TheKiteRunner（追风筝的人）阅读全书，请搜索微信公众号：英语文摘（ID：digest4u）或者添加微信：843994651O
NE?December2001?IbecamewhatIamtodayattheageoftwelve,
onafrigidovercastdayinthewinterof1975.Irememberthepr
ecisemoment,crouchingbehindacrumblingmudwall,peekinginto
thealleynearthefrozencreek.Thatwasalongtimeago,buti
t’swrongwhattheysayaboutthepast,I’velearned,abouthowy
oucanburyit.Becausethepastclawsitswayout.Lookingback
now,IrealizeIhavebeenpeekingintothatdesertedalleyfort
helasttwenty-sixyears.?Onedaylastsummer,myfriendRahimKh
ancalledfromPakistan.Heaskedmetocomeseehim.Standingin
thekitchenwiththereceivertomyear,Iknewitwasn’tjustR
ahimKhanontheline.Itwasmypastofunatonedsins.AfterIh
ungup,IwentforawalkalongSpreckelsLakeonthenortherned
geofGoldenGatePark.Theearly-afternoonsunsparkledonthew
aterwheredozensofminiatureboatssailed,propelledbyacrisp
breeze.ThenIglancedupandsawapairofkites,redwithlong
bluetails,soaringinthesky.Theydancedhighabovethetrees
onthewestendofthepark,overthewindmills,floatingsideb
ysidelikeapairofeyeslookingdownonSanFrancisco,thecit
yInowcallhome.AndsuddenlyHassan’svoicewhisperedinmyhe
ad:Foryou,athousandtimesover.Hassantheharelippedkiteru
nner.?Isatonaparkbenchnearawillowtree.Ithoughtabouts
omethingRahimKhansaidjustbeforehehungup,almostasanaft
erthought.Thereisawaytobegoodagain.Ilookedupatthose
twinkites.IthoughtaboutHassan.ThoughtaboutBaba.Ali.Kabu
l.IthoughtofthelifeIhadliveduntilthewinterof1975cam
ealongandchangedeverything.AndmademewhatIamtoday.TWO?
Whenwewerechildren,HassanandIusedtoclimbthepoplartree
sinthedrivewayofmyfather’shouseandannoyourneighborsby
reflectingsunlightintotheirhomeswithashardofmirror.We
wouldsitacrossfromeachotheronapairofhighbranches,our
nakedfeetdangling,ourtrouserpocketsfilledwithdriedmulber
riesandwalnuts.Wetookturnswiththemirrorasweatemulberr
ies,peltedeachotherwiththem,giggling,laughing.Icanstill
seeHassanuponthattree,sunlightflickeringthroughtheleav
esonhisalmostperfectlyroundface,afacelikeaChinesedoll
chiseledfromhardwood:hisflat,broadnoseandslanting,narro
weyeslikebambooleaves,eyesthatlooked,dependingonthelig
ht,gold,green,evensapphire.Icanstillseehistinylow-set
earsandthatpointedstubofachin,ameatyappendagethatlook
edlikeitwasaddedasamereafterthought.Andthecleftlip,j
ustleftofmidline,wheretheChinesedollmaker’sinstrumentma
yhaveslipped,orperhapshehadsimplygrowntiredandcareless
.?Sometimes,upinthosetrees,ItalkedHassanintofiringwalnu
tswithhisslingshotattheneighbor’sone-eyedGermanshepherd.
Hassanneverwantedto,butifIasked,reallyasked,hewouldn’
tdenyme.Hassanneverdeniedmeanything.Andhewasdeadlywit
hhisslingshot.Hassan’sfather,Ali,usedtocatchusandgetm
ad,orasmadassomeoneasgentleasAlicouldeverget.Hewoul
dwaghisfingerandwaveusdownfromthetree.Hewouldtaketh
emirrorandtelluswhathismotherhadtoldhim,thatthedevil
shonemirrorstoo,shonethemtodistractMuslimsduringprayer.
“Andhelaughswhilehedoesit,”healwaysadded,scowlingath
isson.?“Yes,Father,”Hassanwouldmumble,lookingdownathisf
eet.Buthenevertoldonme.Nevertoldthatthemirror,likesh
ootingwalnutsattheneighbor’sdog,wasalwaysmyidea.?Thepop
lartreeslinedtheredbrickdriveway,whichledtoapairofwro
ught-irongates.Theyinturnopenedintoanextensionofthedri
vewayintomyfather’sestate.Thehousesatontheleftsideof
thebrickpath,thebackyardattheendofit.?Everyoneagreedth
atmyfather,myBaba,hadbuiltthemostbeautifulhouseinthe
WazirAkbarKhandistrict,anewandaffluentneighborhoodinthe
northernpartofKabul.Somethoughtitwastheprettiesthouse
inallofKabul.Abroadentrywayflankedbyrosebushesledtoth
esprawlinghouseofmarblefloorsandwidewindows.Intricatemo
saictiles,handpickedbyBabainIsfahan,coveredthefloorsof
thefourbathrooms.Gold-stitchedtapestries,whichBabahadboug
htinCalcutta,linedthewalls;acrystalchandelierhungfromt
hevaultedceiling.?Upstairswasmybedroom,Baba’sroom,andhis
study,alsoknownas“thesmokingroom,”whichperpetuallysmell
edoftobaccoandcinnamon.Babaandhisfriendsreclinedonblac
kleatherchairsthereafterAlihadserveddinner.Theystuffed
theirpipes–exceptBabaalwayscalledit“fatteningthepipe”–
anddiscussedtheirfavoritethreetopics:politics,business,s
occer.SometimesIaskedBabaifIcouldsitwiththem,butBaba
wouldstandinthedoorway.“Goon,now,”he’dsay.“Thisisgrow
n-ups’time.Whydon’tyougoreadoneofthosebooksofyours?”
He’dclosethedoor,leavemetowonderwhyitwasalwaysgrown-u
ps’timewithhim.I’dsitbythedoor,kneesdrawntomychest.
SometimesIsatthereforanhour,sometimestwo,listeningtoth
eirlaughter,theirchatter.?Thelivingroomdownstairshadacur
vedwallwithcustom-builtcabinets.Insidesatframedfamilypic
tures:anold,grainyphotoofmygrandfatherandKingNadirShah
takenin1931,twoyearsbeforetheking’sassassination;theya
restandingoveradeaddeer,dressedinknee-highboots,rifles
slungovertheirshoulders.Therewasapictureofmyparents’we
ddingnight,Babadashinginhisblacksuitandmymotherasmili
ngyoungprincessinwhite.HerewasBabaandhisbestfriendand
businesspartner,RahimKhan,standingoutsideourhouse,neithe
ronesmiling–IamababyinthatphotographandBabaisholdin
gme,lookingtiredandgrim.I’minhisarms,butit’sRahimKha
n’spinkymyfingersarecurledaround.?Thecurvedwallledinto
thediningroom,atthecenterofwhichwasamahoganytablethat
couldeasilysitthirtyguests–and,givenmyfather’stastefo
rextravagantparties,itdidjustthatalmosteveryweek.Onthe
otherendofthediningroomwasatallmarblefireplace,always
litbytheorangeglowofafireinthewintertime.?Alargeslid
ingglassdooropenedintoasemicircularterracethatoverlooked
twoacresofbackyardandrowsofcherrytrees.BabaandAlihad
plantedasmallvegetablegardenalongtheeasternwall:tomatoe
s,mint,peppers,andarowofcornthatneverreallytook.Hassa
nandIusedtocallit“theWallofAilingCorn.”?Onthesouthe
ndofthegarden,intheshadowsofaloquattree,wastheservan
ts’home,amodestlittlemudhutwhereHassanlivedwithhisfat
her.?Itwasthere,inthatlittleshack,thatHassanwasbornin
thewinterof1964,justoneyearaftermymotherdiedgivingbir
thtome.?IntheeighteenyearsthatIlivedinthathouse,Iste
ppedintoHassanandAli’squartersonlyahandfuloftimes.When
thesundroppedlowbehindthehillsandweweredoneplayingfo
rtheday,HassanandIpartedways.Iwentpasttherosebushest
oBaba’smansion,Hassantothemudshackwherehehadbeenborn,
wherehe’dlivedhisentirelife.Irememberitwasspare,clean
,dimlylitbyapairofkerosenelamps.Thereweretwomattresse
sonoppositesidesoftheroom,awornHeratirugwithfrayeded
gesinbetween,athree-leggedstool,andawoodentableinthec
ornerwhereHassandidhisdrawings.Thewallsstoodbare,savef
orasingletapestrywithsewn-inbeadsformingthewordsAllah-u
-akbar.BabahadboughtitforAliononeofhistripstoMashad.
?ItwasinthatsmallshackthatHassan’smother,Sanaubar,gave
birthtohimonecoldwinterdayin1964.Whilemymotherhemorrh
agedtodeathduringchildbirth,Hassanlosthislessthanaweek
afterhewasborn.LosthertoafatemostAfghansconsideredfa
rworsethandeath:Sheranoffwithaclanoftravelingsingers
anddancers.?Hassannevertalkedabouthismother,asifshe’dne
verexisted.Ialwayswonderedifhedreamedabouther,aboutwha
tshelookedlike,whereshewas.Iwonderedifhelongedtomeet
her.Didheacheforher,thewayIachedforthemotherIhadn
evermet?Oneday,wewerewalkingfrommyfather’shousetoCine
maZainabforanewIranianmovie,takingtheshortcutthroughth
emilitarybarracksnearIstiqlalMiddleSchool–Babahadforbid
denustotakethatshortcut,buthewasinPakistanwithRahimK
hanatthetime.Wehoppedthefencethatsurroundedthebarracks
,skippedoveralittlecreek,andbrokeintotheopendirtfield
whereold,abandonedtankscollecteddust.Agroupofsoldiersh
uddledintheshadeofoneofthosetanks,smokingcigarettesand
playingcards.Oneofthemsawus,elbowedtheguynexttohim,
andcalledHassan.?“Hey,you!”hesaid.“Iknowyou.”?Wehadneve
rseenhimbefore.Hewasasquattymanwithashavedheadandbl
ackstubbleonhisface.Thewayhegrinnedatus,leered,scared
me.“Justkeepwalking,”ImutteredtoHassan.?“You!TheHazara!
LookatmewhenI’mtalkingtoyou!”thesoldierbarked.Hehand
edhiscigarettetotheguynexttohim,madeacirclewiththet
humbandindexfingerofonehand.Pokedthemiddlefingerofhis
otherhandthroughthecircle.Pokeditinandout.Inandout.
“Iknewyourmother,didyouknowthat?Iknewherrealgood.It
ookherfrombehindbythatcreekoverthere.”?Thesoldierslaugh
ed.Oneofthemmadeasquealingsound.ItoldHassantokeepwal
king,keepwalking.?“Whatatightlittlesugarycuntshehad!”th
esoldierwassaying,shakinghandswiththeothers,grinning.La
ter,inthedark,afterthemoviehadstarted,IheardHassannex
ttome,croaking.Tearswereslidingdownhischeeks.Ireached
acrossmyseat,slungmyarmaroundhim,pulledhimclose.Heres
tedhisheadonmyshoulder.“Hetookyouforsomeoneelse,”Iwh
ispered.“Hetookyouforsomeoneelse.”?I’mtoldnoonewasreal
lysurprisedwhenSanaubareloped.Peoplehadraisedtheireyebro
wswhenAli,amanwhohadmemorizedtheKoran,marriedSanaubar,
awomannineteenyearsyounger,abeautifulbutnotoriouslyunsc
rupulouswomanwholiveduptoherdishonorablereputation.Like
Ali,shewasaShi’aMuslimandanethnicHazara.Shewasalsohi
sfirstcousinandthereforeanaturalchoiceforaspouse.Butb
eyondthosesimilarities,AliandSanaubarhadlittleincommon,
leastofalltheirrespectiveappearances.WhileSanaubar’sbrill
iantgreeneyesandimpishfacehad,rumorhasit,temptedcountl
essmenintosin,Alihadacongenitalparalysisofhislowerfac
ialmuscles,aconditionthatrenderedhimunabletosmileandle
fthimperpetuallygrim-faced.Itwasanoddthingtoseethesto
ne-facedAlihappy,orsad,becauseonlyhisslantedbrowneyesg
lintedwithasmileorwelledwithsorrow.Peoplesaythateyesa
rewindowstothesoul.NeverwasthatmoretruethanwithAli,w
hocouldonlyrevealhimselfthroughhiseyes.?Ihaveheardthat
Sanaubar’ssuggestivestrideandoscillatinghipssentmentorev
eriesofinfidelity.ButpoliohadleftAliwithatwisted,atrop
hiedrightlegthatwassallowskinoverbonewithlittleinbetw
eenexceptapaper-thinlayerofmuscle.Irememberoneday,when
Iwaseight,Aliwastakingmetothebazaartobuysomenaan.I
waswalkingbehindhim,humming,tryingtoimitatehiswalk.Iw
atchedhimswinghisscraggyleginasweepingarc,watchedhisw
holebodytiltimpossiblytotherighteverytimeheplantedthat
foot.Itseemedaminormiraclehedidn’ttipoverwitheachste
p.WhenItriedit,Ialmostfellintothegutter.Thatgotmegi
ggling.Aliturnedaround,caughtmeapinghim.Hedidn’tsayany
thing.Notthen,notever.Hejustkeptwalking.?Ali’sfaceandh
iswalkfrightenedsomeoftheyoungerchildrenintheneighborho
od.Buttherealtroublewaswiththeolderkids.Theychasedhim
onthestreet,andmockedhimwhenhehobbledby.Somehadtaken
tocallinghimBabalu,orBoogeyman.“Hey,Babalu,whodidyoue
attoday?”theybarkedtoachorusoflaughter.“Whodidyoueat,
youflat-nosedBabalu?”?Theycalledhim“flat-nosed”becauseof
AliandHassan’scharacteristicHazaraMongoloidfeatures.Forye
ars,thatwasallIknewabouttheHazaras,thattheywereMogul
descendants,andthattheylookedalittlelikeChinesepeople.S
chooltextbooksbarelymentionedthemandreferredtotheirances
tryonlyinpassing.Thenoneday,IwasinBaba’sstudy,looking
throughhisstuff,whenIfoundoneofmymother’soldhistoryb
ooks.ItwaswrittenbyanIraniannamedKhorami.Iblewthedust
offit,sneakeditintobedwithmethatnight,andwasstunned
tofindanentirechapteronHazarahistory.Anentirechapterde
dicatedtoHassan’speople!Init,Ireadthatmypeople,thePas
htuns,hadpersecutedandoppressedtheHazaras.ItsaidtheHaza
rashadtriedtoriseagainstthePashtunsinthenineteenthcent
ury,butthePashtunshad“quelledthemwithunspeakableviolence
.”ThebooksaidthatmypeoplehadkilledtheHazaras,driventh
emfromtheirlands,burnedtheirhomes,andsoldtheirwomen.Th
ebooksaidpartofthereasonPashtunshadoppressedtheHazaras
wasthatPashtunswereSunniMuslims,whileHazaraswereShi’a.
ThebooksaidalotofthingsIdidn’tknow,thingsmyteachersh
adn’tmentioned.ThingsBabahadn’tmentionedeither.Italsosai
dsomethingsIdidknow,likethatpeoplecalledHazarasmice-ea
ting,flat-nosed,load-carryingdonkeys.Ihadheardsomeofthe
kidsintheneighborhoodyellthosenamestoHassan.?Thefollowin
gweek,afterclass,Ishowedthebooktomyteacherandpointed
tothechapterontheHazaras.Heskimmedthroughacoupleofpag
es,snickered,handedthebookback.“That’stheonethingShi’a
peopledowell,”hesaid,pickinguphispapers,“passingthemsel
vesasmartyrs.”HewrinkledhisnosewhenhesaidthewordShi’a
,likeitwassomekindofdisease.?Butdespitesharingethniche
ritageandfamilyblood,Sanaubarjoinedtheneighborhoodkidsin
tauntingAli.Ihaveheardthatshemadenosecretofherdisdai
nforhisappearance.?“Thisisahusband?”shewouldsneer.“Iha
veseenolddonkeysbettersuitedtobeahusband.”?Intheend,m
ostpeoplesuspectedthemarriagehadbeenanarrangementofsort
sbetweenAliandhisuncle,Sanaubar’sfather.TheysaidAlihad
marriedhiscousintohelprestoresomehonortohisuncle’sble
mishedname,eventhoughAli,whohadbeenorphanedattheageof
five,hadnoworldlypossessionsorinheritancetospeakof.?Ali
neverretaliatedagainstanyofhistormentors,Isupposepartly
becausehecouldnevercatchthemwiththattwistedlegdragging
behindhim.ButmostlybecauseAliwasimmunetotheinsultsof
hisassailants;hehadfoundhisjoy,hisantidote,themomentSa
naubarhadgivenbirthtoHassan.Ithadbeenasimpleenoughaff
air.Noobstetricians,noanesthesiologists,nofancymonitoring
devices.JustSanaubarlyingonastained,nakedmattresswithAl
iandamidwifehelpingher.Shehadn’tneededmuchhelpatall,
because,eveninbirth,Hassanwastruetohisnature:Hewasinc
apableofhurtinganyone.Afewgrunts,acoupleofpushes,ando
utcameHassan.Outhecamesmiling.?Asconfidedtoaneighbor’s
servantbythegarrulousmidwife,whohadtheninturntoldanyon
ewhowouldlisten,Sanaubarhadtakenoneglanceatthebabyin
Ali’sarms,seenthecleftlip,andbarkedabitterlaughter.?“Th
ere,”shehadsaid.“Nowyouhaveyourownidiotchildtodoall
yoursmilingforyou!”ShehadrefusedtoevenholdHassan,andjustfivedayslater,shewasgone.?BabahiredthesamenursingwomanwhohadfedmetonurseHassan.Alitoldusshewasablue-eyedHazarawomanfromBamiyan,thecityofthegiantBuddhastatues.“Whatasweetsingingvoiceshehad,”heusedtosaytous.?Whatdidshesing,HassanandIalwaysasked,thoughwealreadyknew–Alihadtolduscountlesstimes.WejustwantedtohearAlising.?He’dclearhisthroatandbegin:?OnahighmountainIstood,?AndcriedthenameofAli,LionofGod.?OAli,LionofGod,KingofMen,?Bringjoytooursorrowfulhearts.?Thenhewouldremindusthattherewasabrotherhoodbetweenpeoplewhohadfedfromthesamebreast,akinshipthatnoteventimecouldbreak.?HassanandIfedfromthesamebreasts.Wetookourfirststepsonthesamelawninthesameyard.And,underthesameroof,wespokeourfirstwords.?MinewasBaba.?HiswasAmir.Myname.?Lookingbackonitnow,Ithinkthefoundationforwhathappenedinthewinterof1975–andallthatfollowed–wasalreadylaidinthosefirstwords.未完待续阅读全书，请搜索微信公众号：英语文摘（ID：digest4u）或者添加微信：843994651 |
|
