雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(145)

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(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。

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“Snipers used to hide in them.”
A sadness came over me. Returning to Kabul was like running into an old, forgotten friend and seeing that life hadn’t been good to him, that he’d become homeless and destitute.
“My father built an orphanage in Shar-e-Kohna, the old city, south of here,” I said.
“I remember it,” Farid said. “It was destroyed a few years ago.”“Can you pull over?” I said. “I want to take a quick walk here.”Farid parked along the curb on a small backstreet next to a ramshackle, abandoned building with no door. “That used to be a pharmacy,” Farid muttered as we exited the truck. We walked back to Jadeh Maywand and turned right, heading west. “What’s that smell?” I said. Something was making my eyes water.“Diesel,” Farid replied. “The city’s generators are always going down, so electricity is unreliable, and people use diesel fuel.”“Diesel. Remember what this street smelled like in the old days?”Farid smiled. “Kabob.”“Lamb kabob,” I said.“Lamb,” Farid said, tasting the word in his mouth. “The only people in Kabul who get to eat lamb now are the Taliban.” He pulled on my sleeve. “Speaking of which...”
A vehicle was approaching us. “Beard Patrol,” Farid murmured.That was the first time I saw the Taliban. I’d seen them on TV on the Internet, on the cover of magazines, and in newspapers. But here I was now, less than fifty feet from them, telling myself that the sudden taste in my mouth wasn’t unadulterated, naked fear. Telling myself my flesh hadn’t suddenly shrunk against my bones and my heart wasn’t battering. Here they came. In all their glory.The red Toyota pickup truck idled past us. A handful of sternfaced young men sat on their haunches in the cab, Kalashnikovs slung on their shoulders. They all wore beards and black turbans. One of them, a dark-skinned man in his early twenties with thick, knitted eyebrows twirled a whip in his hand and rhythmically swatted the side of the truck with it. His roaming eyes fell on me. Held my gaze. I’d never felt so naked in my entire life. Then the Talib spat tobacco-stained spittle and looked away. I found I could breathe again. The truck rolled down Jadeh Maywand, leaving in its trail a cloud of dust.
“What is the matter with you?” Farid hissed.
“What?”

“樹上經(jīng)常躲著狙擊手?！?br />一陣悲哀向我襲來。重返喀布爾，猶如去拜訪一個(gè)多年未遇的老朋友，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)他潦倒凄戚，發(fā)現(xiàn)他無家可歸、身無分文。
“我爸爸過去在沙里諾區(qū)蓋了個(gè)恤孤院，舊城那邊，就在這里南面。”我說。
“我有印象，”法里德說， “它在幾年前被毀了。”“你可以停車嗎？”我說，“我想在這里走走，很快就好。”法里德把車停在一條小巷，旁邊有座搖搖欲墜的房子，沒有門?！澳沁^去是間藥房?！蔽覀兿萝嚂r(shí)法里德咕噥著說。我們走上雅德梅灣，轉(zhuǎn)右，朝西走去。“什么味道？”我說。某些東西熏得我眼淚直流?！安裼汀！狈ɡ锏禄卮鹫f，“這座城市的發(fā)電廠總是出毛病，用電得不到保證，人們燒柴油?！薄安裼汀Ｄ阌浀脧那斑@條街道散發(fā)著什么味道嗎？”法里德笑著說：“烤肉?！薄翱狙蚋崛狻！蔽艺f?！把蚋崛狻！狈ɡ锏抡f，舔了舔嘴唇?！艾F(xiàn)在喀布爾城里只有塔利班吃得上羊羔肉啦?！彼业囊滦?，“說起……”
一輛汽車朝我們開來?！按蠛友策夑?duì)?！狈ɡ锏碌吐曊f。那是我第一次見到塔利班。我在電視上、互聯(lián)網(wǎng)上、雜志封面上、報(bào)紙上見過他們。但如今我站在這里，離他們不到五十英尺，告訴自己心里突然涌起的并非純粹的赤裸裸的恐懼；告訴自己我的血肉沒有突然之間壓著我的骨頭，我的心跳沒有加速。他們來了，趾高氣揚(yáng)。紅色的豐田皮卡慢慢駛過我們。幾個(gè)臉色嚴(yán)峻的青年人蹲在車斗上，肩膀扛著俄制步槍。他們?nèi)剂糁蠛?，穿著黑色長袍。有個(gè)皮膚黝黑的家伙，看上去二十出頭，皺著一雙濃眉，手中揮舞著鞭子，有節(jié)奏地甩打車身一側(cè)。他溜轉(zhuǎn)的眼睛看見我，和我對望。終我一生，我從未覺得自己如此無遮無攔。接著那個(gè)塔利班吐了一口沾有煙絲的口水，眼睛移開。我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己又能呼吸了。皮卡沿雅德梅灣駛?cè)?，在車后卷起一陣塵霧。
“你怎么回事？”法里德噓聲說。
“什么？”