Epilogue One Child, One Teacher, One Book, One Pen...
尾声　一个孩子，一名教师，一本书和一支笔……
Birmingham, August 2013
伯明翰，2013年8月
In march we moved from the apartment to a rented house on a leafy street, but it feels as if we are camping in it.
3月，我们搬离了原先的公寓，在一条绿树成荫的街上重新租了一幢屋子，但感觉却像是在“露营”。
All our belongings are still in Swat.
我们的财物都还留在斯瓦特。
Everywhere there are cardboard boxes full of the kind letters and cards that people send, and in one room stands a piano none of us can play.
屋子里到处都是纸箱，里面装满了好心的人们寄来的信件和卡片。有一间房里有架钢琴，但我们家没有人知道怎么弹奏。
My mother complains about the murals of Greek gods on the walls and carved cherubs on the ceilings watching her.
母亲抱怨说，墙上的希腊神祇壁画和天花板上镶刻的天使都在盯着她看。
Our house feels big and empty.
我们的房子又大又空，
It sits behind an electric iron gate and it sometimes seems as if we are in what we in Pakistan call a sub-jail, a kind of luxury house arrest.
大门口有一道电动栅门。有时候，我们会觉得自己住在一种我们巴基斯坦人称之为“替代性监狱”的地方，“囚禁”在一幢高级住宅里。
At the back there is a large garden with lots of trees and a green lawn for me and my brothers to play cricket on.
院子的后部是一座巨大的花园，里面有很多的树木，还有一块我可以和弟弟们一起打板球的绿色草皮。
But there are no rooftops to play on, no children fighting with kites in the streets, no neighbours coming in to borrow a plate of rice or for us to ask for three tomatoes.
但是，我们没有办法上屋顶玩，街道上没有比赛放风筝的孩子，也不会有邻居来向我们借一盘米，或我们去跟他们借三个西红柿。
We are just a wall's distance from the next house but it feels miles away.
我们和隔壁邻居只有一墙之遥，但两栋房子之间却仿佛相隔数里。
If I look out, I see my mother wandering around the garden, her head covered by a shawl, feeding the birds.
如果我往外看，就会看见母亲在花园里转悠。她的头上戴着披巾，正在给那些鸟儿喂食。
She looks as if she is singing, maybe that tapa she likes: 'Don't kill doves in the garden. You kill one and the others won't come.'
她看起来好像在唱歌，也许是那首她钟爱的拓帕：“可别杀害园子里的鸽子，杀了一只其他就不会再来了。”
She is giving the birds the remains of our dinner from the night before and there are tears in her eyes.
她把我们昨晚的剩菜喂给鸟儿吃，眼中含着泪水。