雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(112)

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(112)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

FIFTEEN
Three hours after my flight landed in Peshawar, I was sitting on shredded upholstery in the backseat of a smoke-filled taxicab. My driver, a chain-smoking, sweaty little man who introduced himself as Gholam, drove nonchalantly and recklessly, averting collisions by the thinnest of margins, all without so much as a pause in the incessant stream of words spewing from his mouth: terrible what is happening in your country, yar. Afghani people and Pakistani people they are like brothers, I tell you. Muslims have to help Muslims so...”
I tuned him out, switched to a polite nodding mode. I remembered Peshawar pretty well from the few months Baba and I had spent there in 1981. We were heading west now on Jamrud road, past the Cantonment and its lavish, high-walled homes. The bustle of the city blurring past me reminded me of a busier, more crowded version of the Kabul I knew, particularly of the KochehMorgha, or Chicken Bazaar, where Hassan and I used to buy chutney-dipped potatoes and cherry water. The streets were clogged with bicycle riders, milling pedestrians, and rickshaws popping blue smoke, all weaving through a maze of narrow lanes and alleys. Bearded vendors draped in thin blankets sold animalskin lampshades, carpets, embroidered shawls, and copper goods from rows of small, tightly jammed stalls. The city was bursting with sounds; the shouts of vendors rang in my ears mingled with the blare of Hindi music, the sputtering of rickshaws, and the jingling bells of horse-drawn carts. Rich scents, both pleasant and not so pleasant, drifte d to me through the passenger window, the spicy aroma of pakora and the nihari Baba had loved so much blended with the sting of diesel fumes, the stench of rot, garbage, and feces.
A little past the redbrick buildings of Peshawar University, we entered an area my garrulous driver referred to as “Afghan Town.” I saw sweetshops and carpet vendors, kabob stalls, kids with dirtcaked hands selling cigarettes, tiny restaurants--maps of Afghanistan painted on their windows--all interlaced with backstreet aid agencies. “Many of your brothers in this area, yar. They are opening businesses, but most of them are very poor.” He tsk’ed his tongue and sighed. “Anyway, we’re getting close now.”
I thought about the last time I had seen Rahim Khan, in 1981. He had come to say good-bye the night Baba and I had fled Kabul. I remember Baba and him embracing in the foyer, crying softly. When Baba and I arrived in the U.S., he and Rahim Khan kept in touch. They would speak four or five times a year and, sometimes, Baba would pass me the receiver. The last time I had spoken to Rahim Khan had been shortly after Baba’s death. The news had reached Kabul and he had called. We’d only spoken for a few minutes and lost the connection.
The driver pulled up to a narrow building at a busy corner where two winding streets intersected. I paid the driver, took my lone suitcase, and walked up to the intricately carved door. The building had wooden balconies with open shutters--from many of them, laundry was hanging to dry in the sun. I walked up the creaky stairs to the second floor, down a dim hallway to the last door on the right. Checked the address on the piece of stationery paper in my palm. Knocked.
Then, a thing made of skin and bones pretending to be Rahim Khan opened the door.

第十五章
我乘坐的航班在白沙瓦著陸三個(gè)小時(shí)之后，我坐在一輛彌漫著煙味的的士破舊的后座上。汗津津的司機(jī)個(gè)子矮小，一根接一根抽著煙，自我介紹說(shuō)他叫戈藍(lán)。他開(kāi)起車(chē)來(lái)毫無(wú)顧忌，橫沖直撞，每每與其他車(chē)輛擦身而過(guò)，一路上滔滔不絕的話(huà)語(yǔ)片刻不停地從他口中涌出來(lái)：“……你的祖國(guó)發(fā)生的一切太恐怖了，真的。阿富汗人和巴基斯坦人就像兄弟，我告訴你，穆斯林必須幫助穆斯林，所以……”
我不搭腔，帶著禮貌點(diǎn)頭稱(chēng)是。 1981年，爸爸和我在這里住過(guò)幾個(gè)月，腦海里依然認(rèn)得白沙瓦?，F(xiàn)在我們?cè)谘拍肤數(shù)侣吠鏖_(kāi)著，路過(guò)兵站，還有那些高墻聳立的豪宅。這喧囂的城市匆匆后退，讓我想起記憶中的喀布爾，比這里更繁忙、更擁擠，特別是雞市，哈桑和我過(guò)去常常去那兒，買(mǎi)酸辣醬腌過(guò)的土豆和櫻桃水。街路上擠滿(mǎn)了自行車(chē)、摩肩接踵的行人，還有冒出裊裊藍(lán)煙的黃包車(chē)，所有這些，都在迷宮般的狹窄巷道穿來(lái)插去。擁擠的小攤排成一行行，留著胡子的小販在地面擺開(kāi)一張張薄薄的褥子，兜售獸皮燈罩、地毯、繡花披肩和銅器。這座城市喧鬧非凡，小販的叫賣(mài)聲、震耳欲聾的印度音樂(lè)聲、黃包車(chē)高喊讓路的叫聲、馬車(chē)的叮叮當(dāng)當(dāng)聲，全都混在一起，在我耳邊回蕩。還有各種各樣的味道，香的臭的，炸蔬菜的香辣味、爸爸最喜愛(ài)的燉肉味、柴油機(jī)的煙味，還有腐爛物、垃圾、糞便的臭味，紛紛飄進(jìn)車(chē)窗，撲鼻而來(lái)。
駛過(guò)白沙瓦大學(xué)的紅磚房子之后不久，我們進(jìn)入了一個(gè)區(qū)域，那個(gè)饒舌的司機(jī)稱(chēng)之為“阿富汗城”。我看到了糖鋪、售賣(mài)地毯的小販、烤肉攤，還有雙手臟兮兮的小孩在兜售香煙，窗戶(hù)上貼著阿富汗地圖的小餐館，廁身其中的是眾多救助機(jī)構(gòu)?！斑@個(gè)地區(qū)有你很多同胞，真的。他們做生意，不過(guò)多數(shù)很窮。”他“嘖”了一聲，嘆了口氣， “反正，我們就快到了?！?br />我想起最后一次見(jiàn)到拉辛汗的情景，那是在1981年。我和爸爸逃離喀布爾那晚，他前來(lái)道別。我記得爸爸和他在門(mén)廊擁抱，輕聲哭泣。爸爸和我到了美國(guó)之后，他和拉辛汗保持聯(lián)系。
他們每年會(huì)交談上那么四五次，有時(shí)爸爸會(huì)把聽(tīng)筒給我。最后一次和拉辛汗說(shuō)話(huà)是在爸爸去世后不久。死訊傳到喀布爾，他打電話(huà)來(lái)。我們只說(shuō)了幾分鐘，電話(huà)線(xiàn)就斷了。司機(jī)停在一座房子前，這房子位于兩條蜿蜒街道的繁忙交叉路口。我付了車(chē)錢(qián)，提起僅有的一個(gè)箱子，走進(jìn)那雕刻精美的大門(mén)。這座建筑有木板陽(yáng)臺(tái)和敞開(kāi)的窗戶(hù)，窗外多數(shù)晾著衣服。我踩上吱嘎作響的樓梯，登上二樓，轉(zhuǎn)右，走到那昏暗走廊最后一扇門(mén)。我看看手里那張寫(xiě)著地址的信紙，敲敲門(mén)。
然后，一具皮包骨的軀體偽裝成拉辛汗，把門(mén)打開(kāi)。