雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(75)

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(xì)膩的筆法勾勒人性的本質(zhì)與救贖，讀來令人蕩氣回腸。

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“I thought you said the truck broke down last week.”
Karim rubbed his throat. “It might have been the week before,” he croaked.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long for the parts?” Baba roared. Karim flinched but said nothing. I was glad for the darkness. I didn’t want to see the murderous look on Baba’s face.
THE STENCH OF SOMETHING DANK, like mildew, bludgeoned my nostrils the moment Karim opened the door that led down the creaky steps to the basement. We descended in single file. The steps groaned under Baba’s weight. Standing in the cold basement, I felt watched by eyes blinking in the dark. I saw shapes huddled around the room, their silhouettes thrown on the walls by the dim light of a pair of kerosene lamps. A low murmur buzzed through the basement, beneath it the sound of water drops trickling somewhere, and, something else, a scratching sound.
Baba sighed behind me and dropped the bags.
Karim told us it should be a matter of a couple of short days before the truck was fixed. Then we’d be on our way to Peshawar. On to freedom. On to safety.
The basement was our home for the next week and, by the third night, I discovered the source of the scratching sounds. Rats.
ONCE MY EYES ADJUSTED to the dark, I counted about thirty refugees in that basement. We sat shoulder to shoulder along the walls, ate crackers, bread with dates, apples. That first night, all the men prayed together. One of the refugees asked Baba why he wasn’t joining them. “God is going to save us all. Why don’t you pray to him?”
Baba snorted a pinch of his snuff. Stretched his legs. “What’ll save us is eight cylinders and a good carburetor.” That silenced the rest of them for good about the matter of God.
It was later that first night when I discovered that two of the people hiding with us were Kamal and his father. That was shocking enough, seeing Kamal sitting in the basement just a few feet away from me. But when he and his father came over to our side of the room and I saw Kamal’s face, really saw it...
He had withered--there was simply no other word for it. His eyes gave me a hollow look and no recognition at all registered in them. His shoulders hunched and his cheeks sagged like they were too tired to cling to the bone beneath. His father, who’d owned a movie theater in Kabul, was telling Baba how, three months before, a stray bullet had struck his wife in the temple and killed her. Then he told Baba about Kamal. I caught only snippets of it: Should have never let him go alone... always so handsome, you know... four of them... tried to fight... God... took him... bleeding down there... his pants... doesn’t talk any more... just stares...

“我記得你說過那輛卡車是上星期壞的?！?br />卡林揉揉脖子，“應(yīng)該是再上一個星期的事情?！?br />“多久?”
“什么?”
“要過多久零件才會到?”爸爸咆哮了?？稚碜右豢s，但啞口無言。我很高興身邊漆黑一片，我可不想看到爸爸殺氣騰騰的兇相。
卡林打開門，門后是通往地下室的破樓梯，一股像霉菌的潮濕臭味撲鼻而來。我們一個個下去，樓梯被爸爸壓得吱嘎作響。站在寒冷的地下室里面，我感到黑暗中有很多雙一眨一眨的眼睛在看著我們。我看見房間到處有人蜷縮著，兩盞昏暗的煤油燈將他們的身影投射在墻上。地下室的人竊竊私語，除此之外，不知道從什么地方傳來滴水的聲音，還有刮擦聲。
爸爸在我身后嘆了口氣，把行李包扔下。
卡林告訴我們，應(yīng)該再過幾天，卡車就可以修好了。那時我們便可前往白沙瓦，奔上那通往自由和安全的旅途。
接下來那個星期，地下室就是我們的家；到了第三晚，我發(fā)現(xiàn)了刮擦聲的來源：老鼠。
待得眼睛適應(yīng)了黑暗，我數(shù)出地下室里面約莫有三十個難民。我們肩挨著肩，倚墻而坐，吃著餅干、面包，配以椰棗和蘋果。第一天夜里，所有的男人在一起禱告，當(dāng)中有個問爸爸為什么不加入,“真主會拯救我們所有人，你怎么不向他禱告呢?”
爸爸重重哼了一聲，伸伸他的雙腿?！澳軌蚓任覀兊氖前藗€氣缸和一個好的化油器。”這句話讓其他人說不出話來，再也不提真主的事。
第一天夜里稍晚的時候，我發(fā)現(xiàn)卡莫和他父親藏身在我們這群人之間。看到卡莫坐在地下室里面，距我只有數(shù)尺之遙，這太讓我吃驚了。但當(dāng)他和他的父親走到我們這邊來的時候，我看見了卡莫的臉，真的看見了……
他枯萎了——顯然沒有其他詞可以代替這個。他雙眼空洞地看著我，絲毫沒有認(rèn)出我。他耷拉著肩膀，臉頰凹陷，似乎已經(jīng)厭倦了附在下面的骨頭上。他的父親在喀布爾有座電影院，正在跟爸爸訴苦，三個月前，他的妻子在廟里，被一顆流彈擊中，當(dāng)場斃命。然后他跟爸爸說起卡莫，我零星聽到一點：不該讓他一個人去的……你知道，他那么俊美……他們有四個人……他試圖反抗……真主……血從那兒流下來……他的褲子……不再說話……目光癡呆……