雙語名著·追風箏的人 The Kite Runner(113)

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(zhì)與救贖，讀來令人蕩氣回腸。

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A CREATIVE WRITING TEACHER at San Jose State used to say about clichés: “Avoid them like the plague.” Then he’d laugh at his own joke. The class laughed along with him, but I always thought clichés got a bum rap. Because, often, they’re dead-on. But the aptness of the clichéd saying is overshadowed by the nature of the saying as a cliché. For example, the “elephant in the room” saying. Nothing could more correctly describe the initial moments of my reunion with Rahim Khan.
We sat on a wispy mattress set along the wall, across the window overlooking the noisy street below. Sunlight slanted in and cast a triangular wedge of light onto the Afghan rug on the floor. Two folding chairs rested against one wall and a small copper samovar sat in the opposite corner. I poured us tea from it.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“It’s not difficult to find people in America. I bought a map of the U.S., and called up information for cities in Northern California,” he said. “It’s wonderfully strange to see you as a grown man.”
I smiled and dropped three sugar cubes in my tea. He liked his black and bitter, I remembered. “Baba didn’t get the chance to tell you but I got married fifteen years ago.” The truth was, by then, the cancer in Baba’s brain had made him forgetful, negligent.
“You are married? To whom?”
“Her name is Soraya Taheri.” I thought of her back home, worrying about me. I was glad she wasn’t alone.
“Taheri... whose daughter is she?”
I told him. His eyes brightened. “Oh, yes, I remember now. Isn’t General Taheri married to Sharif jan’s sister? What was her name...”
“Jamila jan.”
“Balay!” he said, smiling. “I knew Sharif jan in Kabul, long time ago, before he moved to America.”
“He’s been working for the INS for years, handles a lot of Afghan cases.”
“Haiiii,” he sighed. “Do you and Soraya jan have children?”
“Nay.”

圣荷塞州立大學有位創(chuàng)作老師經(jīng)常談起陳詞濫調(diào)：“應(yīng)該像逃瘟疫那樣避開它們。”然后他會為自己的幽默笑起來。全班也跟著他大笑，可是我總覺得這種對陳詞濫調(diào)的指責毫無價值。因為它們通常準確無誤。但是因為人們把這些說法當成陳詞濫調(diào)，它們的貼切反而無人提及。例如，“房間里的大象” [指大家都知道，但避而不談的事情]這句話，用來形容我和拉辛汗重逢那一刻再也貼切不過了。
我們坐在墻邊一張薄薄的褥子上，對面是窗口，可以看到下面喧鬧的街道。陽光照進來，在門口的阿富汗地毯上投射出三角形的光影。兩張折疊椅倚在墻上，對面的屋角擺放著一個小小的銅壺。我從它里面倒出兩杯茶。
“你怎么找到我？”我問。
“在美國要找一個人并不難。我買了張美國地圖，打電話查詢北加利福尼亞城市的資料?！彼f，“看到你已經(jīng)長大成人，感覺真是又奇怪又美好。”
我微笑，在自己的茶杯中放了三塊方糖。我記得他不喜歡加糖。“爸爸來不及告訴你我十五年前就結(jié)婚了。”真相是，當其時爸爸腦里的腫瘤讓他變得健忘，忽略了。
“你結(jié)婚了？和誰？”
“她的名字叫索拉雅?塔赫里?！蔽蚁肫鹚诩依铮嫖覔鷳n。我很高興她并非孤身一人。
“塔赫里……她是誰的女兒？
”我告訴他。他眼睛一亮：“哦，沒錯，我想起來了。塔赫里將軍是不是娶了親愛的沙利夫的姐姐？她的名字叫……”
“親愛的雅米拉?！?br />“對！對！”他說，微笑著。“我在喀布爾認識親愛的沙利夫，很久以前了，那時他還沒搬去美國?！?br />“他在移民局工作好多年了，處理了很多阿富汗案子?！?br />“哎，”他嘆氣說，“你和親愛的索拉雅有孩子嗎？”
“沒有?！?/p>