雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(37)

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(37)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

"Really? You'd do that?"
"真的嗎?你會(huì)那樣做?"

He threw me a puzzled look. "Do what?"
他疑惑地看了我一眼:"做什么?"

"Eat dirt if I told you to,"I said. I knew I was being cruel, like when I'd taunt him if he didn't know some big word. But there was something fascinating--albeit in a sick way--about teasing Hassan. Kind of like when we used to play insect torture. Except now, he was the ant and I was holding the magnifying glass.
"如果我讓你吃泥巴，你會(huì)吃嗎?"我說(shuō)。我知道自己這樣很殘忍，好像以前，我總是拿那些他不懂的字眼來(lái)戲弄他，但取笑哈桑有點(diǎn)好玩--雖然是病態(tài)的好玩，跟我們折磨昆蟲的游戲有點(diǎn)相似。不過(guò)現(xiàn)在，他是螞蟻，而拿著放大鏡的人是我。

His eyes searched my face for a long time. We sat there, two boys under a sour cherry tree, suddenly looking, really looking, at each other. That's when it happened again: Hassan's face changed. Maybe not "changed", not really, but suddenly I had the feeling I was looking at two faces, the one I knew, the one that was my first memory, and another, a second face, this one lurking just beneath the surface. I'd seen it happen before--it always shook me up a little. It just appeared, this other face, for a fraction of a moment, long enough to leave me with the unsettling feeling that maybe I'd seen it someplace before. Then Hassan blinked and it was just him again. Just Hassan.
他久久看著我的臉。我們坐在那兒，兩個(gè)男孩，坐在一棵酸櫻桃樹下，突然間我們看著，真的看著對(duì)方。就在那時(shí)，哈桑的臉又變了。也許沒(méi)有變，不是真的變了，但我瞬間覺(jué)得自己看到了兩張臉，一張是我認(rèn)得的，我從小熟悉的；另外一張，第二張，就隱藏在表層之下。我曾經(jīng)看到過(guò)他的臉色變化--總是嚇我一跳，它每次出現(xiàn)不過(guò)驚鴻一瞥，但足以讓我疑惑不安，覺(jué)得自己也許曾在什么地方見(jiàn)到過(guò)。隨后，哈桑眨眨眼，他又是他了，只是哈桑了。

"If you asked, I would,"he finally said, looking right at me. I dropped my eyes. To this day, I find it hard to gaze directly at people like Hassan, people who mean every word they say.
"如果你要求，我會(huì)的。"他終于說(shuō)，眼睛直看著我。我垂下眼光，時(shí)至今日，我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己很難直視像哈桑這樣的人，這種說(shuō)出的每個(gè)字都當(dāng)真的人。

"But I wonder,"he added. "Would you ever ask me to do such a thing, Amir agha?" And, just like that, he had thrown at me his own little test. If I was going to toy with him and challenge his loyalty, then he'd toy with me, test my integrity.
"不過(guò)我懷疑，"他補(bǔ)充說(shuō)，"你是否會(huì)讓我這么做。你會(huì)嗎，阿米爾少爺?"就這樣，輪到他考驗(yàn)我了。如果我繼續(xù)戲弄他，考驗(yàn)他的忠誠(chéng)，那么他會(huì)戲弄我，考驗(yàn)我的正直。

I wished I hadn't started this conversation. I forced a smile. "Don't be stupid, Hassan. You know I wouldn't."
要是我沒(méi)有開始這場(chǎng)對(duì)話就好了!我勉強(qiáng)露出一個(gè)笑臉，"別傻了，哈桑，你知道我不會(huì)的。"

Hassan returned the smile. Except his didn't look forced. "I know," he said. And that's the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.
哈桑報(bào)我以微笑，不過(guò)他并非強(qiáng)顏歡笑。"我知道。"他說(shuō)。這就是那些一諾千金的人的作風(fēng)，以為別人也和他們一樣。

"Here it comes," Hassan said, pointing to the sky. He rose to his feet and walked a few paces to his left. I looked up, saw the kite plummeting toward us. I heard footfalls, shouts, an approaching melee of kite runners. But they were wasting their time. Because Hassan stood with his arms wide open, smiling, waiting for the kite. And may God--if He exists, that is--strike me blind if the kite didn't just drop into his outstretched arms.
"風(fēng)箏來(lái)了。"哈桑說(shuō)，指向天空，他站起身來(lái)，朝左邊走了幾步。我抬頭，望見(jiàn)風(fēng)箏正朝我們一頭扎下來(lái)。我聽見(jiàn)腳步聲，叫喊聲，一群追風(fēng)箏的人正鬧哄哄向這邊跑來(lái)。但他們只是白費(fèi)時(shí)間。因?yàn)楣Ｄ槑⑿?，張開雙手，站在那兒等著風(fēng)箏。除非真主--如果他存在的話--弄瞎了我的眼，不然風(fēng)箏一定會(huì)落進(jìn)他張開的臂彎里。

IN THE WINTER OF 1975, I saw Hassan run a kite for the last time.
1975年冬天，我最后一次看到哈桑追風(fēng)箏。