雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(142)

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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I STEPPED OUTSIDE. Stood in the silver tarnish of a half-moon and glanced up to a sky riddled with stars. Crickets chirped in the shuttered darkness and a wind wafted through the trees. The ground was cool under my bare feet and suddenly, for the first time since we had crossed the border, I felt like I was back. After all these years, I was home again, standing on the soil of my ancestors. This was the soil on which my great-grandfather had married his third wife a year before dying in the cholera epidemic that hit Kabul in 1915. She’d borne him what his first two wives had failed to, a son at last. It was on this soil that my grandfather had gone on a hunting trip with King Nadir Shah and shot a deer. My mother had died on this soil. And on this soil, I had fought for my father’s love.
I sat against one of the house’s clay walls. The kinship I felt suddenly for the old land... it surprised me. I’d been gone long enough to forget and be forgotten. I had a home in a land that might as well be in another galaxy to the people sleeping on the other side of the wall I leaned against. I thought I had forgotten about this land. But I hadn’t. And, under the bony glow of a halfmoon, I sensed Afghanistan humming under my feet. Maybe Afghanistan hadn’t forgotten me either.I looked westward and marveled that, somewhere over those mountains, Kabul still existed. It really existed, not just as an old memory, or as the heading of an AP story on page 15 of the San Francisco Chronicle. Somewhere over those mountains in the west slept the city where my harelipped brother and I had run kites. Somewhere over there, the blindfolded man from my dream had died a needless death. Once, over those mountains, I had made a choice. And now, a quarter of a century later, that choice had landed me right back on this soil.I was about to go back inside when I heard voices coming from the house. I recognized one as Wahid’s.
“--nothing left for the children.”“We’re hungry but we’re not savages! He is a guest! What was I supposed to do?” he said in a strained voice.“--to find something tomorrow” She sounded near tears. “What do I feed--”I tiptoed away. I understood now why the boys hadn’t shown any interest in the watch. They hadn’t been staring at the watch at all. They’d been staring at my food.WE SAID OUR GOOD - BYE S early the next morning. Just before I climbed into the Land Cruiser, I thanked Wahid for his hospitality. He pointed to the little house behind him. “This is your home,” he said. His three sons were standing in the doorway watching us. The little one was wearing the watch--it dangled around his twiggy wrist.I glanced in the side-view mirror as we pulled away. Wahid stood surrounded by his boys in a cloud of dust whipped up by the truck. It occurred to me that, in a different world, those boys wouldn’t have been too hungry to chase after the car. Earlier that morning, when I was certain no one was looking, I did something I had done twenty-six years earlier: I planted a fistful of crumpled money under a mattress.

我走到外面。明月半彎，銀光黯淡，我佇立，抬頭望著星辰遍布的夜空。蟋蟀隱身黑暗中啾啾鳴叫，風(fēng)拂過(guò)樹(shù)梢。我赤裸的腳下大地寒涼，剎那間，自我們穿過(guò)國(guó)境后，我初次感到我回來(lái)了。度過(guò)所有這些年月，我又回來(lái)了，站在祖輩的土地上。正是在這片土地上，我的曾祖父在去世前一年娶了第三個(gè)妻子。 1915年那場(chǎng)橫掃喀布爾的霍亂要了他的命。最后，她給他生了前兩個(gè)妻子所未能生出的：一個(gè)兒子。正是在這片土地上，我的祖父跟納迪爾國(guó)王一起狩獵，射殺一頭鹿。我媽媽死在這片土地上。也是在這片土地上，我曾為了得到父親的愛(ài)苦苦奮斗。
我倚著那屋子的一堵泥墻坐下。突然間，我覺(jué)得自己和這片古老的土地血脈相連……這讓我很吃驚。我的離開(kāi)很久遠(yuǎn)了，久遠(yuǎn)得足以遺忘，也足以被遺忘。我在大地某處有個(gè)家，對(duì)于那些睡在我倚著這面墻那邊的人們來(lái)說(shuō)，那地方或許遙遠(yuǎn)如另外一個(gè)星系。我曾以為我忘了這片土地。但是我沒(méi)忘。而且，在皎潔的月光中，我感到在我腳下的阿富汗發(fā)出低沉的響聲。也許阿富汗也沒(méi)有把我遺忘。我朝西望去，覺(jué)得真是奇妙，在峰巒那邊的某處，喀布爾依然存在。它真的存在，不只是久遠(yuǎn)的記憶，不只是《舊金山紀(jì)事報(bào)》第十五版上某篇美聯(lián)社報(bào)道的標(biāo)題。西方的山脈那邊某個(gè)地方有座沉睡的城市，我的兔唇弟弟和我曾在那里追過(guò)風(fēng)箏。那邊某個(gè)地方，我夢(mèng)中那個(gè)蒙著眼的男人死于非命。曾經(jīng)，在山那邊，我作過(guò)一個(gè)抉擇。而如今，時(shí)隔四分之一個(gè)世紀(jì)，正是那個(gè)抉擇讓我重返這片土地。我正打算回去，聽(tīng)到屋里傳出說(shuō)話聲。我認(rèn)得有個(gè)是瓦希德的嗓音。
“……沒(méi)有什么留給孩子吃的了?！薄拔覀兪呛莛I，但我們不是野蠻人！他是客人！你說(shuō)我該怎么辦？”他的聲音很疲累?！啊魈烊フ倚〇|西”她哭泣著說(shuō)，“我拿什么來(lái)養(yǎng)……”我躡手躡腳走開(kāi)?，F(xiàn)在我明白為什么那些男孩對(duì)手表毫無(wú)興趣了。他們根本就不是在看著手表，他們看著的是我的食物。我們?cè)诟羧赵缟系绖e。就在我爬上陸地巡洋艦之前，我謝謝瓦希德的熱情招待。他指著身后那座小小的房子?！斑@里是你的家。”他說(shuō)。他三個(gè)兒子站在門(mén)口，看著我們。最小那個(gè)戴著手表——它在他瘦小的手腕上蕩來(lái)蕩去。我們離開(kāi)的時(shí)候，我看著側(cè)視鏡。瓦希德被他的兒子環(huán)繞著，站在一陣車(chē)輪卷起的塵霧中。我突然想起，要是在另外的世界，這些孩子不會(huì)餓得連追逐汽車(chē)的力氣都沒(méi)有。那天早些時(shí)候，我確信無(wú)人注意，做了一件二十六年前就已經(jīng)做過(guò)的事情：將一把皺皺的鈔票塞在草席下面。