“Pull over, goddamn it!” I said. “I’m going to be sick.” I tumbled out of the truck as it was coming to a rest on the gravel alongside the road.
BY LATE AFTERNOON, the terrain had changed from one of sun-beaten peaks and barren cliffs to a greener, more rural land scape. The main pass had descended from Landi Kotal through Shinwari territory to Landi Khana. We’d entered Afghanistan at Torkham. Pine trees flanked the road, fewer than I remembered and many of them bare, but it was good to see trees again after the arduous drive through the Khyber Pass. We were getting closer to Jalalabad, where Farid had a brother who would take us in for the night.
The sun hadn’t quite set when we drove into Jalalabad, capital of the state of Nangarhar, a city once renowned for its fruit and warm climate. Farid drove past the buildings and stone houses of the city’s central district. There weren’t as many palm trees there as I remembered, and some of the homes had been reduced to roofless walls and piles of twisted clay.Farid turned onto a narrow unpaved road and parked the Land Cruiser along a dried-up gutter. I slid out of the truck, stretched, and took a deep breath. In the old days, the winds swept through the irrigated plains around Jalalabad where farmers grew sugarcane, and impregnated the city’s air with a sweet scent. I closed my eyes and searched for the sweetness. I didn’t find it.“Let’s go,” Farid said impatiently. We walked up the dirt road past a few leafless poplars along a row of broken mud walls. Farid led me to a dilapidated one-story house and knocked on the woodplank door.
A young woman with ocean-green eyes and a white scarf draped around her face peeked out. She saw me first, flinched, spotted Farid and her eyes lit up. “Salaam alaykum, Kaka Farid!”“Salaam, Maryam jan,” Farid replied and gave her something he’d denied me all day: a warm smile. He planted a kiss on the top of her head. The young woman stepped out of the way, eyeing me a little apprehensively as I followed Farid into the small house.The adobe ceiling was low, the dirt walls entirely bare, and the only light came from a pair of lanterns set in a corner. We took off our shoes and stepped on the straw mat that covered the floor. Along one of the walls sat three young boys, cross-legged, on a mattress covered with a blanket with shredded borders. A tall bearded man with broad shoulders stood up to greet us. Farid and he hugged and kissed on the cheek. Farid introduced him to me as Wahid, his older brother. “He’s from America,” he said to Wahid, flicking his thumb toward me. He left us alone and went to greet the boys.
Wahid sat with me against the wall across from the boys, who had ambushed Farid and climbed his shoulders. Despite my protests, Wahid ordered one of the boys to fetch another blanket so I’d be more comfortable on the floor, and asked Maryam to bring me some tea. He asked about the ride from Peshawar, the drive over the Khyber Pass.
“I hope you didn’t come across any dozds,”
“停车，该死。”我说， “我要吐了。”车还没在路边的沙砾上停稳，我就吐了出来。
接近黄昏的时候，地形变了，从烈日灼烤的山峰和光秃秃的悬崖变成一派更翠绿的田园风光。大路从蓝地科托下降，穿过新瓦里地区，直达蓝地卡纳。我们从托尔坎[蓝地科托（ Landi Kotal）、新瓦里（ Shinwari）、蓝地卡纳（ LandiKhana）和托尔坎（ Torkham）均是开伯尔隘口沿途小镇]进入阿富汗。夹道相送的柏树比我记忆中少多了，但在经历开伯尔隘口那段乏味的旅途之后，再次看到树木，还是神情一振。我们正在接近贾拉拉巴特，法里德有个兄弟在那儿，我们会在他家过夜。
我们驶进贾拉拉巴特的时候，太阳还没有完全下山。这座城市是楠格哈尔省[Nangarhar，阿富汗省份 ]的首府，过去以温和的气候和水果闻名。法里德驶过市中心的楼宇和石头房子。那儿的棕榈树也没记忆中多，而有些房子已经变成几堵没有屋顶的墙壁、几堆杂乱的泥土。法里德驶上一条土路，将陆地巡洋舰停在干涸的水沟旁边。我从他的车上溜出来，伸展拳脚，深深吸了一口气。从前，和风拂过贾拉拉巴特富饶的平原，农民种满甘蔗，城里的空气弥漫着甜蜜的香味。我闭上眼睛，搜索香味，可是没有找到。 “我们走吧。”法里德不耐烦地说。我们踏上那条土路，经过几株光秃秃的白杨和一排残破的泥墙。法里德将我领到一座破落的平房，敲敲木板门。
有个用白色头巾蒙住脸的少女探出头来，露出海蓝色的眼睛。她先看到我，身子一缩，然后看到法里德，眼睛亮起来。 “你好，法里德叔叔。” “你好，亲爱的玛丽亚。”法里德回答说，给了她一种他整天都没给我的东西：一个温暖的微笑。他亲了她的额头。少女让出路，有点紧张地看着我随法里德走进那座小小的房子。泥砖屋顶很低，四面泥墙空空如也，赖以照明的是屋角两盏提灯。草席盖住地面，我们脱掉鞋子，踏上去。三个年轻的男孩盘膝坐在一堵墙下的垫子上，下面铺着卷边的毛毯。有个留着胡子的高个子男人站起来迎接我们。法里德和他拥抱，亲吻彼此的脸颊。法里德介绍说他叫瓦希德，是他哥哥。 “他从美国来。”他对瓦希德说，翘起拇指指着我，然后丢下我们，自行去跟那些男孩打招呼。
瓦希德和我倚着墙，坐在那些男孩对面，他们跟法里德开玩笑，爬上他的肩膀。尽管我一再推辞，瓦希德令其中一个男孩去给我拿毛毯，以便我坐得舒服些，又让玛丽亚给我端茶。他问起从白沙瓦来的旅途，问起路过开伯尔隘口的情况。
“我希望你们没有碰到任何强盗。