雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(18)

12歲的阿富汗富家少爺阿米爾與仆人哈桑情同手足。然而，在一場(chǎng)風(fēng)箏比賽后，發(fā)生了一件悲慘不堪的事，阿米爾為自己的懦弱感到自責(zé)和痛苦，逼走了哈桑，不久，自己也跟隨父親逃往美國。

成年后的阿米爾始終無法原諒自己當(dāng)年對(duì)哈桑的背叛。為了贖罪，阿米爾再度踏上暌違二十多年的故鄉(xiāng)，希望能為不幸的好友盡最后一點(diǎn)心力，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)一個(gè)驚天謊言，兒時(shí)的噩夢(mèng)再度重演，阿米爾該如何抉擇?

故事如此殘忍而又美麗，作者以溫暖細(xì)膩的筆法勾勒人性的本質(zhì)與救贖，讀來令人蕩氣回腸。

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Sitting cross-legged, sunlight and shadows of pomegranate leaves dancing on his face, Hassan absently plucked blades of grass from the ground as I read him stories he couldn't read for himself. That Hassan would grow up illiterate like Ali and most Hazaras had been decided the minute he had been born, perhaps even the moment he had been conceived in Sanaubar's unwelcoming womb--after all, what use did a servant have for the written word? But despite his illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Hassan was drawn to the mystery of words, seduced by a secret world forbidden to him. I read him poems and stories, sometimes riddles--though I stopped reading those when I saw he was far better at solving them than I was. So I read him unchallenging things, like the misadventures of the bumbling Mullah Nasruddin and his donkey. We sat for hours under that tree, sat there until the sun faded in the west, and still Hassan insisted we had enough daylight for one more story, one more chapter.

哈桑盤腿坐著，陽光和石榴葉的陰影在他臉上翩翩起舞。我念那些他看不懂的故事給他聽，他心不在焉地摘著地上雜草的葉片。哈桑長(zhǎng)大后，會(huì)跟阿里和多數(shù)哈扎拉人一樣，自出生之日起，甚至自莎娜芭不情不愿地懷上他那天起，就注定要成為文盲--畢竟，仆人要讀書識(shí)字干嗎呢?但盡管他目不識(shí)丁，興許正因?yàn)槿绱?，哈桑?duì)那些謎一樣的文字十分入迷，那個(gè)他無法接觸的世界深深吸引了他。我給他念詩歌和故事，有時(shí)也念謎語--不過后來我不念了，因?yàn)槲野l(fā)現(xiàn)他解謎語的本領(lǐng)遠(yuǎn)比我高強(qiáng)。所以我念些不那么有挑戰(zhàn)性的東西，比如裝腔作勢(shì)的納斯魯丁毛拉和他那頭驢子出洋相的故事。我們?cè)跇湎乱蛔褪菐讉€(gè)鐘頭，直到太陽在西邊黯淡下去，哈桑還會(huì)說，日光還足夠亮堂，我們可以多念一個(gè)故事、多讀一章。
My favorite part of reading to Hassan was when we came across a big word that he didn't know. I'd tease him, expose his ignorance. One time, I was reading him a Mullah Nasruddin story and he stopped me. "What does that word mean?"
給哈桑念故事的時(shí)候，碰到某個(gè)他無法理解的字眼，我就十分高興，我會(huì)取笑他，嘲弄他的無知。有一次，我給他念納斯魯丁毛拉的故事，他讓我停下來。"那個(gè)詞是什么意思?"
"Which one?"
"哪個(gè)?"
"Imbecile."
"昧。"
"You don't know what it means?"I said, grinning.
"你不知道那是什么意思嗎?"我一臉壞笑地說著。
"Nay, Amir agha."
"不知道，阿米爾少爺。"
"But it's such a common word!"
"可是這個(gè)詞很常見啊。"
"Still, I don't know it."If he felt the sting of my tease, his smiling face didn't show it.
"不過我還是不懂。"就算他聽到我話中帶刺，他也是不露聲色地微笑著。
"Well, everyone in my school knows what it means,"I said. "Let's see. ‘Imbecile.'It means smart, intelligent. I'll use it in a sentence for you. ‘When it comes to words, Hassan is an imbecile.'"
"這么說吧，在我們學(xué)校，人人都認(rèn)識(shí)這個(gè)詞。"我說，"讓我看看,'昧'，它的意思是聰明、機(jī)靈。我可以用它來給你造句。'在讀書識(shí)字方面，哈桑夠昧。'"
"Aaah,"he said, nodding.
"啊哈。"他點(diǎn)頭說。
I would always feel guilty about it later. So I'd try to make up for it by giving him one of my old shirts or a broken toy. I would tell myself that was amends enough for a harmless prank.
后來我總是對(duì)此心懷愧疚。所以我試著彌補(bǔ)，把舊襯衣或者破玩具送給他。我會(huì)告訴自己，對(duì)于一個(gè)無關(guān)緊要的玩笑來說，這樣的補(bǔ)償就足夠了。
Hassan's favorite book by far was the _Shahnamah_, the tenth-century epic of ancient Persian heroes. He liked all of the chapters, the shahs of old, Feridoun, Zal, and Rudabeh. But his favorite story, and mine, was "Rostam and Sohrab,?the tale of the great warrior Rostam and his fleet-footed horse, Rakhsh. Rostam mortally wounds his valiant nemesis, Sohrab, in battle, only to discover that Sohrab is his long-lost son. Stricken with grief, Rostam hears his son's dying words:
哈桑最喜歡的書是《沙納瑪》，一部描寫古代波斯英雄的10世紀(jì)的史詩。他通篇都喜歡，他喜歡那些垂垂老矣的國王：費(fèi)里敦、扎爾，還有魯達(dá)貝。但他最喜歡的故事，也是我最喜歡的，是"羅斯坦和索拉博"，講的是神武的戰(zhàn)士羅斯坦和他那匹千里馬拉克什的故事。羅斯坦在戰(zhàn)斗中，給予他的強(qiáng)敵索拉博以致命一擊，最終卻發(fā)現(xiàn)索拉博是他失散多年的兒子。羅斯坦強(qiáng)忍悲慟，聽著他兒子的臨終遺言：

If thou art indeed my father, then hast thou stained thy sword in the life-blood of thy son. And thou didst it of thine obstinacy. For I sought to turn thee unto love, and I implored of thee thy name, for I thought to behold in thee the tokens recounted of my mother. But I appealed unto thy heart in vain, and now is the time gone for meeting...
若汝果為吾父，血刃親子，名節(jié)有虧矣。此乃汝之專橫所致也。汝持先母信物，吾報(bào)汝以愛，呼汝之名，然汝心難回，吾徒費(fèi)唇舌，此刻命赴黃泉……

"Read it again please, Amir agha,"Hassan would say. Sometimes tears pooled in Hassan's eyes as I read him this passage, and I always wondered whom he wept for, the grief-stricken Rostam who tears his clothes and covers his head with ashes, or the dying Sohrab who only longed for his father's love? Personally, I couldn't see the tragedy in Rostam's fate. After all, didn't all fathers in their secret hearts harbor a desire to kill their sons?
"再念一次吧，阿米爾少爺。"哈桑會(huì)這么說。有時(shí)我給他念這段話的時(shí)候，他淚如泉涌，我總是很好奇，他到底為誰哭泣呢，為那個(gè)淚滿衣襟、埋首塵灰、悲慟難當(dāng)?shù)牧_斯坦，還是為即將斷氣、渴望得到父愛的索拉博呢?在我看來，羅斯坦的命運(yùn)并非悲劇。畢竟，難道每個(gè)父親的內(nèi)心深處，不是都有想把兒子殺掉的欲望嗎?