雙語(yǔ)名著·The Kite Runner 追風(fēng)箏的人(4)

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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In the eighteen years that I lived in that house, I stepped into Hassan and Ali's quarters only a handful of times. When the sun dropped low behind the hills and we were done playing for the day, Hassan and I parted ways. I went past the rosebushes to Baba's mansion, Hassan to the mud shack where he had been born, where he'd lived his entire life. I remember it was spare, clean, dimly lit by a pair of kerosene lamps. There were two mattresses on opposite sides of the room, a worn Herati rug with frayed edges in between, a three-legged stool, and a wooden table in the corner where Hassan did his drawings. The walls stood bare, save for a single tapestry with sewn-in beads forming the words "Allah-u-akbar". Baba had bought it for Ali on one of his trips to Mashad.

It was in that small shack that Hassan's mother, Sanaubar, gave birth to him one cold winter day in 1964. While my mother hemorrhaged to death during childbirth, Hassan lost his less than a week after he was born. Lost her to a fate most Afghans considered far worse than death: She ran off with a clan of traveling singers and dancers.

Hassan never talked about his mother, as if she'd never existed. I always wondered if he dreamed about her, about what she looked like, where she was. I wondered if he longed to meet her. Did he ache for her, the way I ached for the mother I had never met? One day, we were walking from my father's house to Cinema Zainab for a new Iranian movie, taking the shortcut through the military barracks near Istiqlal Middle School—Baba had forbidden us to take that shortcut, but he was in Pakistan with Rahim Khan at the time. We hopped the fence that surrounded the barracks, skipped over a little creek, and broke into the open dirt field where old, abandoned tanks collected dust. A group of soldiers huddled in the shade of one of those tanks, smoking cigarettes and playing cards. One of them saw us, elbowed the guy next to him, and called Hassan.

"Hey, you!" he said. "I know you."

We had never seen him before. He was a squatly man with a shaved head and black stubble on his face. The way he grinned at us, leered, scared me. "Just keep walking," I muttered to Hassan.

"You! The Hazara! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" the soldier barked. He handed his cigarette to the guy next to him, made a circle with the thumb and index finger of one hand. Poked the middle finger of his other hand through the circle. Poked it in and out. In and out. "I knew your mother, did you know that? I knew her real good. I took her from behind by that creek over there."

The soldiers laughed. One of them made a squealing sound. I told Hassan to keep walking, keep walking.

"What a tight little sugary cunt she had!" the soldier was saying, shaking hands with the others, grinning. Later, in the dark, after the movie had started, I heard Hassan next to me, croaking. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. I reached across my seat, slung my arm around him, pulled him close. He rested his head on my shoulder. "He took you for someone else," I whispered. "He took you for someone else."

1964年某個(gè)寒冷的冬日，正是在這間小屋，哈桑的母親莎娜芭生下了哈桑。我的媽媽因?yàn)樯a(chǎn)時(shí)失血過(guò)多而謝世，哈桑則在降臨人世尚未滿七日就失去了母親。而這種失去她的宿命，在多數(shù)阿富汗人看來(lái)，簡(jiǎn)直比死了老娘還要糟糕：她跟著一群江湖藝人跑了。

哈桑從未提及他的母親，仿佛她從未存在過(guò)。我總是尋思他會(huì)不會(huì)在夢(mèng)里見(jiàn)到她，會(huì)不會(huì)夢(mèng)見(jiàn)她長(zhǎng)什么樣子，去了哪里。我還尋思他會(huì)不會(huì)渴望見(jiàn)到她。他會(huì)為她心痛嗎，好比我為自己素昧平生的媽媽難過(guò)一樣?有一天，為了看一部新的伊朗電影，我們從爸爸家里朝扎拉博電影院走去。我們抄了近路，穿過(guò)獨(dú)立中學(xué)旁邊的軍營(yíng)區(qū)——爸爸向來(lái)不許我們走那條捷徑，但當(dāng)時(shí)他跟拉辛汗在巴基斯坦。我們跨過(guò)圍繞著軍營(yíng)的藩籬，跳過(guò)一條小溪，闖進(jìn)那片開(kāi)闊的泥地，那兒停放著積滿塵灰的廢舊坦克。數(shù)個(gè)士兵聚集在一輛坦克的影子下抽煙玩牌。有個(gè)士兵發(fā)現(xiàn)了我們，用手肘碰碰身邊的家伙，沖哈桑嚷嚷。

“喂，你！”他說(shuō)，“我認(rèn)識(shí)你?！?/p>

我們跟他素不相識(shí)。他又矮又胖，頭發(fā)剃得很短，臉上還有黑乎乎的胡茬。他臉帶淫褻，朝我們咧嘴而笑，我心下慌亂。“繼續(xù)走！”我低聲對(duì)哈桑說(shuō)。

“你！那個(gè)哈扎拉小子！看著我，我跟你說(shuō)話吶！”那士兵咆哮著。他把香煙遞給身邊那個(gè)家伙，用一只手的拇指和食指圍成圓圈，另外一只手的中指戳進(jìn)那個(gè)圈圈，不斷戳進(jìn)戳出?！拔艺J(rèn)識(shí)你媽媽，你知道嗎？我和她交情不淺呢。我在那邊的小溪從后面干過(guò)她。”

眾士兵轟然大笑，有個(gè)還發(fā)出一聲尖叫。我告訴哈桑繼續(xù)走，繼續(xù)走。

“她的蜜穴又小又緊！”那士兵邊說(shuō)邊跟其他人握手，哈哈大笑。稍后，電影開(kāi)始了，我在黑暗中聽(tīng)到坐在身邊的哈桑低聲啜泣，看到眼淚從他臉頰掉下來(lái)。我從座位上探過(guò)身去，用手臂環(huán)住他，把他拉近。他把臉埋在我的肩膀上。“他認(rèn)錯(cuò)人了，”我低語(yǔ)，“他認(rèn)錯(cuò)人了。”