残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(121)
日期:2015-01-28 09:42
(单词翻译:单击)
Her good eye rolled to him. “I have walked long and far to see if you are as beautiful in the flesh as you are in my dreams. And you are. Even more.” She pulled his hand to her scarred face. “Smile for me. Please.”Hassan did and the old woman wept. “You smiled coming out of me, did anyone ever tell you? And I wouldn’t even hold you. Allah forgive me, I wouldn’t even hold you.”None of us had seen Sanaubar since she had eloped with a band of singers and dancers in 1964, just after she had given birth to Hassan. You never saw her, Amir, but in her youth, she was a vision. She had a dimpled smile and a walk that drove men crazy. No one who passed her on the street, be it a man or a woman, could look at her only once. And now...
Hassan dropped her hand and bolted out of the house. I went after him, but he was too fast. I saw him running up the hill where you two used to play, his feet kicking up plumes of dust. I let him go. I sat with Sanaubar all day as the sky went from bright blue to purple. Hassan still had not come back when night fell and moonlight bathed the clouds. Sanaubar cried that coming back had been a mistake, maybe even a worse one than leaving. But I made her stay. Hassan would return, I knew.He came back the next morning, looking tired and weary, like he had not slept all night. He took Sanaubar’s hand in both of his and told her she could cry if she wanted to but she needn’t, she was home now, he said, home with her family. He touched the scars on her face, and ran his hand through her hair.
Hassan and Farzana nursed her back to health. They fed her and washed her clothes. I gave her one of the guest rooms upstairs. Sometimes, I would look out the window into the yard and watch Hassan and his mother kneeling together, picking tomatoes or trimming a rosebush, talking. They were catching up on all the lost years, I suppose. As far as I know, he never asked where she had been or why she had left and she never told. I guess some stories do not need telling. It was Sanaubar who delivered Hassan’s son that winter of 1990. It had not started snowing yet, but the winter winds were blowing through the yards, bending the flowerbeds and rustling the leaves. I remember Sanaubar came out of the hut holding her grandson, had him wrapped in a wool blanket. She stood beaming under a dull gray sky tears streaming down her cheeks, the needle-cold wind blowing her hair, and clutching that baby in her arms like she never wanted to let go. Not this time. She handed him to Hassan and he handed him to me and I sang the prayer of Ayat-ul-kursi in that little boy’s ear. They named him Sohrab, after Hassan’s favorite hero from the _Shahnamah_, as you know, Amir jan. He was a beautiful little boy, sweet as sugar, and had the same temperament as his father. You should have seen Sanaubar with that baby, Amir jan. He became the center of her existence. She sewed clothes for him, built him toys from scraps of wood, rags, and dried grass. When he caught a fever, she stayed up all night, and fasted for three days. She burned isfand for him on a skillet to cast out nazar, the evil eye. By the time Sohrab was two, he was calling her Sasa. The two of them were inseparable.
“我走了很久很远，来看看你是否像我梦中见到那样英俊。你是的。甚至更好看。”她拉着他的手，贴近她伤痕累累的脸庞。“朝我笑一笑，求求你。”哈桑笑了，那个老妇人流出泪水。“你的笑是从我这里来的，有没有人告诉过你？而我甚至没有抱过你。愿安拉宽恕我，我甚至没有抱过你。”自从莎娜芭1964年刚生下哈桑不久就跟着一群艺人跑掉之后，我们再也没人见过她。你从来没见过她，阿米尔，但她年轻的时候，她是个美人。她微笑起来脸带酒窝，步履款款，令男人发狂。凡是在街上见到她的人，无论是男的还是女的，都会忍不住再看她一眼。而现在……
哈桑放下她的手，冲出房子。我跟着他后面，但他跑得太快了。我看见他跑上那座你们两个以前玩耍的山丘，他的脚步踢起阵阵尘土。我任他走开。我整天坐在莎娜芭身边，看着天空由澄蓝变成紫色。夜幕降临，月亮在云层中穿梭，哈桑仍没回来。莎娜芭哭着说回来是一个错误，也许比当年离家出走错得更加厉害。但我安抚她。哈桑会回来的，我知道。隔日早上他回来了，看上去疲累而憔悴，似乎彻夜未睡。他双手捧起莎娜芭的手，告诉她，如果她想哭就哭吧，但她不用哭，现在她在家里了，他说，在家里和家人在一起。他抚摸着她脸上的伤疤，把手伸进她的头发里面。
在哈桑和法莎娜照料下，她康复了。他们喂她吃饭，替她洗衣服。我让她住在楼上一间客房里面。有时我会从窗户望出去，看见哈桑和他母亲跪在院子里，摘番茄，或者修剪蔷薇篱笆，彼此交谈。他们在补偿所有失去的那些岁月，我猜想。就我所知，他从来没有问起她到哪里去了，或者为什么要离开，而她也没有说。我想有些事情不用说出来。1990年冬天，莎娜芭把哈桑的儿子接生出来。那时还没有下雪，但冬天的寒风呼啸着吹过院子，吹弯了苗圃里的花儿，吹落了树叶。我记得莎娜芭用一块羊毛毯抱着她的孙子，将他从小屋里面抱出来。她站在阴暗的灰色天空下，喜悦溢于言表，泪水从她脸上流下，刺人的寒风吹起她的头发，她死死抱着那个孩子，仿佛永远不肯放手。这次不会了。她把他交给哈桑，哈桑把他递给我，我在那个男婴耳边，轻轻唱起《可兰经》的经文。他们给他起名索拉博，那是《沙纳玛》里面哈桑最喜欢的英雄，你知道的，亲爱的阿米尔。他是个漂亮的小男孩，甜蜜得像糖一样，而性子跟他爸爸毫无二致。你应该看看莎娜芭带那个孩子，亲爱的阿米尔。他变成她生活的中心，她给他缝衣服，用木块、破布和稻秆给他做玩具。他要是发热，她会整晚睡不着，斋戒三天。她在锅里烧掉一本回历，说是驱走魔鬼的眼睛。索拉博两岁的时候，管她叫“莎莎”。他们两个形影不离。
Hassan dropped her hand and bolted out of the house. I went after him, but he was too fast. I saw him running up the hill where you two used to play, his feet kicking up plumes of dust. I let him go. I sat with Sanaubar all day as the sky went from bright blue to purple. Hassan still had not come back when night fell and moonlight bathed the clouds. Sanaubar cried that coming back had been a mistake, maybe even a worse one than leaving. But I made her stay. Hassan would return, I knew.He came back the next morning, looking tired and weary, like he had not slept all night. He took Sanaubar’s hand in both of his and told her she could cry if she wanted to but she needn’t, she was home now, he said, home with her family. He touched the scars on her face, and ran his hand through her hair.
Hassan and Farzana nursed her back to health. They fed her and washed her clothes. I gave her one of the guest rooms upstairs. Sometimes, I would look out the window into the yard and watch Hassan and his mother kneeling together, picking tomatoes or trimming a rosebush, talking. They were catching up on all the lost years, I suppose. As far as I know, he never asked where she had been or why she had left and she never told. I guess some stories do not need telling. It was Sanaubar who delivered Hassan’s son that winter of 1990. It had not started snowing yet, but the winter winds were blowing through the yards, bending the flowerbeds and rustling the leaves. I remember Sanaubar came out of the hut holding her grandson, had him wrapped in a wool blanket. She stood beaming under a dull gray sky tears streaming down her cheeks, the needle-cold wind blowing her hair, and clutching that baby in her arms like she never wanted to let go. Not this time. She handed him to Hassan and he handed him to me and I sang the prayer of Ayat-ul-kursi in that little boy’s ear. They named him Sohrab, after Hassan’s favorite hero from the _Shahnamah_, as you know, Amir jan. He was a beautiful little boy, sweet as sugar, and had the same temperament as his father. You should have seen Sanaubar with that baby, Amir jan. He became the center of her existence. She sewed clothes for him, built him toys from scraps of wood, rags, and dried grass. When he caught a fever, she stayed up all night, and fasted for three days. She burned isfand for him on a skillet to cast out nazar, the evil eye. By the time Sohrab was two, he was calling her Sasa. The two of them were inseparable.
“我走了很久很远，来看看你是否像我梦中见到那样英俊。你是的。甚至更好看。”她拉着他的手，贴近她伤痕累累的脸庞。“朝我笑一笑，求求你。”哈桑笑了，那个老妇人流出泪水。“你的笑是从我这里来的，有没有人告诉过你？而我甚至没有抱过你。愿安拉宽恕我，我甚至没有抱过你。”自从莎娜芭1964年刚生下哈桑不久就跟着一群艺人跑掉之后，我们再也没人见过她。你从来没见过她，阿米尔，但她年轻的时候，她是个美人。她微笑起来脸带酒窝，步履款款，令男人发狂。凡是在街上见到她的人，无论是男的还是女的，都会忍不住再看她一眼。而现在……
哈桑放下她的手，冲出房子。我跟着他后面，但他跑得太快了。我看见他跑上那座你们两个以前玩耍的山丘，他的脚步踢起阵阵尘土。我任他走开。我整天坐在莎娜芭身边，看着天空由澄蓝变成紫色。夜幕降临，月亮在云层中穿梭，哈桑仍没回来。莎娜芭哭着说回来是一个错误，也许比当年离家出走错得更加厉害。但我安抚她。哈桑会回来的，我知道。隔日早上他回来了，看上去疲累而憔悴，似乎彻夜未睡。他双手捧起莎娜芭的手，告诉她，如果她想哭就哭吧，但她不用哭，现在她在家里了，他说，在家里和家人在一起。他抚摸着她脸上的伤疤，把手伸进她的头发里面。
在哈桑和法莎娜照料下，她康复了。他们喂她吃饭，替她洗衣服。我让她住在楼上一间客房里面。有时我会从窗户望出去，看见哈桑和他母亲跪在院子里，摘番茄，或者修剪蔷薇篱笆，彼此交谈。他们在补偿所有失去的那些岁月，我猜想。就我所知，他从来没有问起她到哪里去了，或者为什么要离开，而她也没有说。我想有些事情不用说出来。1990年冬天，莎娜芭把哈桑的儿子接生出来。那时还没有下雪，但冬天的寒风呼啸着吹过院子，吹弯了苗圃里的花儿，吹落了树叶。我记得莎娜芭用一块羊毛毯抱着她的孙子，将他从小屋里面抱出来。她站在阴暗的灰色天空下，喜悦溢于言表，泪水从她脸上流下，刺人的寒风吹起她的头发，她死死抱着那个孩子，仿佛永远不肯放手。这次不会了。她把他交给哈桑，哈桑把他递给我，我在那个男婴耳边，轻轻唱起《可兰经》的经文。他们给他起名索拉博，那是《沙纳玛》里面哈桑最喜欢的英雄，你知道的，亲爱的阿米尔。他是个漂亮的小男孩，甜蜜得像糖一样，而性子跟他爸爸毫无二致。你应该看看莎娜芭带那个孩子，亲爱的阿米尔。他变成她生活的中心，她给他缝衣服，用木块、破布和稻秆给他做玩具。他要是发热，她会整晚睡不着，斋戒三天。她在锅里烧掉一本回历，说是驱走魔鬼的眼睛。索拉博两岁的时候，管她叫“莎莎”。他们两个形影不离。
重点单词
