雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(157)

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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I leaned against the gray stone gateway to the cemetery where Hassan had buried his mother. The old metal gates hanging off the hinges were gone, and the headstones were barely visible through the thick tangles of weeds that had claimed the plot. A pair of crows sat on the low wall that enclosed the cemetery.
Hassan had said in his letter that the pomegranate tree hadn’t borne fruit in years. Looking at the wilted, leafless tree, I doubted it ever would again. I stood under it, remembered all the times we’d climbed it, straddled its branches, our legs swinging, dappled sunlight flickering through the leaves and casting on our faces a mosaic of light and shadow. The tangy taste of pomegranate crept into my mouth.
I hunkered down on my knees and brushed my hands against the trunk. I found what I was looking for. The carving had dulled, almost faded altogether, but it was still there: “Amir and Hassan. The Sultans of Kabul.” I traced the curve of each letter with my fingers. Picked small bits of bark from the tiny crevasses.
I sat cross-legged at the foot of the tree and looked south on the city of my childhood. In those days, treetops poked behind the walls of every house. The sky stretched wide and blue, and laundry drying on clotheslines glimmered in the sun. If you listened hard, you might even have heard the call of the fruit seller passing through Wazir Akbar Khan with his donkey: Cherries! Apricots! Grapes! In the early evening, you would have heard azan, the mueszzin’s call to prayer from the mosque in Shar-e-Nau.
I heard a honk and saw Farid waving at me. It was time to go. WE DROVE SOUTH AGAIN, back toward Pashtunistan Square. We passed several more red pickup trucks with armed, bearded young men crammed into the cabs. Farid cursed under his breath every time we passed one.
I paid for a room at a small hotel near Pashtunistan Square. Three little girls dressed in identical black dresses and white scarves clung to the slight, bespectacled man behind the counter. He charged me $75, an unthinkable price given the run-down appearance of the place, but I didn’t mind. Exploitation to finance a beach house in Hawaii was one thing. Doing it to feed your kids was another.
There was no hot running water and the cracked toilet didn’t flush. Just a single steel-frame bed with a worn mattress, a ragged blanket, and a wooden chair in the corner. The window overlooking the square had broken, hadn’t been replaced. As I lowered my suitcase, I noticed a dried bloodstain on the wall behind the bed.
I gave Farid some money and he went out to get food. He returned with four sizzling skewers of kabob, fresh _naan_, and a bowl of white rice. We sat on the bed and all but devoured the food. There was one thing that hadn’t changed in Kabul after all: The kabob was as succulent and delicious as I remembered.

我再次倚著墓園的灰色石門(mén)，哈桑就在里面埋葬了他母親。過(guò)去那扇折葉松脫的鐵門(mén)已經(jīng)不見(jiàn)了，濃密的雜草已經(jīng)占領(lǐng)這片土地，幾乎將墓碑全然掩埋。兩只烏鴉棲息在墓園低矮的圍墻上。
哈桑在信中提到，石榴樹(shù)已經(jīng)多年沒(méi)有結(jié)果實(shí)了?？粗强菸蛄愕臉?shù)木，我懷疑它是否能夠再次開(kāi)花結(jié)果。我站在它下面，想起我們無(wú)數(shù)次爬上去，坐在枝椏上，雙腿搖晃，斑駁的陽(yáng)光穿越過(guò)樹(shù)葉，在我們臉上投射出交錯(cuò)的光和影。我嘴里涌起強(qiáng)烈的石榴味道。
我屈膝蹲下，雙手撫摸著樹(shù)干。我見(jiàn)到我所要找的，刻痕模糊，幾乎全然消退，但它仍在：“阿米爾和哈桑，喀布爾的蘇丹?！蔽矣檬种疙樦總€(gè)字母的筆畫(huà)，從那些細(xì)微的裂縫刮下一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)樹(shù)皮。
我盤(pán)膝坐在樹(shù)下，朝南眺望這座我童年的城市。曾幾何時(shí)，家家戶戶的圍墻都有樹(shù)梢探出來(lái)，天空廣袤而澄藍(lán)，在陽(yáng)光下閃閃發(fā)亮的晾衣線掛滿衣物。如果你仔細(xì)聽(tīng)，興許你甚至能聽(tīng)到來(lái)自瓦茲爾?阿克巴?汗區(qū)的叫賣(mài)聲，兜售水果的小販高喊：櫻桃！杏子！葡萄！日暮時(shí)分，你還可以聽(tīng)到鐘聲，來(lái)自沙里諾區(qū)的清真寺，召喚人們前去禱告。
我聽(tīng)見(jiàn)喇叭聲，看到法里德朝我招手。是該走的時(shí)候了。我們又朝南駛?cè)ィ氐狡帐矆D廣場(chǎng)。我們和好幾輛紅色的皮卡擦身而過(guò)，車(chē)斗上擠滿荷槍實(shí)彈、留著大胡子的年輕人。每次遇到他們，法里德都會(huì)低聲咒罵。
我付錢(qián)住進(jìn)了普什圖廣場(chǎng)附近一間小旅館。三個(gè)小女孩穿著統(tǒng)一的黑色服裝，戴著白色頭巾，緊貼著柜臺(tái)后面那個(gè)瘦小的四眼佬。他索價(jià)75美元，那地方相當(dāng)破落，這個(gè)價(jià)格簡(jiǎn)直匪夷所思，但我并不在乎。為了給夏威夷海邊的房子付款漫天要價(jià)是一回事，為了養(yǎng)活孩子這么做又是一回事。
房間沒(méi)有熱水，破舊的廁所無(wú)法沖水。只有一張鐵床，一張破褥子，一條舊毛毯，角落擺著只木椅。正對(duì)廣場(chǎng)的窗戶破了，還沒(méi)修補(bǔ)。我放下行李箱，發(fā)現(xiàn)床后的墻壁上有塊干了的血跡。
我給法里德錢(qián)，讓他出去買(mǎi)吃的。他帶回四串熱得磁口茲響的烤肉，剛出爐的馕餅，還有一碗白米飯。我們坐在床上，埋頭大吃。畢竟，喀布爾還有一樣沒(méi)有改變的事情：烤肉依然如我記憶中那般豐腴美味。