雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(118)

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。

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The people in Bamiyan had told me I would find him easily--he lived in the only house in the village that had a walled garden. The mud wall, short and pocked with holes, enclosed the tiny house--which was really not much more than a glorified hut. Barefoot children were playing on the street, kicking a ragged tennis ball with a stick, and they stared when I pulled up and killed the engine. I knocked on the wooden door and stepped through into a yard that had very little in it save for a parched strawberry patch and a bare lemon tree. There was a tandoor in the corner in the shadow of an acacia tree and I saw a man squatting beside it. He was placing dough on a large wooden spatula and slapping it against the walls of the _tandoor_. He dropped the dough when he saw me. I had to make him stop kissing my hands.
“Let me look at you,” I said. He stepped away. He was so tall now--I stood on my toes and still just came up to his chin. The Bamiyan sun had toughened his skin, and turned it several shades darker than I remembered, and he had lost a few of his front teeth. There were sparse strands of hair on his chin. Other than that, he had those same narrow green eyes, that scar on his upper lip, that round face, that affable smile. You would have recognized him, Amir jan. I am sure of it.
We went inside. There was a young light-skinned Hazara woman, sewing a shawl in a corner of the room. She was visibly expecting. “This is my wife, Rahim Khan,” Hassan said proudly. “Her name is Farzana jan.” She was a shy woman, so courteous she spoke in a voice barely higher than a whisper and she would not raise her pretty hazel eyes to meet my gaze. But the way she was looking at Hassan, he might as well have been sitting on the throne at the _Arg_.
“When is the baby coming?” I said after we all settled around the adobe room. There was nothing in the room, just a frayed rug, a few dishes, a pair of mattresses, and a lantern.
“_Inshallah_, this winter,” Hassan said. “I am praying for a boy to carry on my father’s name.”
“Speaking of Ali, where is he?”

在巴米揚(yáng)，人們說(shuō)我很會(huì)很容易就找到他——整個(gè)村莊，只有他住的屋子有壘著圍墻的花園。那堵泥墻很短，有些墻洞點(diǎn)綴在上面，圍住那間小屋——那真的比一間破茅舍好不不了多少。赤著腳的孩子在街道上玩耍，用棒子打一個(gè)破網(wǎng)球，我把車(chē)停在路邊，熄了火，他們?nèi)伎粗摇Ｎ彝崎_(kāi)那扇木門(mén)，走進(jìn)一座院子，里頭很小，一小塊地種著干枯的草莓，還有株光禿禿的檸檬樹(shù)。院子的角落種著合歡樹(shù)，樹(shù)陰下面擺著烤爐，我看見(jiàn)有個(gè)男人站在旁邊。他正在把生面團(tuán)涂到一把木頭抹刀上，用它拍打著烤爐壁。他一看到我就放下生面團(tuán)，捧起我的手親個(gè)不停。
“讓我看看你?！蔽艺f(shuō)。他退后一步。他現(xiàn)在可高了——我踮起腳尖，仍只是剛剛有他下巴那么高。巴米揚(yáng)的陽(yáng)光使他的皮膚變得更堅(jiān)韌了，比我印象中黑得多，他有幾顆門(mén)牙不見(jiàn)了，下巴上長(zhǎng)著幾撮稀疏的毛。除此之外，他還是那雙狹窄的綠眼睛，上唇的傷痕還在，還是那張圓圓的臉蛋，還是那副和藹的笑容。你一定會(huì)認(rèn)出他的，親愛(ài)的阿米爾，我敢肯定。
我們走進(jìn)屋里。里面有個(gè)年輕的哈扎拉女人，膚色較淡，在屋角縫披肩。她顯然懷孕了?！斑@是我的妻子，拉辛汗。”哈桑驕傲地說(shuō)，“她是親愛(ài)的法莎娜?！彼莻€(gè)羞澀的婦人，很有禮貌，說(shuō)話(huà)聲音很輕，只比耳語(yǔ)大聲一點(diǎn)，她淡褐色的美麗眼睛從來(lái)不和我的眼光接觸。但她那樣看著哈桑，好像他坐在皇宮內(nèi)的寶座上。
“孩子什么時(shí)候出世？”參觀完那間泥磚屋之后，我問(wèn)。屋里一無(wú)所有，只有磨損的褥子，幾個(gè)盤(pán)子，兩張坐墊，一盞燈籠。
“奉安拉之名，這個(gè)冬天，”哈桑說(shuō)，“我求真主保佑，生個(gè)兒子，給他取我父親的名字?！?br />“說(shuō)到阿里，他在哪兒？”