雙語(yǔ)名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(98)

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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Now the last of the mourners had paid their respects and the mosque was empty, save for the mullah unplugging the microphone and wrapping his Koran in green cloth. The general and I stepped out into a late-afternoon sun. We walked down the steps, past men smoking in clusters. I heard snippets of their conversations, a soccer game in Union City next weekend, a new Afghan restaurant in Santa Clara. Life moving on already, leaving Baba behind.
“How are you, bachem?” General Taheri said.I gritted my teeth. Bit back the tears that had threatened all day. “I’m going to find Soraya,” I said.
“Okay.”
I walked to the women’s side of the mosque. Soraya was standing on the steps with her mother and a couple of ladies I recognized vaguely from the wedding. I motioned to Soraya. She said something to her mother and came to me.
“Can we walk?” I said.
“Sure.” She took my hand.
We walked in silence down a winding gravel path lined by a row of low hedges. We sat on a bench and watched an elderly couple kneeling beside a grave a few rows away and placing a bouquet of daisies by the headstone. “Soraya?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to miss him.”
She put her hand on my lap. Baba’s chila glinted on her ring finger. Behind her, I could see Baba’s mourners driving away on Mission Boulevard. Soon we’d leave too, and for the first time ever, Baba would be all alone.
Soraya pulled me to her and the tears finally came.

最后一批哀悼者已經(jīng)致哀完畢，清真寺人去樓空，只有那個(gè)毛拉在收起麥克風(fēng)，用一塊綠布裹起《可蘭經(jīng)》。將軍和我走進(jìn)黃昏的陽(yáng)光中。我們走下臺(tái)階，走過(guò)一群吸煙的男人。我零星聽(tīng)到他們談話，下個(gè)周末在尤寧城有場(chǎng)足球賽，圣克拉拉新開(kāi)了一家阿富汗餐廳。生活已然在前進(jìn)，留下爸爸在后面。
“你怎么樣，我的孩子？ ”塔赫里將軍說(shuō)。我咬緊牙齒，將忍了一整天的淚水咽下?！拔胰フ宜骼??！蔽艺f(shuō)。
“好的?！?br />我走進(jìn)清真寺的女人區(qū)。索拉雅和她媽媽站在臺(tái)階上，還有幾個(gè)我似乎在婚禮上見(jiàn)過(guò)的女士。我朝索拉雅招招手。她跟母親說(shuō)了幾句話，向我走來(lái)。
“可以陪我走走嗎？”
“當(dāng)然。”她拉起我的手。我們沿著一條蜿蜒的碎石路，默默前行，旁邊有一排低矮的籬笆。
我們坐在長(zhǎng)凳上，看見(jiàn)不遠(yuǎn)處有對(duì)年老夫婦，跪在墓前，將一束雛菊放在墓碑上?！八骼?？”
“怎么了？”
“我開(kāi)始想他了?！?br />她把手放在我的膝蓋上。爸爸的戒指在她手上閃閃發(fā)亮。我能看到，在她身后，那些前來(lái)哀悼爸爸的人們駕車(chē)離開(kāi)，駛上傳教大道。很快，我們也會(huì)離開(kāi)，第一次，也是永遠(yuǎn)，留下爸爸孤獨(dú)一人。
索拉雅將我拉近，淚水終于掉下來(lái)。