雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(88)

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。

下面就跟小編一起來欣賞雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(88)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

“I know,” she said. “My mother told me.” Then her face red dened with a blush at what she had blurted, at the implication of her answer, that “Amir Conversations” took place between them when I wasn’t there. It took an enormous effort to stop myself from smiling.
“I brought you something.” I fished the roll of stapled pages from my back pocket. “As promised.” I handed her one of my short stories.
“Oh, you remembered,” she said, actually beaming. “Thank you!” I barely had time to register that she’d addressed me with “tu” for the first time and not the formal “shoma,” because suddenly her smile vanished. The color dropped from her face, and her eyes fixed on something behind me. I turned around. Came face-to-face with General Taheri.
“Amir jan. Our aspiring storyteller. What a pleasure,” he said. He was smiling thinly.
“Salaam, General Sahib,” I said through heavy lips.
He moved past me, toward the booth. “What a beautiful day it is, nay?” he said, thumb hooked in the breast pocket of his vest, the other hand extended toward Soraya. She gave him the pages.
“They say it will rain this week. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He dropped the rolled pages in the garbage can. Turned to me and gently put a hand on my shoulder. We took a few steps together.
“You know, bachem, I have grown rather fond of you. You are a decent boy, I really believe that, but--” he sighed and waved a hand “--even decent boys need reminding sometimes. So it’s my duty to remind you that you are among peers in this flea market.” He stopped. His expressionless eyes bore into mine. “You see, everyone here is a storyteller.” He smiled, revealing perfectly even teeth. “Do pass my respects to your father, Amir jan.”
He dropped his hand. Smiled again.
“WHAT’S WRONG?” Baba said. He was taking an elderly woman’s money for a rocking horse.
“Nothing,” I said. I sat down on an old TV set. Then I told him anyway.
“Akh, Amir,” he sighed.
As it turned out, I didn’t get to brood too much over what had happened.
Because later that week, Baba caught a cold.
IT STARTED WITH A HACKING COUGH and the sniffles. He got over the sniffles, but the cough persisted. He’d hack into his handkerchief, stow it in his pocket. I kept after him to get it checked, but he’d wave me away. He hated doctors and hospitals. To my knowledge, the only time Baba had ever gone to a doctor was the time he’d caught malaria in India.
Then, two weeks later, I caught him coughing a wad of blood-stained phlegm into the toilet.
“How long have you been doing that?” I said.
“What’s for dinner?” he said.
“I’m taking you to the doctor.”
Even though Baba was a manager at the gas station, the owner hadn’t offered him health insurance, and Baba, in his recklessness, hadn’t insisted. So I took him to the county hospital in San Jose. The sallow, puffy-eyed doctor who saw us introduced himself as a second-year resident. “He looks younger than you and sicker than me,” Baba grumbled. The resident sent us down for a chest X-ray. When the nurse called us back in, the resident was filling out a form.
“Take this to the front desk,” he said, scribbling quickly.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A referral.” Scribble scribble.
“For what?”
“Pulmonary clinic.”
“What’s that?”
He gave me a quick glance. Pushed up his glasses. Began scribbling again. “He’s got a spot on his right lung. I want them to check it out.”
“A spot?” I said, the room suddenly too small.
“Cancer?” Baba added casually.
“Possible. It’s suspicious, anyway,” the doctor muttered.
“Can’t you tell us more?” I asked.
“Not really. Need a CAT scan first, then see the lung doctor.” He handed me the referral form. “You said your father smokes, right?”
“Yes.”

“我知道，”她說，“我媽媽跟我說過?！苯又?yàn)檫@句話，她臉上泛起紅暈。她的答案暗示著，我不在的時(shí)候，她們?cè)?jīng)“談起阿米爾”。我費(fèi)了好大勁才忍住讓自己不發(fā)笑。
“我給你帶了些東西，”我從后褲兜掏出一卷訂好的紙張，“實(shí)現(xiàn)諾言?！蔽疫f給她一篇自己寫的小故事。
“哦，你還記得?！彼f，笑逐顏開,“謝謝你!”我沒有時(shí)間體會(huì)她第一次用“你”而非用較正式的“您”稱呼我到底意味著什么，因?yàn)橥蝗婚g她的笑容消失了，臉上的紅暈褪去，眼睛盯著我身后。我轉(zhuǎn)過身，跟塔赫里將軍面對(duì)面站著。
“親愛的阿米爾，抱負(fù)遠(yuǎn)大的說故事的人，很高興見到你?！彼f，掛著淡淡的微笑。
“你好，將軍大人。”我囁嚅著說。
他從我身旁走過，邁向貨攤。“今天天氣很好，是嗎?”他說，拇指搭在他那間背心的上袋，另一只手伸向索拉雅。她把紙卷給了他。
“他們說整個(gè)星期都會(huì)下雨呢。很難相信吧，是嗎?”他把那卷紙張丟進(jìn)垃圾桶。轉(zhuǎn)向我，輕輕地把手放在我的肩膀上，我們并排走了幾步。
“你知道，我的孩子，我相當(dāng)喜歡你。你是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的孩子，我真的這么認(rèn)為，但是……”他嘆了口氣，揮揮手，“……即使有教養(yǎng)的男孩有時(shí)也需要提醒。所以，我有責(zé)任提醒你，你是在跳蚤市場(chǎng)的眾目睽睽之下做事情?！彼Ｗ?，他那不露喜怒的眸子直盯著我雙眼，“你知道，這里每個(gè)人都會(huì)講故事?！彼⑿?，露出一口整整齊齊的牙齒,“替我向你爸爸問好，親愛的阿米爾。”
他把手放下，又露出微笑。
“怎么回事?”爸爸說，接過一個(gè)老婦人買木馬的錢。
“沒事?！蔽艺f。我坐在一臺(tái)舊電視機(jī)上。不過還是告訴他了。
“唉，阿米爾。”他嘆氣。
結(jié)果，剛才發(fā)生的事情沒有讓我煩惱太久。
因?yàn)槟莻€(gè)星期稍晚一些時(shí)候，爸爸感冒了。
開始只是有點(diǎn)咳嗽和流鼻涕。他的流鼻涕痊愈了，可是咳嗽還是沒好。他會(huì)咳在手帕上，把它藏在口袋里。我不停地求他去檢查，但他會(huì)揮手叫我走開。他討厭大夫和醫(yī)院。就我所知，爸爸惟一去醫(yī)院那次，是在印度染上瘧疾。
然后，過了兩個(gè)星期，我撞見他正把一口帶血絲的痰咳到馬桶里面去。
“你這樣多久了?”我說。
“晚飯吃什么?”他說。
“我要帶你去看大夫。”
雖說爸爸已經(jīng)是加油站的經(jīng)理，那老板沒有給他提供醫(yī)療保險(xiǎn)，而爸爸滿不在乎，沒有堅(jiān)持。于是我?guī)ナズ扇目h立醫(yī)院。有個(gè)面帶菜色、雙眼浮腫的大夫接待了我們，自我介紹說是第二年的駐院醫(yī)師?！八雌饋肀饶氵€年輕，但比我病得還重?！卑职止緡佌f。那駐院醫(yī)師讓我們下樓去做胸部X光掃描。護(hù)士喊我們進(jìn)去的時(shí)候，醫(yī)師正在填一張表。
“把這張表帶到前臺(tái)?！彼f，匆匆寫著。
“那是什么?”我問。
“轉(zhuǎn)診介紹?！彼麑懓憽?br />“干嗎用?”
“給肺科?！?br />“那是什么?”
他瞥了我一眼，推了推眼鏡，又開始寫起來?！八尾康挠疫呌袀€(gè)黑點(diǎn)，我想讓他們復(fù)查一下?！?br />“黑點(diǎn)?”我說，房間突然之間變得太小了。
“癌癥嗎?”爸爸若無其事地加上一句。
“也許是，總之很可疑。”醫(yī)生咕噥道。
“你可以多告訴我們一些嗎?”我問。
“沒辦法，需要先去做CAT掃描，然后去看肺科醫(yī)生?！彼艳D(zhuǎn)診單遞給我?！澳阏f過你爸爸吸煙，對(duì)吧?”
“是的?！?