雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(123)

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心力，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)一個驚天謊言，兒時的噩夢再度重演，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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SEVENTEEN
Rahim Khan slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned against the bare wall in the wary, deliberate way of a man whose every movement triggers spikes of pain. Outside, a donkey was braying and some one was shouting something in Urdu. The sun was beginning to set, glittering red through the cracks between the ramshackle buildings.It hit me again, the enormity of what I had done that winter and that following summer. The names rang in my head: Hassan, Sohrab, Ali, Farzana, and Sanaubar. Hearing Rahim Khan speak Ali’s name was like finding an old dusty music box that hadn’t been opened in years; the melody began to play immediately: Who did you eat today, Babalu? Who did you eat, you slant-eyed Babalu? I tried to conjure Ali’s frozen face, to really see his tranquil eyes, but time can be a greedy thing--sometimes it steals all the details for itself.
“Is Hassan still in that house now?” I asked.Rahim Khan raised the teacup to his parched lips and took a sip. He then fished an envelope from the breast pocket of his vest and handed it to me. “For you.”I tore the sealed envelope. Inside, I found a Polaroid photograph and a folded letter. I stared at the photograph for a full minute.
A tall man dressed in a white turban and a green-striped chapan stood with a little boy in front of a set of wrought-iron gates. Sunlight slanted in from the left, casting a shadow on half of his rotund face. He was squinting and smiling at the camera, showing a pair of missing front teeth. Even in this blurry Polaroid, the man in the chapan exuded a sense of self-assuredness, of ease. It was in the way he stood, his feet slightly apart, his arms comfortably crossed on his chest, his head titled a little toward the sun. Mostly, it was in the way he smiled. Looking at the photo, one might have concluded that this was a man who thought the world had been good to him. Rahim Khan was right: I would have recognized him if I had bumped into him on the street. The little boy stood bare foot, one arm wrapped around the man’s thigh, his shaved head resting against his father’s hip. He too was grinning and squinting.

第十七章
拉辛汗慢慢地伸開雙腿，斜倚在光禿禿的墻上，他的舉止是那樣小心翼翼，仿佛每個動作都會帶來劇痛。外面有頭驢子叫起來，有人用烏爾都語不知道喊了些什么。太陽開始下山，那些搖搖欲墜的房子的裂縫中，滲出閃閃的紅色斜暉。我在那年冬天、以及隨后那個夏天所犯下的罪惡，再次向我襲來。那些名字在我腦海回蕩：哈桑、索拉博、阿里、法莎娜，還有莎娜芭。聽著拉辛汗提起阿里的名字，恍如找到一個塵封多年的老舊唱機，那些旋律立即開始演奏：你今天吃了誰啊，巴巴魯。你吃了誰啊，你這個斜眼的巴巴魯？我努力想起阿里那張冰冷的臉，想真的見到他那雙安詳?shù)难劬?，但時間很貪婪——有時候，它會獨自吞噬所有的細(xì)節(jié)。
“哈?，F(xiàn)在仍住那間屋子嗎？”拉辛汗把茶杯舉到他干裂的唇邊，啜了一口，接著從他背心的上袋掏出一封信，遞給我。“給你的?！蔽宜洪_貼好的信封，里面有張寶麗萊相片，和一封折疊著的信。我盯著那張照片，足足看了一分鐘。
一個高高的男子，頭戴白色頭巾，身穿綠色條紋長袍，和一個小男孩站在一扇鍛鐵大門前面。陽光從左邊射下，在他那張圓臉投下半邊陰影。他瞇眼，對著鏡頭微笑，顯示出缺了兩個門牙。即使在這張模糊的寶麗萊照片上，這個帶著頭巾的男人也給人自信、安適的感覺。這可以從他站立的樣子看出來：他雙腳微微分開，手臂舒適地在胸前交叉，他的頭稍微有些傾向太陽。但更多的是體現(xiàn)在他的微笑上。看著這張照片，人們一定會想，這個男人認(rèn)為世界對他來說很美好。拉辛汗說得對：如果我碰巧在街頭見到他，一定能認(rèn)出他來。那個小男孩赤足站著，一只手抱著那男人的大腿，剃著短發(fā)的頭靠在他爸爸的臀部上。他也是瞇眼微笑著。