雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(23)

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(23)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

Something roared like thunder. The earth shook a little and we heard the "rat-a-tat-tat" of gunfire. "Father!"Hassan cried. We sprung to our feet and raced out of the living room. We found Ali hobbling frantically across the foyer.
不知道什么東西發(fā)出一陣?yán)坐Q般的聲響，接著大地微微抖動(dòng)，我們聽(tīng)見(jiàn)"砰--砰--砰"的槍聲。"爸爸!"哈桑大聲叫喊。我們拔腿跑出起居室，看見(jiàn)阿里跛著腳在走廊狂奔。

"Father! What's that sound?"Hassan yelped, his hands outstretched toward Ali. Ali wrapped his arms around us. A white light flashed, lit the sky in silver. It flashed again and was followed by a rapid staccato of gunfire.
"爸爸!那是什么聲音?"哈桑大叫，伸開(kāi)雙臂朝阿里奔過(guò)去。阿里伸手?jǐn)堊∥覀儭Ｒ坏腊坠忾W起，夜空亮起銀輝。又是一道白光，隨后是暴風(fēng)驟雨般的槍聲。

"They're hunting ducks,"Ali said in a hoarse voice. "They hunt ducks at night, you know. Don't be afraid."
"他們?cè)讷C殺野鴨。"阿里嘶啞地說(shuō)，"他們?cè)谝估铽C鴨子，別害怕。"

A siren went off in the distance. Somewhere glass shattered and someone shouted. I heard people on the street, jolted from sleep and probably still in their pajamas, with ruffled hair and puffy eyes. Hassan was crying. Ali pulled him close, clutched him with tenderness. Later, I would tell myself I hadn't felt envious of Hassan. Not at all.
遠(yuǎn)處傳來(lái)警報(bào)聲。不知道從什么地方傳來(lái)玻璃破裂的聲音，還有人高聲叫嚷。我聽(tīng)見(jiàn)人們從睡夢(mèng)中驚醒，跑到街道上，也許身上還穿著睡衣，披頭散發(fā)，睡眼惺忪。哈桑在哭，阿里將他抱緊，輕輕地?fù)崦?。后?lái)我告訴自己，我沒(méi)有妒忌哈桑，一點(diǎn)都沒(méi)有。

We stayed huddled that way until the early hours of the morning. The shootings and explosions had lasted less than an hour, but they had frightened us badly, because none of us had ever heard gunshots in the streets. They were foreign sounds to us then. The generation of Afghan children whose ears would know nothing but the sounds of bombs and gunfire was not yet born. Huddled together in the dining room and waiting for the sun to rise, none of us had any notion that a way of life had ended. Our way of life. If not quite yet, then at least it was the beginning of the end. The end, the "official" end, would come first in April 1978 with the communist coup d'état, and then in December 1979, when Russian tanks would roll into the very same streets where Hassan and I played, bringing the death of the Afghanistan I knew and marking the start of a still ongoing era of bloodletting.
我們就那樣哆嗦地抱成一團(tuán)，直到天快破曉。槍聲和爆炸聲還沒(méi)一個(gè)鐘頭就結(jié)束，可是把我們嚇壞了，因?yàn)槲覀儚膩?lái)沒(méi)聽(tīng)過(guò)街道上會(huì)有槍響。當(dāng)時(shí)這些聲音對(duì)我們來(lái)說(shuō)太奇怪了。那些耳朵里面除了槍響再?zèng)]有其他聲音的阿富汗孩子當(dāng)時(shí)還沒(méi)出世。在餐廳里，我們擠成一堆，等待太陽(yáng)升起，沒(méi)有人意識(shí)到過(guò)去的生活方式已然告終。我們的生活方式，即使尚未全然終結(jié)，那也是茍延殘喘。終結(jié)，正式的終結(jié)是在1978年4月，其時(shí)政變發(fā)生，接著是1979年12月，俄國(guó)坦克在我和哈桑玩耍的街道上耀武揚(yáng)威，給我的父老鄉(xiāng)親帶來(lái)死亡，開(kāi)啟了如今仍未過(guò)去的、血流成河的時(shí)代。

Just before sunrise, Baba's car peeled into the driveway. His door slammed shut and his running footsteps pounded the stairs. Then he appeared in the doorway and I saw something on his face. Something I didn't recognize right away because I'd never seen it before: fear. "Amir! Hassan!"he exclaimed as he ran to us, opening his arms wide. "They blocked all the roads and the tele phone didn't work. I was so worried!"
太陽(yáng)快升起的時(shí)候，爸爸的轎車(chē)駛進(jìn)車(chē)道。他重重地關(guān)上車(chē)門(mén)，匆忙的腳步在臺(tái)階上發(fā)出沉重的聲音。接著他在門(mén)口出現(xiàn)，我看見(jiàn)他臉色掛著某種神情，那種臉色我一時(shí)辨認(rèn)不出來(lái)，因?yàn)榇饲皬奈丛谒砩弦?jiàn)過(guò)：恐懼。"阿米爾!哈桑!"他大喊，張開(kāi)雙臂朝我們跑過(guò)來(lái),"他們封鎖了所有的道路，電話(huà)又壞了，我很擔(dān)心。"

We let him wrap us in his arms and, for a brief insane moment, I was glad about whatever had happened that night.
我們停在他懷里，有那么一會(huì)兒，我竟然發(fā)瘋似的覺(jué)得很高興，而不管當(dāng)晚究竟發(fā)生了什么事情。