雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(210)

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(210)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

TWENTY-FIVE
They won’t let me in.
I see them wheel him through a set of double doors and I follow. I burst through the doors, the smell of iodine and peroxide hits me, but all I have time to see is two men wearing surgical caps and a woman in green huddling over a gurney. A white sheet spills over the side of the gurney and brushes against grimy checkered tiles. A pair of small, bloody feet poke out from under the sheet and I see that the big toenail on the left foot is chipped. Then a tall, thickset man in blue presses his palm against my chest and he’s pushing me back out through the doors, his wedding band cold on my skin. I shove forward and I curse him, but he says you cannot be here, he says it in English, his voice polite but firm. “You must wait,” he says, leading me back to the waiting area, and now the double doors swing shut behind him with a sigh and all I see is the top of the men’s surgical caps through the doors’ narrow rectangular windows.
He leaves me in a wide, windowless corridor crammed with people sitting on metallic folding chairs set along the walls, others on the thin frayed carpet. I want to scream again, and I remember the last time I felt this way, riding with Baba in the tank of the fuel truck, buried in the dark with the other refugees. I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. There will be no floating away. There will be no other reality tonight. I close my eyes and my nostrils fill with the smells of the corridor, sweat and ammonia, rubbing alcohol and curry. On the ceiling, moths fling themselves at the dull gray light tubes running the length of the corridor and I hear the papery flapping of their wings. I hear chatter, muted sobbing, sniffling, someone moaning, someone else sighing, elevator doors opening with a bing, the operator paging someone in Urdu.
I open my eyes again and I know what I have to do. I look around, my heart a jackhammer in my chest, blood thudding in my ears. There is a dark little supply room to my left. In it, I find what I need. It will do. I grab a white bedsheet from the pile of folded linens and carry it back to the corridor. I see a nurse talking to a policeman near the restroom. I take the nurse’s elbow and pull, I want to know which way is west. She doesn’t understand and the lines on her face deepen when she frowns. My throat aches and my eyes sting with sweat, each breath is like inhaling fire, and I think I am weeping. I ask again. I beg. The policeman is the one who points.I throw my makeshift _jai-namaz_, my prayer rug, on the floor and I get on my knees, lower my forehead to the ground, my tears soaking through the sheet. I bow to the west. Then I remember I haven’t prayed for over fifteen years. I have long forgotten the words. But it doesn’t matter, I will utter those few words I still remember: ??La iflaha ii Allah,Muhammad u rasul ullah. There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is His messenger. I see now that Baba was wrong, there is a God, there always had been. I see Him here, in the eyes of the people in this corridor of desperation. This is the real house of God, this is where those who have lost God will find Him, not the white masjid with its bright diamond lights and towering minarets. There is a God, there has to be, and now I will pray, I will pray that He forgive that I have neglected Him all of these years, forgive that I have betrayed, lied, and sinned with impunity only to turn to Him now in my hour of need, I pray that He is as merciful, benevolent, and gracious as His book says He is. I bow to the west and kiss the ground and promise that I will do _zakat_, I will do _namaz_, I will fast during Ramadan and when Ramadan has passed I will go on fasting, I will commit to memory every last word of His holy book, and I will set on a pilgrimage to that sweltering city in the desert and bow before the Ka’bah too. I will do all of this and I will think of Him every day from this day on if He only grants me this one wish: My hands are stained with Hassan’s blood; I pray God doesn’t let them get stained with the blood of his boy too.
I hear a whimpering and realize it is mine, my lips are salty with the tears trickling down my face. I feel the eyes of everyone in this corridor on me and still I bow to the west. I pray. I pray that my sins have not caught up with me the way I’d always feared they would.

第二十五章
他們不讓我進去。
我看見他們推著他，穿過一些雙層門，我跟在后面，沖進一扇又一扇的門，聞到碘酒和消毒水的味道，但我所來得及看到的，是兩個戴著手術(shù)帽的男人和一個穿著綠色衣服的女人圍在輪床之上。我看見白色床單從輪床側(cè)面垂落，拂著污穢的花格地磚。一雙鮮血淋漓的小腳從床單下面伸出來，我看見左腳大腳趾的指甲被削掉了。接著有個穿藍色衣服的高壯漢子用手掌壓住我的胸口，將我從門口往后推，我的皮膚能感覺到他那冰涼的結(jié)婚戒指。我向前掙扎，咒罵他，但他用英語說你不能留在這兒，聲音禮貌而堅決?！澳惚仨毜?。”他說，領(lǐng)著我回到等候?，F(xiàn)在雙層門在他身后砰地關(guān)上，透過門上狹窄的長方形窗口，我只見到那男人的手術(shù)帽。
他把我留在一條寬大的走廊上，沒有窗，墻邊的金屬折疊椅上坐滿了人，還有人坐在薄薄的破地毯上。我又想尖叫。我想起上次有這種感覺，是跟爸爸在油罐車的油罐里面，埋在黑暗和其他難民之間。我想把自己撕成碎片，離開這個地方，離開現(xiàn)實世界，像云朵那樣升起，飄蕩而去，融進濕熱的夏夜，在某個遙遠的地方，在山丘上方飄散。但我就在這兒，雙腳沉重如水泥塊，肺里空氣一瀉而空，喉嚨發(fā)熱。無法隨風(fēng)而去。今晚沒有別的世界。我合上雙眼，鼻子里塞滿走廊的種種味道：汗水和氨水的氣味、藥用酒精和咖喱的氣味。整條走廊的天花板上布滿昏暗的燈管，飛蛾圍繞，我聽見它們拍打翅膀的聲音。我聽見談話聲、默默的啜泣聲、擤鼻聲；有人在呻吟，有人在哀嘆，電梯門砰地一聲打開，操作員用烏爾都語呼喊某人。
我再次睜開眼，知道自己該做些什么。我四周環(huán)顧，心臟怦怦地在胸口跳動，耳朵聽得見血液流動的聲音。我左邊有間又暗又小的儲藏室，我在里面找到自己想要的東西。用它就好了。我從一堆折疊好的白色尼龍床單中抽出一條，帶回走廊。我看見護士在休息室附近和一名警察交談。我拉拉那名護士的手肘，問她哪個方位是西邊。她沒聽懂，眉頭一皺，臉色的皺紋更深了。我喉嚨發(fā)痛，汗水刺痛了雙眼，每次呼吸都像在噴火，我想我在哭泣。我又問一聲，苦苦哀求，警察把方向指給我。我在地面鋪開那張濫竽充數(shù)的禱告毯，雙膝跪倒，頭磕在地上，淚水濕透了床單。我朝西彎下腰，那時我才想起自己已經(jīng)不止十五年沒禱告過了，早巳把禱詞忘得一干二凈。但這沒有關(guān)系，我會說出依然記得的片言只語：惟安拉是真主，穆罕默德是他的使者。現(xiàn)在我明白爸爸錯了，真主真的存在，一直存在。我看到他在這里，從這條絕望的走廊的人群眼里見到。這里才是真主真正的住所，正是在這里，而非在那些發(fā)出鉆石般明亮光芒的尖塔聳立的清真寺，只有那些失去真主的人們才能找到真主。真主真的存在，他必須存在，而如今我將禱告，我會祈禱他原諒我這些年來對他的漠然不覺，原諒我曾經(jīng)背叛、說謊、作惡而未受懲罰，只有在我的危難時刻才想起他。我祈禱他如經(jīng)書記載的那樣慈悲、仁愛、寬宏。我朝西方磕頭，親吻地面，承諾我將會施天課，將會每天禱告，承諾我在齋月期間將會素食，而當(dāng)齋月結(jié)束，我會繼續(xù)素食，我將會熟背他的圣書中每個字，我將會到沙漠中那座濕熱難當(dāng)?shù)某鞘腥コ?，也會在天房之前磕頭。我將會踐行所有這些，從今日后，將會每天想起他，只要他實現(xiàn)我的這個愿望：我的手已經(jīng)沾上哈桑的血，我祈求真主，別讓它們也沾上這個小男孩的血。
我聽到嗚咽聲，意識到正是自己發(fā)出來的，淚水從臉上汩汩而下，流過嘴唇，讓我嘗到咸味。我感到走廊上每個人都在看著我，而我依然朝西方磕頭。我祈禱。我祈禱別以這種我向來害怕的方式懲罰我的罪行。