“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 d 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 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,” “停車，該死。”我說， “我要吐了。”車還沒在路邊的沙礫上停穩，我就吐了出來。 接近黃昏的時候，地形變了，從烈日灼烤的山峯和光禿禿的懸崖變成一派更翠綠的田園風光。大路從藍地科託下降，穿過新瓦里地區，直達藍地卡納。我們從托爾坎[藍地科託（ Landi Kotal）、新瓦里（ Shinwari）、藍地卡納（ LandiKhana）和托爾坎（ Torkham）均是開伯爾隘口沿途小鎮]進入阿富汗。夾道相送的柏樹比我記憶中少多了，但在經歷開伯爾隘口那段乏味的旅途之後，再次看到樹木，還是神情一振。我們正在接近賈拉拉巴特，法裏德有個兄弟在那兒，我們會在他家過夜。 我們駛進賈拉拉巴特的時候，太陽還沒有完全下山。這座城市是楠格哈爾省[Nangarhar，阿富汗省份 ]的首府，過去以溫和的氣候和水果聞名。法裏德駛過市中心的樓宇和石頭房子。那兒的棕櫚樹也沒記憶中多，而有些房子已經變成幾堵沒有屋頂的牆壁、幾堆雜亂的泥土。法裏德駛上一條土路，將陸地巡洋艦停在乾涸的水溝旁邊。我從他的車上溜出來，伸展拳腳，深深吸了一口氣。從前，和風拂過賈拉拉巴特富饒的平原，農民種滿甘蔗，城裏的空氣瀰漫着甜蜜的香味。我閉上眼睛，搜索香味，可是沒有找到。 “我們走吧。”法裏德不耐煩地說。我們踏上那條土路，經過幾株光禿禿的白楊和一排殘破的泥牆。法裏德將我領到一座破落的平房，敲敲木板門。 有個用白色頭巾矇住臉的少女探出頭來，露出海藍色的眼睛。她先看到我，身子一縮，然後看到法裏德，眼睛亮起來。 “你好，法裏德叔叔。” “你好，親愛的瑪麗亞。”法裏德回答說，給了她一種他整天都沒給我的東西：一個溫暖的微笑。他親了她的額頭。少女讓出路，有點緊張地看着我隨法裏德走進那座小小的房子。泥磚屋頂很低，四面泥牆空空如也，賴以照明的是屋角兩盞提燈。草蓆蓋住地面，我們脫掉鞋子，踏上去。三個年輕的男孩盤膝坐在一堵牆下的墊子上，下面鋪着卷邊的毛毯。有個留着鬍子的高個子男人站起來迎接我們。法裏德和他擁抱，親吻彼此的臉頰。法裏德介紹說他叫瓦希德，是他哥哥。 “他從美國來。”他對瓦希德說，翹起拇指指着我，然後丟下我們，自行去跟那些男孩打招呼。 瓦希德和我倚着牆，坐在那些男孩對面，他們跟法裏德開玩笑，爬上他的肩膀。儘管我一再推辭，瓦希德令其中一個男孩去給我拿毛毯，以便我坐得舒服些，又讓瑪麗亞給我端茶。他問起從白沙瓦來的旅途，問起路過開伯爾隘口的情況。 “我希望你們沒有碰到任何強盜。
