雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(132)

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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And how was I going to reconcile this new image of Baba with the one that had been imprinted on my mind for so long, that of him in his old brown suit, hobbling up the Taheris’ driveway to ask for Soraya’s hand?Here is another cliché my creative writing teacher would have scoffed at; like father, like son. But it was true, wasn’t it? As it turned out, Baba and I were more alike than I’d ever known. We had both betrayed the people who would have given their lives for us. And with that came this realization: that Rahim Khan had summoned me here to atone not just for my sins but for Baba’s too.Rahim Khan said I’d always been too hard on myself. But I wondered. True, I hadn’t made Ali step on the land mine, and I hadn’t brought the Taliban to the house to shoot Hassan. But I had driven Hassan and Ali out of the house. Was it too far-fetched to imagine that things might have turned out differently if I hadn’t? Maybe Baba would have brought them along to America. Maybe Hassan would have had a home of his own now, a job, a family, a life in a country where no one cared that he was a Hazara, where most people didn’t even know what a Hazara was. Maybe not. But maybe so.
I can’t go to Kabul, I had said to Rahim Khan. I have a wife in America, a home, a career, and a family. But how could I pack up and go back home when my actions may have cost Hassan a chance at those very same things?
I wished Rahim Khan hadn’t called me. I wished he had let me live on in my oblivion. But he had called me. And what Rahim Khan revealed to me changed things. Made me see how my entire life, long before the winter of 1975, dating back to when that singing Hazara woman was still nursing me, had been a cycle of lies, betrayals, and secrets.
There is a way to be good again, he’d said.
A way to end the cycle.
With a little boy. An orphan. Hassan’s son. Somewhere in Kabul.

這兒又有一句為我的創(chuàng)作老師所不屑的陳詞濫調(diào)：有其父必有其子。但這是真的，不是嗎？結(jié)果證明，我和爸爸的相似超乎原先的想像。我們兩個都背叛了愿意為我們付出生命的人。我這才意識到，拉辛汗傳喚我到這里來，不只是為了洗刷我的罪行，還有爸爸的。拉辛汗說我一直太過苛求自己。但我懷疑。是的，我沒有讓阿里的右腳踩上地雷，沒有把塔利班的人帶到家里，射殺哈桑?？墒俏野寻⒗锖凸Ｚs出家門。若非我那么做，事情也許會變得全然不同，這樣的想法不算太牽強吧？也許爸爸會帶著他們到美國。也許在那個沒有人在意他是哈扎拉人、人們甚至不知道哈扎拉人是什么意思的國度，哈桑會擁有自己的家、工作、親人、生活。也許不會。但也許會。
我不能去喀布爾。我剛才對拉辛汗說，我在美國有妻子、房子、事業(yè)，還有家庭。但也許正是我的行為斷送了哈桑擁有這一切的機會，我能夠這樣收拾行囊、掉頭回家嗎？
我希望拉辛汗沒有打過電話給我。我希望他沒有把真相告訴我。但他打了電話，而且他所揭露的事情使一切面目全非。讓我明白我的一生，早在1975年冬天之前，回溯到那個會唱歌的哈扎拉女人還在哺乳我的時候，種種謊言、背叛和秘密，就已經(jīng)開始輪回。
那兒有再次成為好人的路。他說。
一條終結(jié)輪回的路。
帶上一個小男孩。一個孤兒。哈桑的兒子。在喀布爾的某個地方。