残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(54)
日期:2014-10-24 10:29

(单词翻译:单击)

双语小说

THAT NIGHT I asked Baba if we could go to Jalalabad on Friday. He was rocking on the leather swivel chair behind his desk, reading a newspaper. He put it down, took off the reading glasses I disliked so much--Baba wasn’t old, not at all, and he had lots of years left to live, so why did he have to wear those stupid glasses?
“Why not!” he said. Lately, Baba agreed to everything I asked. Not only that, just two nights before, he’d asked me if I wanted to see _El Cid_ with Charlton Heston at Cinema Aryana. “Do you want to ask Hassan to come along to Jalalabad?”
Why did Baba have to spoil it like that? “He’s mazreez,” I said. Not feeling well.
“Really?” Baba stopped rocking in his chair. “What’s wrong with him?”
I gave a shrug and sank in the sofa by the fireplace. “He’s got a cold or something. Ali says he’s sleeping it off.”
“I haven’t seen much of Hassan the last few days,” Baba said. “That’s all it is, then, a cold?” I couldn’t help hating the way his brow furrowed with worry.
“Just a cold. So are we going Friday, Baba?”
“Yes, yes,” Baba said, pushing away from the desk. “Too bad about Hassan. I thought you might have had more fun if he came.”
“Well, the two of us can have fun together,” I said. Baba smiled. Winked. “Dress warm,” he said.
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN just the two of us--that was the way, I wanted it--but by Wednesday night, Baba had managed to invite another two dozen people. He called his cousin Homayoun--he was actually Baba’s second cousin--and mentioned he was going to Jalalabad on Friday, and Homayoun, who had studied engineering in France and had a house in Jalalabad, said he’d love to have everyone over, he’d bring the kids, his two wives, and, while he was at it, cousin Shafiqa and her family were visiting from Herat, maybe she’d like to tag along, and since she was staying with cousin Nader in Kabul, his family would have to be invited as well even though Homayoun and Nader had a bit of a feud going, and if Nader was invited, surely his brother Faruq had to be asked too or his feelings would be hurt and he might not invite them to his daughter’s wedding next month and...
We filled three vans. I rode with Baba, Rahim Khan, Kaka Homayoun--Baba had taught me at a young age to call any older male Kaka, or Uncle, and any older female, Khala, or Aunt. Kaka Homayoun’s two wives rode with us too--the pinch-faced older one with the warts on her hands and the younger one who always smelled of perfume and danced with her eyes close--as did Kaka Homayoun’s twin girls. I sat in the back row, carsick and dizzy, sandwiched between the seven-year-old twins who kept reaching over my lap to slap at each other. The road to Jalalabad is a two-hour trek through mountain roads winding along a steep drop, and my stomach lurched with each hairpin turn. Everyone in the van was talking, talking loudly and at the same time, nearly shrieking, which is how Afghans talk. I asked one of the twins--Fazila or Karima, I could never tell which was which--if she’d trade her window seat with me so I could get fresh air on account of my car sickness. She stuck her tongue out and said no. I told her that was fine, but I couldn’t be held accountable for vomiting on her new dress. A minute later, I was leaning out the window. I watched the cratered road rise and fall, whirl its tail around the mountainside, counted the multicolored trucks packed with squatting men lumbering past. I tried closing my eyes, letting the wind slap at my cheeks, opened my mouth to swallow the clean air. I still didn’t feel better. A finger poked me in the side. It was Fazila/Karima.
“What?” I said.
“I was just telling everyone about the tournament,” Baba said from behind the wheel. Kaka Homayoun and his wives were smiling at me from the middle row of seats.
当天夜里,我问爸爸可不可以在星期五带我去贾拉拉巴德 。他坐在办公桌后面的皮转椅上,看着报纸。他把报纸放下,摘下那副我很讨厌的老花镜。爸爸又不老,一点都不老,还有好多年可以活,可是他干吗要戴那副愚蠢的眼镜啊?
“当然可以!”他说。最近,爸爸对我有求必应。不止这些,两个晚上之前,他还问我要不要去亚雅纳电影院看查尔顿?赫斯顿主演的《万世英雄》。“你想让哈桑跟着去贾拉拉巴德吗?”
为什么爸爸总是如此扫兴呢?“他不舒服。”我说。
“真的?”爸爸仍坐在椅子上,“他怎么啦?”
我耸耸肩,在火炉边的沙发坐下来。“他可能感冒了或者什么吧。阿里说他每天总是在睡觉。”
“这几天我很少见到哈桑。”爸爸说,“仅仅是这样吗?感冒?”看到他双眉紧蹙,忧虑溢于言表,我十分不满。
“只是感冒而已啦,我们星期五去,是吗,爸爸?”
“是,是,”爸爸说,推着书桌站起来,“哈桑不能去,太糟糕了。我想他要是能去,你会更加开心的。”
“好吧,我们两个也可以很开心啊。”我说。爸爸笑着,眨眨眼,“穿暖和些。”
本来就应该只有我们两个——我就希望这样——但星期三那夜,爸爸设法邀请了另外二十来个人。他打电话给他堂弟霍玛勇——实际上他是爸爸第二个堂弟——说星期五会到贾拉拉巴德去。霍玛勇曾在法国进修机械工程,如今在贾拉拉巴德有座房子,他说欢迎大家都去,他会带上他的孩子和两个老婆。还有,雪菲嘉表姐和家人从赫拉特到访,目前还在,或许她也想一起去。而这次雪菲嘉来喀布尔住在表哥纳德家,所以也得邀请他们一家,虽然霍玛勇跟纳德向来不和。倘使邀请了纳德,自然也得请他的哥哥法拉克,要不就伤害到他的感情了,并且下个月他们的女儿结婚,可能会因此不邀请霍玛勇……
我们坐满了三辆旅行车。我跟爸爸、拉辛汗、霍玛勇“卡卡”搭一辆车——小时候爸爸教我管男性长辈叫“卡卡”,也就是叔叔伯伯,管女性长辈叫“卡哈拉”,也就是姑姑阿姨。霍玛勇叔叔的两个老婆也跟我们一起——较老那个满脸皱纹,手上长着肉瘤;较年轻那个则浑身散发着香水的味道,跳舞的时候老闭着眼睛——还有霍玛勇叔叔那对双胞胎女儿。我坐在最后一排,晕车并且头昏眼花,被那对双胞胎夹在中间,她们不停地越过我的膝盖,相互拍打。通往贾拉拉巴德的是条盘旋的山路,要两个小时的颠簸才能走完,车每次急转都会让我的胃翻江倒海。车里每个人都在说话,同时大声说话,近乎叫喊,这是阿富汗人交谈的方式。我问了双胞胎中的一个——法茜拉或者卡丽玛,我总是分不清她们谁是谁——问她愿不愿意让我换到窗边的位置去,因为我晕车,需要呼吸一点新鲜空气。她伸了伸舌头,说不。我告诉她无所谓,不过我也许会呕吐,弄脏她的新衣服。隔了一会儿,我把头伸出车窗外面。我看见路面坑坑洼洼,高低起伏,盘旋着消失在山那边;数着从我们车边经过的货车,它们五颜六色,载满喧哗的乘客,蹒跚前进。我试图合上双眼,让风扑打我的脸颊;我张开嘴巴,大口大口吸着干净的空气,但仍没有觉得好一些。有人用手指戳了我一下,是法茜拉或者卡丽玛。
“干吗?”我说。
“我刚把风筝比赛的事情跟大家说了!”爸爸坐在驾驶座上说。霍玛勇叔叔和他两个老婆坐在中间那排,朝我微笑。

作品周边

内容简介
12岁的阿富汗富家少爷阿米尔与仆人哈桑情同手足。然而,在一场风筝比赛后,发生了一件悲惨不堪的事,阿米尔为自己的懦弱感到自责和痛苦,逼走了哈桑,不久,自己也跟随父亲逃往美国。

成年后的阿米尔始终无法原谅自己当年对哈桑的背叛。为了赎罪,阿米尔再度踏上暌违二十多年的故乡,希望能为不幸的好友尽最后一点心力,却发现一个惊天谎言,儿时的噩梦再度重演,阿米尔该如何抉择?

故事如此残忍而又美丽,作者以温暖细腻的笔法勾勒人性的本质与救赎,读来令人荡气回肠。

作者简介
卡勒德·胡赛尼(Khaled Hosseini),1965年生于阿富汗喀布尔市,后随父亲迁往美国。胡赛尼毕业于加州大学圣地亚哥医学系,现居加州。“立志拂去蒙在阿富汗普通民众面孔的尘灰,将背后灵魂的悸动展示给世人。”著有小说《追风筝的人》(The Kite Runner,2003)、《灿烂千阳》(A Thousand Splendid Suns,2007)、《群山回唱》(And the Mountains Echoed,2013)。作品全球销量超过4000万册。2006年,因其作品巨大的国际影响力,胡赛尼获得联合国人道主义奖,并受邀担任联合国难民署亲善大使。
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热门评论
对友谊最大的误解,就是认为它是万能的(来自豆瓣网友:谢长留)
  我时常幻想自己是来自未来的,这样,有一天我面对未来某一时刻的突然变化,就会更从容,面对陈年往事也会更慷慨。但,我更适合平庸,如寻常人一样琐碎繁杂的生活,对时间的细枝末节斤斤计较。
  
  既然无法预知未来,那么人更多的开始依赖回忆,甚至靠那些零星琐碎的回忆支撑往后的日子,有些回忆很美好,有些回忆很心酸,有些回忆让人长大,有些回忆让人显得很无知,有些回忆慢慢泛黄,有些回忆仿佛就在昨天。有些故事也总是从儿时的回忆展开。
  
  我对阿富汗以及周边连年征战的国家和他们的历史毫无兴趣,对我而言,那里的人民是可怜的,那里的政府是可悲的,所以当《追风筝的人》这个故事一点一点展现在我面前的时候,我并没准备好接受一个平静的,也曾春暖花开,羊肉串香飘整条街的画面,更没想到那里的孩子也可以无忧无虑的追逐风筝。
  
  所以当身为少爷的阿米尔和他的仆人哈桑情同手足的画面一出现,所有读者不禁感叹,少年时的友谊是那么充满力量,干净而持久的。他们总是并肩而行,每当阿米尔被人欺负的时候,哈桑总是义无反顾的站出来保护,很多人说这是哈桑天生的奴性,这种观点我不赞同,我看见他们之间分明有一道友谊的光芒在闪耀。
  
  当阿米尔问哈桑为什么确定自己一定会知道被切断绳线的风筝的掉落地的时候,哈桑肯定的对阿米尔说,我就是知道,然后反问,我什么时候骗过你。阿米尔轻声说,我怎么知道有没有骗过我。哈桑发誓,为了你,我宁可啃烂泥。阿米尔进一步确定,你真的会为我啃烂泥?哈桑坚定的说,我肯定,然后又说,但是你又怎么能忍心让我啃烂泥。所以读者心中所向往的也就是我们每个人心中那个潮湿的童年印象,总是和自己最亲密的伙伴,席地而坐,互相盟誓,发誓为对方,甘愿上刀山下火海。就如同哈桑洋溢着笑脸对阿米尔说的那样:为你,千千万万遍。
  
  然而事实上却是这样的:他是主人,他是仆人;他是普什图,他是哈扎拉;他是逊尼派,他是什叶派,从他们出生的那一刻起,他们的命运就被这些他们所不能理解的标签所分隔开来,尽管他们是亲密无间的朋友,尽管他们事实上拥有同一位父亲。无论是平凡的阿米尔和哈桑,还是高高在上的查希尔国王或者卡尔扎伊,都不得不接受社会为他们预定的座位——阿米尔不再是阿米尔,哈桑也不再是哈桑,他们必须戴上社会分给他们的面具。
  
  哈桑总是说“为你,千千万万遍”,而生性懦弱的阿米尔却选择沉默冷酷的逃避,这样的悲剧性结果并不单单是个性差异所造成的,在这些年少无知的孩子的潜意识里早已被灌输了相应于自身社会地位的“应该”与“不应该”,一个哈扎拉仆人理应为主人尽忠,而高贵的普什图少爷不值得为一个卑贱的哈扎拉仆人冒任何风险。
  
  “阿米尔和哈桑,喀布尔的统治者”,这样的誓言只能是石榴树下的童话,“王子与贫儿”不可能成为兄弟,因为他们命中注定不平等。包括二十年后,阿米尔重返阿富汗的自我救赎行为,也只不过是在获知自己与哈桑的同父异母兄弟关系之后对身世的无奈认可,也就是说,他仍然没有证明自己已经找到了“重新成为好人的路”。
  
  我们少年的时候,总是意气风发,三五结伴,促膝长谈。那是在我们其乐融融的环境中构建的虚拟场景,属于物理学讲究的理想状态,然而在残酷的现实面前,在微弱的友谊遇到挑战的时刻,只要有一方露出破绽,友谊的桥梁必然坍塌。
  
  于是当阿米尔在看到哈桑被大一些的孩子欺负甚至猥亵的时候,他选择沉默和逃避;与此同时,哈桑却为了阿米尔的风筝坚定不动摇的和对手较量,对手残忍的揭示阿米尔和哈桑之间的主仆关系,哈桑大声反驳说两个人是朋友。躲在角落里不敢出现的阿米尔听到这句话不但没有一点激励也没有丝毫感动,他心底里的怯懦终于将他的灵魂吞噬,于是悲剧发生。
  
  这就是我们对友谊最大的误解,认为它是万能的。
  
  即使是存在这样的问题,《追风筝的人》也还是一本出色的小说。主和仆、贵族和贱民、朋友和兄弟,历史和现实,种种转变都被刻画得生动而细腻。放在历史的宏大背景下,更洞见人生和人性的复杂。
  
  友谊和爱。
  
  是在困难之中由弱变强的柔韧派还是在权衡利弊之中土崩瓦解的懦弱派。
  
  谁敢真的站出来举起右手发誓,我从来没有辜负过任何一段纯粹的友谊,谁敢真的抬头挺胸说自己对朋友忠心不二。
  
  我们总是太自信,对友谊误解,对自己的爱误解,对不可能的事信以为真。

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重点单词
  • havenn. 港口,避难所,安息所 v. 安置 ... 于港中,
  • tournamentn. 比赛,锦标赛,(中世纪的)骑士比武
  • shrugn. 耸肩 v. 耸肩
  • countedvt. 计算;认为 vi. 计数;有价值 n. 计数;计
  • runnern. 赛跑的人,跑步者
  • swallown. 燕子,吞咽,一次吞咽的量 vt. 吞下,咽下,忍受
  • wheeln. 轮子,车轮,方向盘,周期,旋转 vi. 旋转,转动
  • leathern. 皮革,皮制品 adj. 皮革制的 vt. 用皮革覆
  • steepadj. 陡峭的,险峻的,(价格)过高的 n. 陡坡
  • spoiln. 战利品,奖品 v. 宠坏,溺爱,破坏,腐坏