雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(219)

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。

下面就跟小編一起來(lái)欣賞雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(219)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

“Do you like the seh-parcha?” I said, holding up the kite by the ends of the cross bars. His eyes shifted from the sky to me, to the kite, then back. A few rivulets of rain trickled from his hair, down his face.
I wet my index finger and held it up. “I remember the way your father checked the wind was to kick up dust with his sandal, see which way the wind blew it. He knew a lot of little tricks like that,” I said. Lowered my finger. “West, I think.”
Sohrab wiped a raindrop from his earlobe and shifted on his feet. Said nothing.
“Did I ever tell you your father was the best kite runner in Wazir Akbar Khan? Maybe all of Kabul?” I said, knotting the loose end of the spool tar to the string loop tied to the center spar. “How jealous he made the neighborhood kids. He’d run kites and never look up at the sky, and people used to say he was chasing the kite’s shadow. But they didn’t know him like I did. Your father wasn’t chasing any shadows. He just... knew”
Another half-dozen kites had taken flight. People had started to gather in clumps, teacups in hand, eyes glued to the sky.
“Okay.” I shrugged. “Looks like I’ll have to fly it tanhaii.” Solo.
I balanced the spool in my left hand and fed about three feet of tar. The yellow kite dangled at the end of it, just above the wet grass. “Last chance,” I said. But Sohrab was looking at a pair of kites tangling high above the trees.
“All right. Here I go.” I took off running, my sneakers splashing rainwater from puddles, the hand clutching the kite end of the string held high above my head. It had been so long, so many years since I’d done this, and I wondered if I’d make a spectacle of myself. I let the spool roll in my left hand as I ran, felt the string cut my right hand again as it fed through. The kite was lifting behind my shoulder now, lifting, wheeling, and I ran harder. The spool spun faster and the glass string tore another gash in my right palm. I stopped and turned. Looked up. Smiled. High above, my kite was tilting side to side like a pendulum, making that old paper-bird-flapping-its-wings sound I always associated with winter mornings in Kabul. I hadn’t flown a kite in a quarter of a century, but suddenly I was twelve again and all the old instincts came rushing back.
I felt a presence next to me and looked down. It was Sohrab. Hands dug deep in the pockets of his raincoat. He had followed me. “Do you want to try?” I asked. He said nothing. But when I held the string out for him, his hand lifted from his pocket. Hesitated. Took the string. My heart quickened as I spun the spool to gather the loose string. We stood quietly side by side. Necks bent up.
Sohrab was handing the string back to me.
“Are you sure?” I said, taking it. He took the spool from me.

“你喜歡風(fēng)箏嗎？”我舉起風(fēng)箏橫軸的兩端。他的眼睛從天空落到我身上，看看風(fēng)箏，又望著我。幾點(diǎn)雨珠從他頭發(fā)上滴下來(lái)，流下他的臉龐。
我舔舔食指，將它豎起來(lái)?！拔矣浀媚愀赣H測(cè)風(fēng)向的辦法是用他的拖鞋踢起塵土，看風(fēng)將它吹到那兒。他懂得很多這樣的小技巧?！蔽曳诺褪种刚f(shuō)，“西風(fēng)，我想?！?br />索拉博擦去耳垂上的一點(diǎn)雨珠，雙腳磨地，什么也沒(méi)說(shuō)。
“我有沒(méi)有跟你說(shuō)過(guò)，你爸爸是瓦茲爾?阿克巴?汗區(qū)最棒的追風(fēng)箏的人？也許還是全喀布爾最棒的？”我一邊說(shuō)，一邊將卷軸的線頭系在風(fēng)箏中軸的圓環(huán)上?！班従拥男『⒍己芏始伤?。他追風(fēng)箏的時(shí)候從來(lái)不用看著天空，大家經(jīng)常說(shuō)他追著風(fēng)箏的影子。但他們不知道我知道的事情，你爸爸不是在追什么影子，他只是……知道?！?br />又有幾只風(fēng)箏飛起來(lái)，人們開(kāi)始三五成群聚在一起，手里拿著茶杯，望向天空。
“好吧?！蔽衣柭柤?，“看來(lái)我得一個(gè)人把它放起來(lái)了?！?br />我左手拿穩(wěn)卷軸，放開(kāi)大約三英尺的線。黃色的風(fēng)箏吊在線后搖晃，就在濕草地上面?！白詈蟮臋C(jī)會(huì)了哦?！蔽艺f(shuō)?？墒撬骼┛粗鴥芍桓吒唢w在樹(shù)頂之上的風(fēng)箏。
“好吧，那我開(kāi)始了?！蔽胰鐾扰荛_(kāi)，運(yùn)動(dòng)鞋從水洼中濺起陣陣雨水，手里抓著線連著風(fēng)箏的那頭，高舉在頭頂。我已經(jīng)有很久、很多年沒(méi)這么做過(guò)了，我在懷疑自己會(huì)不會(huì)出洋相。我邊跑邊讓卷軸在我手里轉(zhuǎn)開(kāi)，感到線放開(kāi)的時(shí)候又割傷了我的右手。風(fēng)箏在我肩膀后面飛起來(lái)了，飛翔著，旋轉(zhuǎn)著，我跑得更快了。卷軸迅速旋轉(zhuǎn)，風(fēng)箏線再次在我右掌割開(kāi)一道傷痕。我站住，轉(zhuǎn)身，舉頭，微笑。我已經(jīng)有四分之一個(gè)世紀(jì)沒(méi)有放過(guò)風(fēng)箏了，但剎那之間，我又變成十二歲，過(guò)去那些感覺(jué)統(tǒng)統(tǒng)涌上心頭。
我感到有人在我旁邊，眼睛朝下看：是索拉博。他雙手深深插在雨衣口袋中，跟在我身后?！澳阆朐囋噯?？”我問(wèn)。他一語(yǔ)不發(fā)，但我把線遞給他的時(shí)候，他的手從口袋伸出來(lái)，猶疑不決，接過(guò)線。我轉(zhuǎn)動(dòng)卷軸把線松開(kāi)，心跳加速。我們靜靜地并排站著，脖子仰起。
索拉博把線交還我。
“你確定嗎？”我說(shuō)，接過(guò)它。他從我手里拿回卷軸。