mind was on the blue kite. I wrapped the loose string that had collected at my feet around the spool, and trotted home. When I reached the wrought-iron gates, Ali was waiting on the other side. He stuck his hand through the bars.
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What is Hassan's job after the Kite Fighting Torunament?

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Hassan replies to Amir, "For you a _______ _______ _______ "
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Hassan states, "For you a thousand times over" what does this mean?

By the time I reached the marketplace, the sun had almost sunk behind the hills and dusk had painted the sky pink and purple. The bazaar was emptying quickly, the merchants finishing up their haggling for the day. I picked my way through the dwindling crowd. I found no sign of Hassan. I stopped by a dried fruit stand, described Hassan to an old merchant loading his mule with crates. “I might have seen him.”
“Which way did he go?”
He eyed me up and down. “What is a boy like you doing looking for a Hazara?” His glance lingered admiringly on my leather coat and my jeans. In Afghanistan, owning anything American was a sign of wealth.
“I need to find him.”
“What is he to you?” he said.
“He’s our servant’s son,” I said.
The old man raised a pepper gray eyebrow. “He is? Lucky Hazara, having such a concerned master. His father should get on his knees, sweep the dust at your feet. I think I saw the boy you described running that way.” He rested an arm on the mule’s back, pointed south. “He had a kite in his hand. A blue one.”
“He did?” I said. Good old Hassan. He’d kept his promise and run the last kite for me.
“Of course, they’ve probably caught him by now,” the old merchant said, grunting and loading another box on the mule’s back.
“Who?”
“The other boys,” he said. “The ones chasing him.”
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How did the old merchant show his lack of respect for Hassan?

But I was already scrambling down the lane. For the next few minutes, I scoured the bazaar in vain. Maybe the old merchant’s eyes had betrayed him. Except he’d seen the blue kite. I poked my head behind every lane. No sign of Hassan. I had begun to worry that darkness would fall before I found Hassan when I heard voices from up ahead. I’d reached a secluded, muddy road. I followed the voices. My boot squished in mud with every step.
I heard the voices again, louder this time, coming from one of the alleys. I crept close to the mouth of the alley. Held my breath. Peeked around the corner. Hassan was standing at the end of the alley in a defiant stance: fists curled. Behind him, sitting on piles of scrap and rubble, was the blue kite. My key to Baba’s heart. Blocking Hassan’s way out of the alley were three boys, the same three from that day on the hill, when Hassan had saved us with his slingshot. Wali was standing on one side, Kamal on the other, and in the middle, Assef.
“Where is your slingshot, Hazara?” Assef said, turning the brass knuckles in his hand. “What was it you said? ‘They’ll have to call you One-Eyed Assef.’ That’s right. That was clever. Then again, it’s easy to be clever when you’re holding a loaded weapon.”
I realized I still hadn’t breathed out. I exhaled quietly. I felt paralyzed. I watched them close in on the boy I’d grown up with.
“But today is your lucky day, Hazara,” Assef said. He had his back to me, but I would have bet he was grinning. “I’m in a mood to forgive. What do you say to that, boys?”
“That’s generous,” Kamal blurted, “Especially after the rude manners he showed us last time.” He was trying to sound like Assef, except there was a tremor in his voice. Assef waved a dismissive hand. “Forgiven. It’s done.” His voice dropped a little. “Of course, nothing is free in this world, and my pardon comes with a small price.”
“That’s fair,” Kamal said.
“Nothing is free,” Wali added.
“You’re a lucky Hazara,” Assef said, taking a step toward Hassan. “It’s only going to cost you that blue kite.” Even from where I was standing, I could see the fear creeping into Hassan’s eyes. “Amir agha won the tournament and I ran this kite for him. I ran it fairly. This is his kite.”
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What is the price of Hassan's freedom from Assef?

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Who attacked Hassan?

“A loyal Hazara. Loyal as a dog,” Assef said. “But before you sacrifice yourself for him, think about this: Would he do the same for you? Have you ever wondered why he never includes you in games when he has guests? Why he only plays with you when no one else is around? I’ll tell you why, Hazara. Because to him, you’re nothing but an ugly pet. Something he can play with when he’s bored. Don’t ever fool yourself and think you’re something more.”
“Amir agha and I are friends,” Hassan said. He looked flushed.
“Friends?” Assef said, laughing. “You pathetic fool! Someday you’ll wake up from your little fantasy and learn just how good of a friend he is. Now give us that kite.”
Hassan stooped and picked up a rock. Assef flinched. “Last chance, Hazara.” Hassan’s answer was to cock the arm that held the rock.
“Whatever you wish.” Assef unbuttoned his winter coat, took it off, folded it slowly. I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn’t. I just watched. Paralyzed. Assef motioned with his hand, and the other two boys separated, forming a half circle, trapping Hassan in the alley.
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Why doesn't Hassan give Assef the blue kite?

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Amir chooses not to help Hassan when he is attacked by Assef

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Why did Amir really run instead of helping Hassan?

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Amir wonders if

Hassan dragged a sleeve across his face. I waited for him to say something, but we just stood there, in the fading light. I was grateful for the early-evening shadows that fell on Hassan’s face and concealed mine. I was glad I didn’t have to return his gaze. Did he know I knew? And if he knew, then what would I see if I did look in his eyes? Blame? Or, God forbid, what I feared most: devotion? That, most of all, I couldn’t bear to see.
He began to say something and his voice cracked. He closed his mouth, opened it, and closed it again. Took a step back. Wiped his face. And that was as close as Hassan and I ever came to discussing what had happened in the alley.
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Amir and Hassan talked about the attack.

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After reading chapter 7, what can the reader infer about Hassan's dream?

IT HAPPENED JUST THE WAY I’d imagined. I opened the door to the smoky study and stepped in. Baba and Rahim Khan were drinking tea and listening to the news crackling on the radio. Their heads turned. Then a smile played on my father’s lips. He opened his arms. I put the kite down and walked into his arms. I buried my face in the warmth of his chest and wept. Baba held me close to him, rocking me back and forth. In his arms, I forgot what I’d done. And that was good.
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At the end of chapter 7, why did Amir forget about what he did

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Baba was very excited and proud of Amir for winning the tournament