殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(132)

And how was I going to reconcile this new image of Baba with the one that had been imprinted on my mind for so long, that of him in his old brown suit, hobbling up the Taheris’ driveway to ask for Soraya’s hand?Here is another cliché my creative writing teacher would have scoffed at; like father, like son. But it was true, wasn’t it? As it turned out, Baba and I were more alike than I’d ever known. We had both betrayed the people who would have given their lives for us. And with that came this realization: that Rahim Khan had summoned me here to atone not just for my sins but for Baba’s m Khan said I’d always been too hard on myself. But I wondered. True, I hadn’t made Ali step on the land mine, and I hadn’t brought the Taliban to the house to shoot Hassan. But I had driven Hassan and Ali out of the house. Was it too far-fetched to imagine that things might have turned out differently if I hadn’t? Maybe Baba would have brought them along to America. Maybe Hassan would have had a home of his own now, a job, a family, a life in a country where no one cared that he was a Hazara, where most people didn’t even know what a Hazara was. Maybe not. But maybe so.
I can’t go to Kabul, I had said to Rahim Khan. I have a wife in America, a home, a career, and a family. But how could I pack up and go back home when my actions may have cost Hassan a chance at those very same things?
I wished Rahim Khan hadn’t called me. I wished he had let me live on in my oblivion. But he had called me. And what Rahim Khan revealed to me changed things. Made me see how my entire life, long before the winter of 1975, dating back to when that singing Hazara woman was still nursing me, had been a cycle of lies, betrayals, and secrets.
There is a way to be good again, he’d said.
A way to end the cycle.
With a little boy. An orphan. Hassan’s son. Somewhere in Kabul.

這兒又有一句爲我的創作老師所不屑的陳詞濫調：有其父必有其子。但這是真的，不是嗎？結果證明，我和爸爸的相似超乎原先的想像。我們兩個都背叛了願意爲我們付出生命的人。我這才意識到，拉辛汗傳喚我到這裏來，不只是爲了洗刷我的罪行，還有爸爸的。拉辛汗說我一直太過苛求自己。但我懷疑。是的，我沒有讓阿里的右腳踩上地雷，沒有把塔利班的人帶到家裏，射殺哈桑。可是我把阿里和哈桑趕出家門。若非我那麼做，事情也許會變得全然不同，這樣的想法不算太牽強吧？也許爸爸會帶着他們到美國。也許在那個沒有人在意他是哈扎拉人、人們甚至不知道哈扎拉人是什麼意思的國度，哈桑會擁有自己的家、工作、親人、生活。也許不會。但也許會。
我不能去喀布爾。我剛纔對拉辛汗說，我在美國有妻子、房子、事業，還有家庭。但也許正是我的行爲斷送了哈桑擁有這一切的機會，我能夠這樣收拾行囊、掉頭回家嗎？
我希望拉辛汗沒有打過電話給我。我希望他沒有把真相告訴我。但他打了電話，而且他所揭露的事情使一切面目全非。讓我明白我的一生，早在1975年冬天之前，回溯到那個會唱歌的哈扎拉女人還在哺乳我的時候，種種謊言、背叛和祕密，就已經開始輪迴。
那兒有再次成爲好人的路。他說。
一條終結輪迴的路。
帶上一個小男孩。一個孤兒。哈桑的兒子。在喀布爾的某個地方。