雙語名著·追風(fēng)箏的人 The Kite Runner(159)

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(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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“Someone on the street said why don’t you put the bag on the donkey? And he said, “That would be cruel, I’m heavy enough already for the poor thing.” We exchanged Mullah Nasruddin jokes until we ran out of them and we fell silent again.
“Amir agha?” Farid said, startling me from near sleep.
“Yes?”
“Why are you here? I mean, why are you really here?”
“I told you.”
“For the boy?”
“For the boy.”Farid shifted on the ground. “It’s hard to believe.”
“Sometimes I myself can hardly believe I’m here.”
“No... What I mean to ask is why that boy? You come all the way from America for... a Shi’a?”
That killed all the laughter in me. And the sleep. “I am tired,” I said. “Let’s just get some sleep.”
Farid’s snoring soon echoed through the empty room. I stayed awake, hands crossed on my chest, staring into the starlit night through the broken window, and thinking that maybe what people said about Afghanistan was true. Maybe it was a hopeless place.
A BUSTLING CROWD was filling Ghazi Stadium when we walked through the entrance tunnels. Thousands of people milled about the tightly packed concrete terraces. Children played in the aisles and chased each other up and down the steps. The scent of garbanzo beans in spicy sauce hung in the air, mixed with the smell of dung and sweat. Farid and I walked past street peddlers selling cigarettes, pine nuts, and biscuits.
A scrawny boy in a tweed jacket grabbed my elbow and spoke into my ear. Asked me if I wanted to buy some “sexy pictures.”
“Very sexy, Agha,” he said, his alert eyes darting side to side-- reminding me of a girl who, a few years earlier, had tried to sell me crack in the Tenderloin district in San Francisco. The kid peeled one side of his jacket open and gave me a fleeting glance of his sexy pictures: postcards of Hindi movies showing doe-eyed sultry actresses, fully dressed, in the arms of their leading men. “So sexy,” he repeated.
“Nay, thanks,” I said, pushing past him.

“有個路人問，你為什么不把袋子放在驢背上呢？他說：”那太殘忍了，我已經(jīng)壓得這可憐的東西不堪重負(fù)。一‘我們輪流說著納斯魯丁毛拉的笑話，全都講完之后，我們再次陷入了沉默。
“阿米爾老爺？”法里德說，驚醒睡意蒙嚨的我。
“怎么？”
“你為什么到這里來呢？我是說，你為什么真的到這里來呢？”
“我告訴過你。”
“為了那個男孩？”
“為了那個男孩。”法里德在地上翻身，“真叫人難以相信。”
“有時候，我也無法相信自己竟然來到這里。”
“不……我想問的是，為什么是那個男孩？你從美國漂洋過海，就為了……一個什葉派信徒？”
這句話讓我再也笑不出來，睡意全消。 “我累了?！蔽艺f，“我們睡覺吧?！狈ɡ锏碌镊暫?br />快在空蕩蕩的房間響起。我睡不著，雙手交叉放在胸前，透過那扇破窗，望著星光閃閃的夜空，想起人們對阿富汗的評論，也許那是對的。也許它是一個沒有希望的地方。
我們走進(jìn)伽茲體育館入口通道的時候，喧嘩的人群正在紛紛入座。階梯狀的水泥看臺上擠滿了幾千人。兒童在過道嬉鬧，上下追逐?？諝庵猩l(fā)著辣醬鷹嘴豆的味道，還有動物糞便和汗水的臭味。法里德和我走過那些兜售香煙、松子和餅干的小販。
有個骨瘦如柴的男孩身穿斜紋呢夾克，抓住我的胳膊，在我耳邊低語。他問我要不要買些“性感的圖片 ”。
“非常誘人，老爺。”他說，機(jī)警的眼睛四下掃視——讓我想起一個女孩，早幾年的時候，在舊金山田德龍區(qū)街頭，她竭力勸我買毒品。那男孩拉開夾克的一邊，讓我匆匆看一眼他的性感圖片：印度電影的明信片，上面是媚眼如絲的女演員，穿著全套衣服，躺在男人懷里。 “多么性感?！彼貜?fù)說。
“不了，謝謝?！蔽艺f，把他推開，繼續(xù)走。