雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(64)

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(guó)。

成年后的阿米爾始終無(wú)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(lái)令人蕩氣回腸。

下面就跟小編一起來(lái)欣賞雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(64)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

He tipped his drink to me and took a sip. He lit a cigarette, one of the unfiltered Pakistani cigarettes he and Baba were always smoking. “Did I ever tell you I was almost married once?”
“Really?” I said, smiling a little at the notion of Rahim Khan getting married. I’d always thought of him as Baba’s quiet alter ego, my writing mentor, my pal, the one who never forgot to bring me a souvenir, a saughat, when he returned from a trip abroad. But a husband? A father?
He nodded. “It’s true. I was eighteen. Her name was Homaira. She was a Hazara, the daughter of our neighbor’s servants. She was as beautiful as a pari, light brown hair, big hazel eyes... she had this laugh... I can still hear it sometimes.” He twirled his glass. “We used to meet secretly in my father’s apple orchards, always after midnight when everyone had gone to sleep. We’d walk under the trees and I’d hold her hand... Am I embarrassing you, Amir jan?”
“A little,” I said.
“It won’t kill you,” he said, taking another puff. “Anyway, we had this fantasy. We’d have a great, fancy wedding and invite family and friends from Kabul to Kandahar. I would build us a big house, white with a tiled patio and large windows. We would plant fruit trees in the garden and grow all sorts of flowers, have a lawn for our kids to play on. On Fridays, after _namaz_ at the mosque, everyone would get together at our house for lunch and we’d eat in the garden, under cherry trees, drink fresh water from the well. Then tea with candy as we watched our kids play with their cousins...”
He took a long gulp of his scotch. Coughed. “You should have seen the look on my father’s face when I told him. My mother actually fainted. My sisters splashed her face with water. They fanned her and looked at me as if I had slit her throat. My brother Jalal actually went to fetch his hunting rifle before my father stopped him.” Rahim Khan barked a bitter laughter. “It was Homaira and me against the world. And I’ll tell you this, Amir jan: In the end, the world always wins. That’s just the way of things.”
“So what happened?”
“That same day, my father put Homaira and her family on a lorry and sent them off to Hazarajat. I never saw her again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Probably for the best, though,” Rahim Khan said, shrugging. “She would have suffered. My family would have never accepted her as an equal. You don’t order someone to polish your shoes one day and call them ‘sister’ the next.” He looked at me. “You know, you can tell me anything you want, Amir jan. Anytime.”
“I know,” I said uncertainly. He looked at me for a long time, like he was waiting, his black bottomless eyes hinting at an unspoken secret between us. For a moment, I almost did tell him. Almost told him everything, but then what would he think of me? He’d hate me, and rightfully.
“Here.” He handed me something. “I almost forgot. Happy birthday.” It was a brown leather-bound notebook. I traced my fingers along the gold-colored stitching on the borders. I smelled the leather. “For your stories,” he said. I was going to thank him when something exploded and bursts of fire lit up the sky.
“Fireworks!”
We hurried back to the house and found the guests all standing in the yard, looking up to the sky. Kids hooted and screamed with each crackle and whoosh. People cheered, burst into applause each time flares sizzled and exploded into bouquets of fire. Every few seconds, the backyard lit up in sudden flashes of red, green, and yellow.
In one of those brief bursts of light, I saw something I’ll never forget: Hassan serving drinks to Assef and Wali from a silver platter. The light winked out, a hiss and a crackle, then another flicker of orange light: Assef grinning, kneading Hassan in the chest with a knuckle.
Then, mercifully, darkness.

他朝我舉舉杯，喝了一口。他點(diǎn)起一根香煙，沒(méi)有過(guò)濾嘴的巴基斯坦香煙，他和爸爸總是抽這種。“我有沒(méi)有告訴過(guò)你我差點(diǎn)就結(jié)婚了?”
“真的嗎?”我說(shuō)，想到拉辛汗也結(jié)婚，不由微微笑著。我一直當(dāng)他是爸爸寡言的知交，我的寫(xiě)作導(dǎo)師，我的朋友，當(dāng)他是那個(gè)每次到國(guó)外旅行總不忘給我買(mǎi)點(diǎn)小禮物的人。但是丈夫?父親?
他點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭:“真的。那年我十八歲。她的名字叫荷麥拉。她是哈扎拉人，我家鄰居仆人的女兒。她像仙女一樣好看，淡棕色的頭發(fā)，褐色的大眼睛……她總是這樣笑……我有時(shí)還能聽(tīng)到她的笑聲?！彼位尉票拔覀兘?jīng)常在我父親的蘋(píng)果園里幽會(huì)，總是在夜闌人靜的時(shí)候。我們?cè)跇?shù)下聊天，我拉著她的手……我讓你不好意思了嗎，阿米爾?”
“有一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)?！蔽艺f(shuō)。
“那對(duì)你無(wú)害的，”他說(shuō)，又喝了一口。“不管怎樣，我們有著這樣的幻想。我們會(huì)有一個(gè)盛大的、夢(mèng)幻般的婚禮，從坎大哈和喀布爾請(qǐng)親朋好友來(lái)參加。我會(huì)給我們蓋一座大房子，白色的，露臺(tái)鋪著瓷磚，窗戶(hù)很大。我們會(huì)在花園里種果樹(shù)，還有各種各樣的花兒，有一個(gè)草坪，我們的孩子在上面玩耍。星期五，在清真寺做過(guò)禱告之后，每個(gè)人會(huì)到我們家里吃午飯，我們?cè)诨▓@用膳，在櫻桃樹(shù)下，從井里打水喝。然后我們喝著茶，吃著糖果，看著我們的孩子跟親戚的小孩玩……”
他喝了一大口烈酒，咳嗽?！翱上憧床坏轿野堰@件事告訴我爸爸時(shí)他臉上的表情。我媽媽完全昏厥了，我的姐妹用冷水撲打她的臉，她們對(duì)著她扇風(fēng)，仿佛我用刀子割了她的喉嚨。要不是我爸爸及時(shí)阻止，我哥哥雅拉爾真的會(huì)去抓來(lái)他的獵槍?！崩梁拐f(shuō)，帶著痛苦的笑聲，“我跟荷麥拉對(duì)抗著整個(gè)世界。并且我告訴你，親愛(ài)的阿米爾，到了最后，總是這個(gè)世界贏得勝利。就這么回事?！?br />“后來(lái)怎樣呢?”
“就在那天，我爸爸將荷麥拉和她的家人趕上一輛貨車(chē)，送他們?nèi)スZ特。我再也沒(méi)有見(jiàn)到過(guò)她?！?br />“真遺憾?！蔽艺f(shuō)。
“不過(guò)這也許是最好的結(jié)果了，”拉辛汗說(shuō)，聳聳肩?！八龝?huì)受辱的。我的家人將永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)平等對(duì)待她。你不會(huì)下令讓某人替你擦鞋子，而當(dāng)天晚些時(shí)候管她叫‘姐妹’?！彼粗?，“你知道，你可以告訴我任何你想說(shuō)的事情，親愛(ài)的阿米爾，任何時(shí)候?！?br />“我知道，”我惴惴地說(shuō)。他久久看著我，似乎在等待；他黑色的眼睛深洞無(wú)底，隱藏著我們之間一個(gè)沒(méi)有說(shuō)出的秘密。那一刻，我差點(diǎn)就告訴他了，差點(diǎn)把什么都對(duì)他說(shuō)，可是到時(shí)他會(huì)怎么看待我?他會(huì)恨我，而且合情合理。
“給你，”他遞給我某件東西，“我差點(diǎn)忘記了，生日快樂(lè)?！蹦鞘莻€(gè)棕色的皮面筆記本。我伸出手指，摸索著它鑲著金線的邊緣，聞到皮革的味道?！敖o你寫(xiě)故事用的。”他說(shuō)。我剛要向他道謝，有些東西爆炸了，在天空中燃起火焰。
“煙花!”
我們匆忙趕回家，發(fā)現(xiàn)所有的賓客都站在院子里，望著天空。每次爆裂和呼嘯升空的聲音，都會(huì)引來(lái)孩子們大聲尖叫。每次火焰嘶嘶作響，爆裂開(kāi)來(lái)，變成花束，都會(huì)引起人們歡呼，拍掌稱(chēng)好。每隔幾秒鐘，后院就會(huì)被突然爆發(fā)的火光點(diǎn)亮，有紅的、綠的、黃的。
在一次短暫的閃光中，我看到永世不會(huì)忘記的情景：哈桑端著銀盤(pán)，服侍阿塞夫和瓦里喝酒。那陣光芒消失了，又是一聲嘶嘶，一聲爆裂，接著是一道橙色的火光：阿塞夫獰笑著，用一根指節(jié)敲打著哈桑的胸膛。
然后，天可憐見(jiàn)，什么都看不到了。