雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(89)

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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He nodded. Looked from me to Baba and back again. “They’ll call you within two weeks.”
I wanted to ask him how I was supposed to live with that word, “suspicious,” for two whole weeks. How was I supposed eat, work, study? How could he send me home with that word?
I took the form and turned it in. That night, I waited until Baba fell asleep, and then folded a blanket. I used it as a prayer rug. Bowing my head to the ground, I recited half-forgotten verses from the Koran--verses the mullah had made us commit to memory in Kabul--and asked for kindness from a God I wasn’t sure existed. I envied the mullah now, envied his faith and certainty.
Two weeks passed and no one called. And when I called them, they told me they’d lost the referral. Was I sure I had turned it in? They said they would call in another three weeks. I raised hell and bargained the three weeks down to one for the CAT scan, two to see the doctor.
The visit with the pulmonologist, Dr. Schneider, was going well until Baba asked him where he was from. Dr. Schneider said Russia. Baba lost it.
“Excuse us, Doctor,” I said, pulling Baba aside. Dr. Schneider smiled and stood back, stethoscope still in hand.
“Baba, I read Dr. Schneider’s biography in the waiting room. He was born in Michigan. Michigan! He’s American, a lot more American than you and I will ever be.”
“I don’t care where he was born, he’s Roussi,” Baba said, grimacing like it was a dirty word. “His parents were Roussi, his grandparents were Roussi. I swear on your mother’s face I’ll break his arm if he tries to touch me.”
“Dr. Schneider’s parents fled from Shorawi, don’t you see? They escaped!”
But Baba would hear none of it. Sometimes I think the only thing he loved as much as his late wife was Afghanistan, his late country. I almost screamed with frustration. Instead, I sighed and turned to Dr. Schneider. “I’m sorry, Doctor. This isn’t going to work out.”
The next pulmonologist, Dr. Amani, was Iranian and Baba approved. Dr. Amani, a soft-spoken man with a crooked mustache and a mane of gray hair, told us he had reviewed the CAT scan results and that he would have to perform a procedure called a bronchoscopy to get a piece of the lung mass for pathology. He scheduled it for the following week. I thanked him as I helped Baba out of the office, thinking that now I had to live a whole week with this new word, “mass,” an even more ominous word than “suspicious.” I wished Soraya were there with me.
It turned out that, like Satan, cancer had many names. Baba’s was called “Oat Cell Carcinoma.” Advanced. Inoperable. Baba asked Dr. Amani for a prognosis. Dr. Amani bit his lip, used the word “grave.” “There is chemotherapy, of course,” he said. “But it would only be palliative.”
“What does that mean?” Baba asked.
Dr. Amani sighed. “It means it wouldn’t change the outcome, just prolong it.”
“That’s a clear answer, Dr. Amani. Thank you for that,” Baba said. “But no chemo-medication for me.” He had the same resolved look on his face as the day he’d dropped the stack of food stamps on Mrs. Dobbins’s desk.
“But Baba--”

他點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭，眼光又看看我，看看爸爸，又收回來(lái)。“兩個(gè)星期之內(nèi)，他們會(huì)給你打電話?！?br />我想質(zhì)問(wèn)他，帶著“可疑”這個(gè)詞，我怎么撐過(guò)這兩個(gè)星期?我怎么能夠吃飯、工作、學(xué)習(xí)?他怎么可以用這個(gè)詞打發(fā)我回家?
我接過(guò)那張表格，交了上去。那晚，我等到爸爸入睡，然后疊起一條毛毯，把它當(dāng)成禱告用的褥子。我把頭磕在地面，暗暗念誦那些記不太清楚的《可蘭經(jīng)》——在喀布爾的時(shí)候毛拉要求我們背誦的經(jīng)文——求求真主大發(fā)善心，雖則我不知道他是否存在。那時(shí)我很羨慕那個(gè)毛拉，羨慕他的信仰和堅(jiān)定。
兩個(gè)星期過(guò)去了，我們沒(méi)有接到電話。我打電話過(guò)去，他們告訴我說(shuō)找不到那張轉(zhuǎn)診單，問(wèn)我究竟有沒(méi)有把它交上去。他們說(shuō)再過(guò)三個(gè)星期，會(huì)打電話來(lái)。我勃然作色，經(jīng)過(guò)一番交涉，把三個(gè)星期改為一個(gè)星期內(nèi)做CAT，兩個(gè)星期內(nèi)看醫(yī)生。
接診的肺科醫(yī)師叫施內(nèi)德，開(kāi)頭一切都好，直到爸爸問(wèn)他從哪里來(lái)，他說(shuō)俄國(guó)。爸爸當(dāng)場(chǎng)翻臉。
“對(duì)不起，大夫?！蔽艺f(shuō)，將爸爸拉到一旁。施內(nèi)德大夫微笑著站起來(lái)，手里還拿著聽(tīng)診器。
“爸爸，我在候診室看過(guò)施內(nèi)德大夫的簡(jiǎn)歷。他的出生地是密歇根，密歇根!他是美國(guó)人，遠(yuǎn)比你和我更美國(guó)?！?br />“我不在乎他在哪兒出生，他是俄國(guó)佬?！卑职终f(shuō)，做出扭曲的表情，仿佛那是個(gè)骯臟的字眼?！八母改甘嵌韲?guó)佬，他的祖父母是俄國(guó)佬。我當(dāng)著你媽媽的面發(fā)誓，要是他膽敢再碰我一下，我就扭斷他的手。”
“施內(nèi)德大夫的父母從俄國(guó)逃亡出來(lái)，你懂嗎?他們逃亡!”
但爸爸一點(diǎn)都沒(méi)聽(tīng)進(jìn)去。有時(shí)我認(rèn)為，爸爸惟一像愛(ài)他妻子那樣深愛(ài)著的，是阿富汗，他的故國(guó)。我差點(diǎn)兒抓狂大叫，但我只是嘆口氣，轉(zhuǎn)向施內(nèi)德醫(yī)師。“對(duì)不起，大夫，沒(méi)有辦法。”
第二個(gè)肺科醫(yī)師叫阿曼尼，是伊朗人，爸爸同意了。阿曼尼大夫聲音輕柔，留著彎曲的小胡子，一頭銀發(fā)。他告訴我們，他已經(jīng)看過(guò)CAT掃描的結(jié)果，接下來(lái)他要做的，是進(jìn)行一項(xiàng)叫支氣管鏡檢查的程序，取下一片肺塊做病理學(xué)分析。他安排下個(gè)星期進(jìn)行。我攙扶爸爸走出診室，向大夫道謝，心里想著如今我得帶著“肺塊”這個(gè)詞過(guò)一整個(gè)星期了，這個(gè)字眼甚至比“可疑”更不吉利。我希望索拉雅能在這兒陪著我。
就像魔鬼一樣，癌癥有各種不同的名字。爸爸患的叫“燕麥細(xì)胞惡性腫瘤”。已經(jīng)擴(kuò)散。沒(méi)法開(kāi)刀。爸爸問(wèn)起病況，阿曼尼大夫咬咬嘴唇，用了“嚴(yán)重”這個(gè)詞。“當(dāng)然，可以做化療?！彼f(shuō)，“但那只是治標(biāo)不治本。”
“那是什么意思?”爸爸問(wèn)。
阿曼尼嘆氣說(shuō):“那就是說(shuō)，它無(wú)法改變結(jié)果，只能延遲它的到來(lái)?！?br />“這個(gè)答案清楚多了，阿曼尼大夫，謝謝你?！卑职终f(shuō)，“但請(qǐng)不要在我身上做化療?！彼冻鋈玑屩刎?fù)的神情，一如那天在杜賓斯太太的柜臺(tái)上放下那疊食物券。
“可是，爸爸……”