He shrugged. “Just thinking about them.” He lifted his face, looked straight at me. Now he was crying, softly, silently. “Can I ask you something, Amir agha?”
“Of course.”
“Will God...” he began, and choked a little. “Will God put me in hell for what I did to that man?”
I reached for him and he flinched. I pulled back. “Nay. Of course not,” I said. I wanted to pull him close, hold him, tell him the world had been unkind to him, not the other way around.His face twisted and strained to stay composed. “Father used to say it’s wrong to hurt even bad people. Because they don’t know any better, and because bad people sometimes become good.”
“Not always, Sohrab.”
He looked at me questioningly.
“The man who hurt you, I knew him from many years ago,” I said. “I guess you figured that out that from the conversation he and I had. He... he tried to hurt me once when I was your age, but your father saved me. Your father was very brave and he was always rescuing me from trouble, standing up for me. So one day the bad man hurt your father instead. He hurt him in a very bad way, and I... I couldn’t save your father the way he had saved me.”
“Why did people want to hurt my father?” Sohrab said in a wheezy little voice. “He was never mean to anyone.”
“You’re right. Your father was a good man. But that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Sohrab jan. That there are bad people in this world, and sometimes bad people stay bad. Sometimes you have to stand up to them. What you did to that man is what I should have done to him all those years ago. You gave him what he deserved, and he deserved even more.”
“Do you think Father is disappointed in me?”
“I know he’s not,” I said. “You saved my life in Kabul. I know he is very proud of you for that.”
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. It burst a bubble of spittle that had formed on his lips. He buried his face in his hands and wept a long time before he spoke again. “I miss Father, and Mother too,” he croaked. “And I miss Sasa and Rahim Khan sahib. But sometimes I’m glad they’re not ... they’re not here anymore.”
“Why?” I touched his arm. He drew back.
“Because--” he said, gasping and hitching between sobs, “because I don’t want them to see me... I’m so dirty.” He sucked in his breath and let it out in a long, wheezy cry. “I’m so dirty and full of sin.”
“You’re not dirty, Sohrab,” I said.
“Those men--”
他耸耸肩，“就是想想而已。”他仰起脸，看着我的眼睛。这时，他哭了起来，轻柔地，默默地。“我能问你一些问题吗，阿米尔老爷？”
“当然。”
“真主会不会……”他开始说，语声有点哽咽，“真主会不会因为我对那个人做的事情让我下地狱？”
我伸手去碰他，他身子退缩。我收回手。“不会，当然不会。”我说。我想把他拉近，抱着他，告诉他世界曾经对他不仁，他别无选择。他的脸扭曲绷紧，试图保持平静：“爸爸常说，甚至连伤害坏人也是不对的。因为他们不知道什么是好的，还因为坏人有时也会变好。”
“不一定的，索拉博。”
他疑惑地看着我。
“那个伤害你的人，我认识他很多年。”我说，“我想这个你从我和他的对话中听出来了。我像你这样大的时候，他……他有一次想伤害我，但你父亲救了我。你父亲非常勇敢，他总是替我解决麻烦，为我挺身而出。所以有一天那个坏人伤害了你父亲，他伤得你父亲很重，而我……我不能像你父亲救过我那样救他。”
“为什么人们总是伤害我父亲？”索拉博有点喘着气说，“他从不针对任何人。”
“你说得对。你父亲是个好人。但我想告诉你的是，亲爱的索拉博，这个世界有坏人，有时坏人坏得很彻底，有时你不得不反抗他们。你对那个人所做的，我很多年前就应该对他做的。他是罪有应得，甚至还应该得到更多的报应。”
“你觉得爸爸会对我失望吗？”
“我知道他不会。”我说，“你在喀布尔救了我的命。我知道他会为你感到非常骄傲。”
他用衣袖擦脸，弄破了他嘴唇上挂着的唾液泡泡。他把脸埋在手里，哭了很久才重新说话。“我想念爸爸，也想念妈妈，”他哽咽说，“我想念莎莎和拉辛汗。但有时我很高兴他们不……他们不在了。”
“为什么？”我碰碰他的手臂，他抽开。
“因为……”他抽泣着说，“因为我不想让他们看到我……我这么脏。”他深吸一口气，然后抽泣着慢慢呼出，“我很脏，浑身是罪。”
“你不脏，索拉博。”我说。
“那些男人……”