雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(38)

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(38)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

Usually, each neighborhood held its own competition. But that year, the tournament was going to be held in my neighborhood, Wazir Akbar Khan, and several other districts--Karteh-Char, Karteh-Parwan, Mekro-Rayan, and Koteh-Sangi--had been invited. You could hardly go anywhere without hearing talk of the upcoming tournament. Word had it this was going to be the biggest tournament in twenty-five years.
通常，每個(gè)街區(qū)都會(huì)舉辦自己的比賽。但那年，巡回賽由我所在的街區(qū)，瓦茲爾·阿克巴·汗區(qū)舉辦，幾個(gè)其他的城區(qū)--卡德察區(qū)、卡德帕灣區(qū)、梅寇拉揚(yáng)區(qū)、科德桑吉區(qū)--也應(yīng)邀參加。無(wú)論走到哪里，都能聽(tīng)見(jiàn)人們?cè)谡務(wù)摷磳⑴e辦的巡回賽，據(jù)說(shuō)這是二十五年來(lái)規(guī)模最大的風(fēng)箏比賽。

One night that winter, with the big contest only four days away, Baba and I sat in his study in overstuffed leather chairs by the glow of the fireplace. We were sipping tea, talking. Ali had served dinner earlier--potatoes and curried cauliflower over rice--and had retired for the night with Hassan. Baba was fattening his pipe and I was asking him to tell the story about the winter a pack of wolves had descended from the mountains in Herat and forced everyone to stay indoors for a week, when he lit a match and said, casually, "I think maybe you'll win the tournament this year. What do you think?"
那年冬天的一個(gè)夜里，距比賽還有四天，爸爸和我坐在書(shū)房里鋪滿毛皮的椅子上，烤著火，邊喝茶邊交談。早些時(shí)候，阿里服侍我們用過(guò)晚餐--土豆、咖喱西蘭花拌飯，回去跟哈桑度過(guò)漫漫長(zhǎng)夜。爸爸塞著他的煙管，我求他講那個(gè)故事給我聽(tīng)，據(jù)說(shuō)某年冬天，有一群狼從山上下來(lái)，游蕩到赫拉特，迫使人們?cè)谖堇锒懔艘粋€(gè)星期。爸爸劃了一根火柴，說(shuō):"我覺(jué)得今年你也許能贏得巡回賽，你覺(jué)得呢?"

I didn't know what to think. Or what to say. Was that what it would take? Had he just slipped me a key? I was a good kite fighter. Actually, a very good one. A few times, I'd even come close to winning the winter tournament--once, I'd made it to the final three. But coming close wasn't the same as winning, was it? Baba hadn't "come close". He had won because winners won and everyone else just went Home. Baba was used to winning, winning at everything he set his mind to. Didn't he have a right to expect the same from his son? And just imagine. If I did win...
我不知道該怎么想，或者該怎么說(shuō)。我要是取勝了會(huì)怎么樣呢?他只是交給我一把鑰匙嗎?我是斗風(fēng)箏的好手，實(shí)際上，是非常出色的好手。好幾次我差點(diǎn)贏得冬季巡回賽--有一次，我還進(jìn)了前三名。但差點(diǎn)兒和贏得比賽是兩回事，不是嗎?爸爸從來(lái)不差點(diǎn)兒，他只是獲勝，獲勝者贏得比賽，其他人只能回家。爸爸總是勝利，贏得一切他想贏得的東西。難道他沒(méi)有權(quán)利要求他的兒子也這樣嗎?想想吧，要是我贏得比賽……

Baba smoked his pipe and talked. I pretended to listen. But I couldn't listen, not really, because Baba's casual little comment had planted a seed in my head: the resolution that I would win that winter's tournament. I was going to win. There was no other viable option. I was going to win, and I was going to run that last kite. Then I'd bring it Home and show it to Baba. Show him once and for all that his son was worthy. Then maybe my life as a ghost in this house would finally be over. I let myself dream: I imagined conversation and laughter over dinner instead of silence broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional grunt. I envisioned us taking a Friday drive in Baba's car to Paghman, stopping on the way at Ghargha Lake for some fried trout and potatoes. We'd go to the zoo to see Marjan the lion, and maybe Baba wouldn't yawn and steal looks at his wristwatch all the time. Maybe Baba would even read one of my stories. I'd write him a hundred if I thought he'd read one. Maybe he'd call me Amir jan like Rahim Khan did. And maybe, just maybe, I would finally be pardoned for killing my mother.
爸爸吸著煙管，跟我說(shuō)話。我假裝在聽(tīng)，但我聽(tīng)不進(jìn)去，有點(diǎn)心不在焉，因?yàn)榘职蛛S口一說(shuō)，在我腦海埋下了一顆種子：贏得冬季巡回賽是個(gè)好辦法。我要贏得比賽，沒(méi)有其他選擇。我要贏得比賽，我的風(fēng)箏要堅(jiān)持到最后。然后我會(huì)把它帶回家，帶給爸爸看。讓他看看，他的兒子終究非同凡響，那么也許我在家里孤魂野鬼般的日子就可以結(jié)束。我讓自己幻想著：我幻想吃晚飯的時(shí)候，充滿歡聲笑語(yǔ)，而非一言不發(fā)，只有銀餐具偶爾的碰撞聲和幾聲"嗯哦"打破寂靜。我想像星期五爸爸開(kāi)著車(chē)帶我去帕格曼，中途在喀爾卡湖稍作休憩，吃著炸鱒魚(yú)和炸土豆。我們會(huì)去動(dòng)物園看看那只叫"瑪揚(yáng)"的獅子，也許爸爸不會(huì)一直打哈欠，偷偷看著他的腕表。也許爸爸甚至還會(huì)看看我寫(xiě)的故事，我情愿為他寫(xiě)一百篇，哪怕他只挑一篇看看。也許他會(huì)像拉辛汗那樣，叫我"親愛(ài)的阿米爾"。也許，只是也許，他最終會(huì)原諒我殺了他的妻子。

Baba was telling me about the time he'd cut fourteen kites on the same day. I smiled, nodded, laughed at all the right places, but I hardly heard a word he said. I had a mission now. And I wasn't going to fail Baba. Not this time.
爸爸告訴我有一天他割斷了十四只風(fēng)箏的線。我不時(shí)微笑，點(diǎn)頭，大笑，一切恰到好處，但我?guī)缀鯖](méi)有聽(tīng)清他在說(shuō)什么?，F(xiàn)在我有個(gè)使命了，我不會(huì)讓爸爸失望。這次不會(huì)。