雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(136)

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。

成年后的阿米爾始終無法原諒自己當(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，讀來令人蕩氣回腸。

下面就跟小編一起來欣賞雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(136)的精彩內(nèi)容吧！

“I feel like a tourist in my own country,” I said, taking in a goatherd leading a half-dozen emaciated goats along the side of the road.
Farid snickered. Tossed his cigarette. “You still think of this place as your country?”
“I think a part of me always will,” I said, more defensively than I had intended.
“After twenty years of living in America,” he said, swerving the truck to avoid a pothole the size of a beach ball.
I nodded. “I grew up in Afghanistan.” Farid snickered again.
“Why do you do that?”
“Never mind,” he murmured.
“No, I want to know. Why do you do that?” In his rearview mirror, I saw something flash in his eyes. “You want to know?” he sneered. “Let me imagine, Agha sahib. You probably lived in a big two- or three-story house with a nice back yard that your gardener filled with flowers and fruit trees. All gated, of course. Your father drove an American car. You had servants, probably Hazaras. Your parents hired workers to decorate the house for the fancy mehmanis they threw, so their friends would come over to drink and boast about their travels to Europe or America. And I would bet my first son’s eyes that this is the first time you’ve ever worn a pakol.” He grinned at me, revealing a mouthful of prematurely rotting teeth. “Am I close?”
“Why are you saying these things?” I said.
“Because you wanted to know,” he spat. He pointed to an old man dressed in ragged clothes trudging down a dirt path, a large burlap pack filled with scrub grass tied to his back. “That’s the real Afghanistan, Agha sahib. That’s the Afghanistan I know. You? You’ve always been a tourist here, you just didn’t know it.”
Rahim Khan had warned me not to expect a warm welcome in Afghanistan from those who had stayed behind and fought the wars. “I’m sorry about your father,” I said. “I’m sorry about your daughters, and I’m sorry about your hand.”
“That means nothing to me,” he said. He shook his head. “Why are you coming back here anyway? Sell off your Baba’s land? Pocket the money and run back to your mother in America?”
“My mother died giving birth to me,” I said. He sighed and lit another cigarette. Said nothing.
“Pull over.”
“What?”

“我回到自己的國家，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)自己像個(gè)游客。”我說。路邊有個(gè)牧人，領(lǐng)著幾只干瘦的山羊在趕路。
法里德冷笑，扔掉煙蒂，“你還把這個(gè)地方當(dāng)成國家？”
“我想有一部分的我永遠(yuǎn)會(huì)這么認(rèn)為?！蔽艺f，我的戒備之心出乎自己意料之外。
“在美國生活了二十年之后？”他說，打著方向盤，避開路上一個(gè)海灘球那么大的洞。
我點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭：“我在阿富汗長大?！狈ɡ锏掠掷湫?。
“你為什么這樣？”
“沒什么?！?br />“不，我想知道。你干嗎這樣？”借著他那邊的觀后鏡，我見到他眼里有神色閃動(dòng)?！澳阆胫?？”他嗤之以鼻，“我來想像一下，老爺。你也許生活在一座兩層或者三層的樓房，有個(gè)漂亮的后院，你的園丁給它種滿花草和果樹。當(dāng)然，門都鎖上了。你父親開美國車。你有仆人，估計(jì)是哈扎拉人。你的父母請(qǐng)來工人，裝潢他們舉辦宴會(huì)的房間，好讓他們的朋友前來飲酒喝茶，吹噓他們?cè)诿绹蜌W洲的游歷。而我敢拿我大兒子的眼睛打賭，這是你第一次戴氈帽。”他朝我咧嘴而笑，露出一口過早蛀蝕的牙齒，“我說的沒錯(cuò)吧？”
“你為什么要說這些呢？”我說。
“因?yàn)槟阆胫?，”他回嘴說。他指著一個(gè)衣裳襤褸的老人，背著裝滿柴草的麻袋，在泥土路上跋涉前進(jìn)。“那才是真正的阿富汗人，老爺，那才是我認(rèn)識(shí)的阿富汗人。你？在這里，你一直無非是個(gè)過客而已，只是你自己不知道罷了。”
拉辛汗警告過我，在阿富汗，別指望那些留下來戰(zhàn)斗的人會(huì)給我好臉色看?！拔覟槟愀赣H感到難過，”我說，“我為你女兒感到難過，我為你的手感到難過。 ”
“那對(duì)我來說沒有意義?！彼麚u搖頭說，“為什么無論如何，你們總是要回到這里呢？賣掉你們父親的土地？把錢放進(jìn)口袋，跑回美國找你們的媽媽？”
“我媽媽在生我的時(shí)候死了?！蔽艺f。他嘆氣，又點(diǎn)一根煙，一語不發(fā)。
“停車?！?br />“什么？”