雙語(yǔ)名著·The Kite Runner 追風(fēng)箏的人(6)

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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As confided to a neighbor's servant by the garrulous midwife, who had then in turn told anyone who would listen, Sanaubar had taken one glance at the baby in Ali's arms, seen the cleft lip, and barked a bitter laughter.

"There," she had said. "Now you have your own idiot child to do all your smiling for you!" She had refused to even hold Hassan, and just five days later, she was gone.

Baba hired the same nursing woman who had fed me to nurse Hassan. Ali told us she was a blue-eyed Hazara woman from Bamiyan, the city of the giant Buddha statues. "What a sweet singing voice she had,"he used to say to us.

What did she sing, Hassan and I always asked, though we already knew--Ali had told us countless times. We just wanted to hear Ali sing.

He'd clear his throat and begin:

"On a high mountain I stood,

And cried the name of Ali, Lion of God.

O Ali, Lion of God, King of Men,

Bring joy to our sorrowful hearts."

Then he would remind us that there was a brotherhood between people who had fed from the same breast, a kinship that not even time could break.

Hassan and I fed from the same breasts. We took our first steps on the same lawn in the same yard. And, under the same roof, we spoke our first words.

Mine was "Baba".

His was "Amir". My name.

Looking back on it now, I think the foundation for what happened in the winter of 1975—and all that followed—was already laid in those first words.

“看吧，”她說(shuō)，“現(xiàn)在你有了這個(gè)白癡兒子，他可以替你笑了！”她不愿抱著哈桑，僅僅五天之后，她離開(kāi)了。

爸爸雇傭了那個(gè)喂過(guò)我的奶媽給哈桑哺乳。阿里跟我們說(shuō)她是個(gè)藍(lán)眼睛的哈扎拉女人，來(lái)自巴米揚(yáng)Bamiyan，阿富汗城市，在喀布爾西北150公里處。，那座城市有巨大的佛陀塑像?！八璧纳ぷ涌商鹆?！”他常常這么說(shuō)。

她唱什么歌呢？哈桑跟我總是問(wèn)，雖然我們已經(jīng)知道--阿里已經(jīng)告訴過(guò)我們無(wú)數(shù)次了，我們只是想聽(tīng)阿里唱。

他清了清喉嚨，放聲唱起來(lái)：

我站在高高的山上

呼喚阿里的名字，神靈的獅子

啊～阿里，神靈的獅子，凡人的國(guó)王

給我悲傷的心靈帶來(lái)喜悅

然后他會(huì)提醒我們，喝過(guò)同樣的乳汁長(zhǎng)大的人就是兄弟，這種親情連時(shí)間也無(wú)法拆散。

哈桑跟我喝過(guò)同樣的乳汁。我們?cè)谕粋€(gè)院子里的同一片草坪上邁出第一步。還有，在同一個(gè)屋頂下，我們說(shuō)出第一個(gè)詞。

我說(shuō)的是“爸爸”。

他說(shuō)的是“阿米爾”。我的名字。

如今回頭看來(lái)，我認(rèn)為1975年冬天發(fā)生的事情——以及隨后所有的事情--早已在這兩個(gè)字里埋下根源。