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雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(135)

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2021年08月17日

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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(135)的精彩內(nèi)容吧!

He grabbed a paper bag from the backseat and plucked a half lemon out of it. I bit down on it, waited a few minutes. “You were right. I feel better,” I lied. As an Afghan, I knew it was better to be miserable than rude. I forced a weak smile.“Old watani trick, no need for fancy medicine,” he said. His tone bordered on the surly. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and gave himself a self-satisfied look in the rearview mirror. He was a Tajik, a lanky, dark man with a weather-beaten face, narrow shoulders, and a long neck punctuated by a protruding Adam’s apple that only peeked from behind his beard when he turned his head. He was dressed much as I was, though I suppose it was really the other way around: a rough-woven wool blanket wrapped over a gray pirhan-tumban and a vest. On his head, he wore a brown pakol, tilted slightly to one side, like the Tajik hero Ahmad Shah Massoud--referred to by Tajiks as “the Lion of Panjsher.”
“Checkpoint,” Farid grumbled. I slumped a little in my seat, arms folded across my chest, forgetting for a moment about the nausea. But I needn’t have worried. Two Pakistani militia approached our dilapidated Land Cruiser, took a cursory glance inside, and waved us on.Farid was first on- the list of preparations Rahim Khan and I made, a list that included exchanging dollars for Kaldar and Afghani bills, my garment and pakol--ironically, I’d never worn either when I’d actually lived in Afghanistan--the Polaroid of Hassan and Sohrab, and, finally, perhaps the most important item: an artificial beard, black and chest length, Shari’a friendly--or at least the Taliban version of Shari’a. Rahim Khan knew of a fellow in Peshawar who specialized in weaving them, sometimes for Western journalists who covered the war.
Rahim Khan had wanted me to stay with him a few more days, to plan more thoroughly. But I knew I had to leave as soon as possible. I was afraid I’d change my mind. I was afraid I’d deliberate, ruminate, agonize, rationalize, and talk myself into not going. I was afraid the appeal of my life in America would draw me back, that I would wade back into that great, big river and let myself forget, let the things I had learned these last few days sink to the bottom. I was afraid that I’d let the waters carry me away from what I had to do. From Hassan. From the past that had come calling. And from this one last chance at redemption. So I left before there was any possibility of that happening. As for Soraya, telling her I was going back to Afghanistan wasn’t an option. If I had, she would have booked herself on the next flight to Pakistan.
We had crossed the border and the signs of poverty were every where. On either side of the road, I saw chains of little villages sprouting here and there, like discarded toys among the rocks, broken mud houses and huts consisting of little more than four wooden poles and a tattered cloth as a roof. I saw children dressed in rags chasing a soccer ball outside the huts. A few miles later, I spotted a cluster of men sitting on their haunches, like a row of crows, on the carcass of an old burned-out Soviet tank, the wind fluttering the edges of the blankets thrown around them. Behind them, a woman in a brown burqa carried a large clay pot on her shoulder, down a rutted path toward a string of mud houses.
“Strange,” I said.
“What?”

他從后座抓起一個(gè)紙袋,拿出半個(gè)檸檬。我咬一口,等上幾分鐘?!澳阏f(shuō)得對(duì),我感覺好多了?!蔽艺f(shuō)謊。身為阿富汗人,我深知寧可遭罪也不可失禮,我擠出孱弱的微笑。在白沙瓦,拉辛汗介紹我認(rèn)識(shí)法里德。他告訴我,法里德二十九歲,不過(guò)他那機(jī)警的臉滿是皺紋,看上去要老二十歲。他生于馬扎里沙里夫,在那兒生活,直到十歲那年,他父親舉家搬到賈拉拉巴特。十四歲,他和他父親加入了人民圣戰(zhàn)者組織,抗擊俄國(guó)佬。他們?cè)谂私芟枍{谷抗戰(zhàn)了兩年,直到直升機(jī)的炮火將他父親炸成碎片。法里德娶了兩個(gè)妻子,有五個(gè)小孩。 “他過(guò)去有七個(gè)小孩。 ”拉辛汗眼露悲哀地說(shuō),但在早幾年,就在賈拉拉巴特城外,地雷爆炸奪走了他兩個(gè)最小的女兒;那次爆炸還要去了他的腳趾以及他左手的三個(gè)手指。在那之后,他帶著妻子和小孩搬到自沙瓦。
“關(guān)卡?!狈ɡ锏虏粷M地說(shuō)。我稍稍癱在座位上,雙臂抱胸,暫時(shí)忘卻了眩暈的感覺。但我不用擔(dān)心,兩個(gè)阿富汗民兵朝我們這輛破舊的陸地巡洋艦走來(lái),匆匆看了一眼車內(nèi),揮手讓我們走。和阿富汗尼鈔票,我的長(zhǎng)袍和氈帽——諷刺的是,真正在阿富汗生活的那些年,這兩件東西我統(tǒng)統(tǒng)沒穿過(guò)——哈桑和索拉博的寶麗萊合影,最后,也許是最重要的是:一副黑色假胡子,長(zhǎng)及胸膛。表示對(duì)伊斯蘭教——至少是塔利班眼中的伊斯蘭教——的友好。拉辛汗認(rèn)得白沙瓦幾個(gè)精于此道的家伙,有時(shí)他們替那些前來(lái)報(bào)道戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)的西方記者服務(wù)。
拉辛汗曾要求我多陪著他幾天,計(jì)劃得更詳盡些。但我知道自己得盡快啟程。我害怕自己會(huì)改變主意。我害怕自己會(huì)猶豫不決,瞻前顧后,寢食難安,尋找理由,說(shuō)服自己不要前去。我害怕來(lái)自美國(guó)生活的誘惑會(huì)將我拉回去,而我再也不會(huì)趟進(jìn)這條大河,讓自己遺忘,讓這幾天得知的一切沉在水底。我害怕河水將我沖走,將我沖離那些當(dāng)仁不讓的責(zé)任,沖離哈桑,沖離那正在召喚我的往事,沖離最后一次贖罪的機(jī)會(huì)。所以我在這一切都還來(lái)不及發(fā)生之前就出發(fā)了。至于索拉雅,我沒有告訴她我回阿富汗并非明智之舉。如果我那么做,她會(huì)給自己訂票,坐上下一班飛往阿富汗的客機(jī)。
我們已經(jīng)越過(guò)國(guó)境,觸目皆是貧窮的跡象。在路的兩旁,我看見村落一座連一座,如同被丟棄的玩具般,散落在巖石間;而那些殘破的泥屋和茅舍,無(wú)非是四根木柱,加上屋頂?shù)钠撇?。我看見衣不蔽體的孩子在屋外追逐一個(gè)足球。再過(guò)幾里路,我看到有群男人弓身蹲坐,如同一群烏鴉,坐著的是被焚毀的破舊俄軍坦克,寒風(fēng)吹起他們身邊毛毯的邊緣,獵獵作響。他們身后,有個(gè)穿著棕色長(zhǎng)袍的女子,肩膀上扛著大陶罐,沿著車轍宛然的小徑,走向一排泥屋。
“真奇怪?!蔽艺f(shuō)。
“什么?”

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