雙語名著·追風箏的人 The Kite Runner(45)

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·追風箏的人 The Kite Runner(45)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

After another thirty minutes, only four kites remained. And I was still flying. It seemed I could hardly make a wrong move, as if every gust of wind blew in my favor. I'd never felt so in command, so lucky It felt intoxicating. I didn't dare look up to the roof. Didn't dare take my eyes off the sky. I had to concentrate, play it smart. Another fifteen minutes and what had seemed like a laughable dream that morning had suddenly become reality: It was just me and the other guy. The blue kite.
又過了半個小時，只剩下四只風箏了。我的風箏仍在飛翔，我的動作無懈可擊，仿佛陣陣寒風都照我的意思吹來。我從來沒有這般勝券在握，這么幸運，太讓人興奮了!我不敢抬眼望向那屋頂，眼光不敢從天空移開，我得聚精會神，聰明地操控風箏。又過了十五分鐘，早上那個看起來十分好笑的夢突然之間觸手可及：只剩下我和另外一個家伙了，那只藍風箏。

The tension in the air was as taut as the glass string I was tugging with my bloody hands. People were stomping their feet, clapping, whistling, chanting, "Boboresh! Boboresh!" Cut him! Cut him! I wondered if Baba's voice was one of them. music blasted. The smell of steamed mantu and fried pakora drifted from rooftops and open doors.
局勢緊張得如同我流血的手拉著的那條玻璃線。人們紛紛頓足、拍掌、尖叫、歡呼。"干掉它!干掉它!"我在想，爸爸會不會也在歡呼呢?音樂震耳欲聾，蒸饅頭和油炸菜餅的香味從屋頂和敞開的門戶飄出來。

But all I heard--all I willed myself to hear--was the thudding of blood in my head. All I saw was the blue kite. All I smelled was victory. Salvation. Redemption. If Baba was wrong and there was a God like they said in school, then He'd let me win. I didn't know what the other guy was playing for, maybe just bragging rights. But this was my one chance to become someone who was looked at, not seen, listened to, not heard. If there was a God, He'd guide the winds, let them blow for me so that, with a tug of my string, I'd cut loose my pain, my longing. I'd endured too much, come too far. And suddenly, just like that, hope became knowledge. I was going to win. It was just a matter of when.
但我所能聽到的--我迫使自己聽到的--是腦袋里血液奔流的聲音。我所看到的，只是那只藍風箏。我所聞到的，只是勝利的味道。獲救。贖罪。如果爸爸是錯的，如果真像他們在學校說的，有那么一位真主，那么他會讓我贏得勝利。我不知道其他家伙斗風箏為了什么，也許是為了在人前吹噓吧。但于我而言，這是惟一的機會，讓我可以成為一個被注目而非僅僅被看到、被聆聽而非僅僅被聽到的人。倘若真主存在，他會引導風向，讓它助我成功，我一拉線，就能割斷我的痛苦，割斷我的渴求，我業(yè)已忍耐得太久，業(yè)已走得太遠。剎那之間，就這樣，我信心十足。我會贏。只是遲早的問題。

It turned out to be sooner than later. A gust of wind lifted my kite and I took advantage. Fed the string, pulled up. Looped my kite on top of the blue one. I held position. The blue kite knew it was in trouble. It was trying desperately to maneuver out of the jam, but I didn't let go. I held position. The crowd sensed the end was at hand. The chorus of "Cut him! Cut him!" grew louder, like Romans chanting for the gladiators to kill, kill!
結果比我預想的要快。一陣風拉升了我的風箏，我占據(jù)了有利的位置。我卷開線，讓它飛高。我的風箏轉了一個圈，飛到那只藍色家伙的上面，我穩(wěn)住位置。藍風箏知道自己麻煩來了，它絕望地使出各種花招，試圖擺脫險境，但我不會放過它，我穩(wěn)住位置。人群知道勝負即將揭曉。"干掉它!干掉它!"的齊聲歡呼越來越響，仿佛羅馬人對著斗士高喊"殺啊!殺啊!"。

"You're almost there, Amir agha! Almost there!" Hassan was panting.
"你快贏了，阿米爾少爺，快贏了!"哈桑興奮得直喘氣。

Then the moment came. I closed my eyes and loosened my grip on the string. It sliced my fingers again as the wind dragged it. And then... I didn't need to hear the crowd's roar to know I didn't need to see either. Hassan was screaming and his arm was wrapped around my neck.
那一刻來臨了。我合上雙眼，松開拉著線的手。寒風將風箏拉高，線又在我手指割開一個創(chuàng)口。接著……不用聽人群歡呼我也知道，我也不用看。哈桑抱著我的脖子，不斷尖叫。

"Bravo! Bravo, Amir agha!"
"太棒了!太棒了!阿米爾少爺!"

I opened my eyes, saw the blue kite spinning wildly like a tire come loose from a speeding car. I blinked, tried to say something. Nothing came out. Suddenly I was hovering, looking down on myself from above. Black leather coat, red scarf, faded jeans. A thin boy, a little sallow, and a tad short for his twelve years. He had narrow shoulders and a hint of dark circles around his pale hazel eyes. The breeze rustled his light brown hair. He looked up to me and we smiled at each other.
我睜開眼睛，望見藍風箏猛然扎下，好像輪胎從高速行駛的轎車脫落。我眨眨眼，疲累不堪，想說些什么，卻沒有說出來。突然間我騰空而起，從空中望著自己。黑色的皮衣，紅色的圍巾，褪色的牛仔褲。一個瘦弱的男孩，膚色微黃，身材對于十二歲的孩子來說顯得有些矮小。他肩膀窄小，黑色的眼圈圍著淡褐色的眼珠，微風吹起他淡棕色的頭發(fā)。他抬頭望著我，我們相視微笑。