雙語名著·追風箏的人 The Kite Runner(96)

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，作者以溫暖細膩的筆法勾勒人性的本質與救贖，讀來令人蕩氣回腸。

下面就跟小編一起來欣賞雙語名著·追風箏的人 The Kite Runner(96)的精彩內容吧！

“We are honored to welcome the son of a man such as yourself into our family,” he said. “Your reputation precedes you. I was your humble admirer in Kabul and remain so today. We are honored that your family and ours will be joined.
“Amirjan, as for you, I welcome you to my home as a son, as the husband of my daughter who is the noor of my eye. Your pain will be our pain, your joy our joy. I hope that you will come to see your Khala Jamila and me as a second set of parents, and I pray for your and our lovely Soraya jan’s happiness. You both have our blessings.”
Everyone applauded, and with that signal, heads turned toward the hallway. The moment I’d waited for.
Soraya appeared at the end. Dressed in a stunning winecolored traditional Afghan dress with long sleeves and gold trimmings. Baba’s hand took mine and tightened. Khanum Taheri burst into fresh tears. Slowly, Soraya caine to us, tailed by a procession of young female relatives.She kissed my father’s hands. Sat beside me at last, her eyes downcast.The applause swelled.
ACCORDING TO TRADITION, Soraya’s family would have thrown the engagement party the Shirini-khori---or “Eating of the Sweets” ceremony. Then an engagement period would have followed which would have lasted a few months. Then the wedding, which would be paid for by Baba.
We all agreed that Soraya and I would forgo the Shirini-khori. Everyone knew the reason, so no one had to actually say it: that Baba didn’t have months to live.
Soraya and I never went out alone together while preparations for the wedding proceeded--since we weren’t married yet, hadn’t even had a Shirini-khori, it was considered improper. So I had to make do with going over to the Taheris with Baba for dinner. Sit across from Soraya at the dinner table. Imagine what it would be like to feel her head on my chest, smell her hair. Kiss her. Make love to her.
Baba spent $35,000, nearly the balance of his life savings, on the awroussi, the wedding ceremony. He rented a large Afghan banquet hail in Fremont--the man who owned it knew him from Kabul and gave him a substantial discount. Baba paid for the ??chi las, our matching wedding bands, and for the diamond ring I picked out. He bought my tuxedo, and my traditional green suit for the nika--the swearing ceremony. For all the frenzied preparations that went into the wedding night--most of it, blessedly, by Khanum Taheri and her friends-- I remember only a handful of moments from it.
I remember our nika. We were seated around a table, Soraya and I dressed in green--the color of Islam, but also the color of spring and new beginnings. I wore a suit, Soraya (the only woman at the table) a veiled long-sleeved dress. Baba, General Taheri (in a tuxedo this time), and several of Soraya’s uncles were also present at the table. Soraya and I looked down, solemnly respectful, casting only sideway glances at each other. The mullah questioned the witnesses and read from the Koran. We said our oaths. Signed the certificates. One of Soraya’s uncles from Virginia, Sharif jan, Khanum Taheri’s brother, stood up and cleared his throat. Soraya had told me that he had lived in the U.S. for more than twenty years. He worked for the INS and had an American wife. He was also a poet. A small man with a birdlike face and fluffy hair, he read a lengthy poem dedicated to Soraya, jotted down on hotel stationery paper. “Wah wah, Sharifjan!” everyone exclaimed when he finished.
I remember walking toward the stage, now in my tuxedo, Soraya a veiled pan in white, our hands locked. Baba hobbled next to me, the general and his wife beside their daughter. A procession of uncles, aunts, and cousins followed as we made our way through the hail, parting a sea of applauding guests, blinking at flashing cameras. One of Soraya’s cousins, Sharif jan’s son, held a Koran over our heads as we inched along. The wedding song, ahesta boro, blared from the speakers, the same song the Russian soldier at the Mahipar checkpoint had sung the night Baba and I left Kabul:Make morning into a key and throw it into the well,Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly. Let the morning sun forget to rise in the east, Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.
I remember sitting on the sofa, set on the stage like a throne, Soraya’s hand in mine, as three hundred or so faces looked on. We did Ayena Masshaf, where they gave us a mirror and threw a veil over our heads, so we’d be alone to gaze at each other’s reflection. Looking at Soraya’s smiling face in that mirror, in the momentary privacy of the veil, I whispered to her for the first time that I loved her. A blush, red like henna, bloomed on her cheeks.
I picture colorful platters of chopan kabob, sholeh-goshti, and wild-orange rice. I see Baba between us on the sofa, smiling. I remember sweat-drenched men dancing the traditional attan in a circle, bouncing, spinning faster and faster with the feverish tempo of the tabla, until all but a few dropped out of the ring with exhaustion. I remember wishing Rahim Khan were there. And I remember wondering if Hassan too had married. And if so, whose face he had seen in the mirror under the veil? Whose henna-painted hands had he held?

“像你這樣的男人的兒子成為我們的家人，我們很榮幸?！彼f，“你聲譽卓著，在喀布爾，我就是你謙卑的崇拜者，今天也是如此。你家和我家結成姻親，這讓我們覺得榮幸?！?br />“親愛的阿米爾，至于你，我歡迎你到我的家里來，你是我們的女婿，是我掌上明珠的丈夫。今后我們休戚與共。我希望你能夠將親愛的雅米拉和我當成你的父母，我會為你和親愛的索拉雅禱告，愿你們幸福。我們祝福你們倆。 ”
每個人鼓起掌來，在掌聲中，人們把頭轉向走廊。那一刻我等待已久。索拉雅在那端出現(xiàn)。
她穿著酒紅色的傳統(tǒng)阿富汗服裝，長長的袖子，配著黃金鑲飾，真是驚艷奪目。爸爸緊緊抓著我的手。塔赫里太太又哭了。索拉雅慢慢地向我們走來，身后跟著一群年輕的女性親戚。她親了親爸爸的手。終于坐在我身邊，眼光低垂。掌聲響起。
根據(jù)傳統(tǒng)，索拉雅家里會舉辦訂婚宴會，也就是所謂“食蜜”儀式。之后是訂婚期，一連持續(xù)幾個月。隨后是婚禮，所有費用將由爸爸支付。
我們全部人都同意索拉雅和我省略掉“食蜜”儀式。原因大家都知道，雖然沒人真的說出來：爸爸沒幾個月好活了。
在籌備婚禮期間，索拉雅和我從無獨處的機會——因為我們還沒有結婚，甚至連訂婚都沒有，那于禮不合。所以我只好滿足于跟爸爸一起，到塔赫里家用晚餐。晚餐桌上，索拉雅坐在我對面。我想像著她把頭放在我胸膛上，聞著她的秀發(fā)，那該是什么感覺呢？我想像著親吻她，跟她做愛。
為了婚禮，爸爸花了三萬五千美元，那幾乎是他畢生的積蓄。他在弗里蒙特租了個很大的阿富汗宴會廳，老板是他在喀布爾的舊識，給了他優(yōu)惠的折扣。爸爸請來了樂隊，給我挑選的鉆石戒指付款，給我買燕尾服，還有在誓約儀式要穿的傳統(tǒng)綠色套裝。在為婚禮之夜所做的全部亂糟糟的準備一幸好多數(shù)由塔赫里太太和她的朋友幫忙——中，我只記得屈指可數(shù)的幾件事。
我記得我們的誓約儀式。大家圍著一張桌子坐下，索拉雅和我穿著綠色的衣服——伊斯蘭的顏色，但也是春天和新起點的顏色。我穿著套裝，索拉雅（桌子上惟一的女子）蒙著面，穿長袖衣服。爸爸、塔赫里將軍（這回他穿著燕尾服）還有索拉雅幾個叔伯舅舅也坐在桌子上。索拉雅和我低著頭，表情神圣而莊重，只能偷偷斜視對方。毛拉向證人提問，讀起《可蘭經(jīng)》。我們發(fā)誓，在結婚證書上簽名。索拉雅的舅舅，塔赫里太太的兄弟，來自弗吉尼亞，站起來，清清他的喉嚨。索拉雅曾告訴過我，他在美國生活已經(jīng)超過二十年。他在移民局工作，娶了個美國老婆。他還是個詩人，個子矮小，鳥兒似的臉龐，頭發(fā)蓬松。他念了一首獻給索拉雅的長詩，那是草草寫在酒店的信紙上?！巴?！哇！親愛的沙利夫！ ”他一念完，每個人都歡呼起來。
我記得走向臺上的情景，當時我穿著燕尾服，索拉雅蒙著面，穿著白色禮服，我們挽著手。爸爸緊挨著我，將軍和他太太在他們的女兒那邊，身后跟著一群親戚，我們走向宴會廳。兩旁是鼓掌喝彩的賓客，還有閃個不停的鏡頭。我和索拉雅并排站著，她的表弟，親愛的沙利夫的兒子，在我們頭上舉起《可蘭經(jīng)》。揚聲器傳來婚禮歌謠，慢慢走，就是爸爸和我離開喀布爾那天晚上，瑪希帕檢查站那個俄國兵唱的那首。將清晨化成鑰匙，扔到水井去慢慢走，我心愛的月亮，慢慢走讓朝陽忘記從東方升起慢慢走，我心愛的月亮，慢慢走
我記得我們坐在沙發(fā)上，舞臺上那對沙發(fā)好像王位，索拉雅拉著我的手，大約三百位客人注視著我們。我們舉行另外的儀式。在那兒，人們拿給我們一面鏡子，在我們頭上覆上一條紗巾，留下我們兩個凝望彼此在鏡子中的容顏?？吹界R子中索拉雅笑靨如花，我第一次低聲對她說我愛她。一陣指甲花般的紅暈在她臉龐綻放。
我記得各色佳肴，有烤肉，燉肉飯，野橙子飯。我看見爸爸夾在我們兩個中間，坐在沙發(fā)上，面帶微笑。我記得渾身大汗的男人圍成一圈，跳著傳統(tǒng)舞蹈，他們跳躍著，在手鼓熱烈的節(jié)拍之下越轉越快，直到有人精疲力竭，退出那個圓圈。我記得我希望拉辛汗也在。并且，我還記得，我尋思哈桑是不是也結婚了。如果是的話，他蒙著頭巾，在鏡子中看到的那張臉是誰呢？他手里握著那涂了指甲花的手是誰的？