殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(13)

12歲的阿富汗富家少爺阿米爾與僕人哈桑情同手足。然而，在一場風箏比賽後，發生了一件悲慘不堪的事，阿米爾爲自己的懦弱感到自責和痛苦，逼走了哈桑，不久，自己也跟隨父親逃往美國。

成年後的阿米爾始終無法原諒自己當年對哈桑的背叛。爲了贖罪，阿米爾再度踏上暌違二十多年的故鄉，希望能爲不幸的好友盡最後一點心力，卻發現一個驚天謊言，兒時的噩夢再度重演，阿米爾該如何抉擇？小說如此殘忍而又美麗，作者以溫暖細膩的筆法勾勒人性的本質與救贖，讀來令人蕩氣迴腸。

Of course, marrying a poet was one thing, but fathering a son who preferred burying his face in poetry books to hunting... well, that wasn't how Baba had envisioned it, I suppose. Real men didn't read poetry--and God forbid they should ever write it! Real men--real boys--played soccer just as Baba had when he had been young. Now "that" was something to be passionate about. In 1970, Baba took a break from the construction of the orphanage and flew to Tehran for a month to watch the World Cup games on television, since at the time Afghanistan didn't have TVs yet. He signed me up for soccer teams to stir the same passion in me. But I was pathetic, a blundering liability to my own team, always in the way of an opportune pass or unwittingly blocking an open lane. I shambled about the field on scraggy legs, squalled for passes that never came my way. And the harder I tried, waving my arms over my head frantically and screeching, "I'm open! I'm open!" the more I went ignored. But Baba wouldn't give up. When it became abundantly clear that I hadn't inherited a shred of his athletic talents, he settled for trying to turn me into a passionate spectator. Certainly I could manage that, couldn't I? I faked interest for as long as possible. I cheered with him when Kabul's team scored against Kandahar and yelped insults at the referee when he called a penalty against our team. But Baba sensed my lack of genuine interest and resigned himself to the bleak fact that his son was never going to either play or watch soccer.[qh]
當然，跟詩人結婚是一回事，但生個喜歡埋首詩書多過打獵的兒子……這麼說吧，那可不是爸爸所希望看到的，我想。真正的男人不看詩--真主也禁止他們創作呢。真正的男人--真正的男孩--應該像爸爸小時候那樣踢足球去，那纔是值得付出熱情的玩意兒。1970年，爸爸暫停了恤孤院的工程，飛往德黑蘭，在那兒停留一個月：由於阿富汗當時還沒有電視，他只好去那邊看世界盃足球賽。爲了激起我對足球的熱情，他替我報名參加球隊。但我這個可憐蟲變成球隊的負擔，不是傳丟了球，就是愚蠢地擋住隊友的進攻路線。我瘦弱的雙腿跌跌撞撞地在球場上奔跑，聲嘶力竭，球卻不會滾到我腳下來。我越是喊得起勁，雙手在頭頂盡力揮舞，高聲大喊:"傳給我，傳給我!"隊友越是對我視若不見。但爸爸從不放棄。等到他沒有將任何運動天分遺傳給我的事實昭然若揭之後，他又開始試着把我變成一個熱情的觀衆。當然，我能做得到，不是嗎?我儘量裝得興致勃勃。我跟他一起，每逢喀布爾隊跟坎大哈Kandahar，阿富汗南部城市。隊比賽，就大喊大叫；每逢我們的球隊遭到判罰，就咒罵裁判。但爸爸察覺到我並非真心實意，只好黯然放棄，接受這個悲慘的事實：他的兒子非但不喜歡玩足球，連當觀衆也心不在焉。[qh]

I remember one time Baba took me to the yearly "Buzkashi" tournament that took place on the first day of spring, New Year's Day. Buzkashi was, and still is, Afghanistan's national passion. A "chapandaz", a highly skilled horseman usually patronized by rich aficionados, has to snatch a goat or cattle carcass from the midst of a melee, carry that carcass with him around the stadium at full gallop, and drop it in a scoring circle while a team of other "chapandaz" chases him and does everything in its power--kick, claw, whip, punch--to snatch the carcass from him. That day, the crowd roared with excitement as the horsemen on the field bellowed their battle cries and jostled for the carcass in a cloud of dust. The earth trembled with the clatter of hooves. We watched from the upper bleachers as riders pounded past us at full gallop, yipping and yelling, foam flying from their horses' mouths.[qh]
我記得有個新年，爸爸帶我去看一年一度的比武競賽。比武競賽在春季的第一天舉行，至今仍是阿富汗舉國熱愛的賽事。技藝精熟的騎士通常會得到大亨的贊助，他必須在混戰中奪得一隻屠宰後的羊或牛，馱着它全速繞看臺迅跑，然後將其丟進得分圈。在他後面，會有另外一羣騎士追逐着他，竭盡所能--腳踢、手抓、鞭打、拳擊--試圖將牛羊奪過來。那天，騎士在戰場上高聲叫喊，橫衝直撞，激起重重塵霧；觀衆則沸反盈天，興奮異常；馬蹄得得，震得大地抖動。我們坐在看臺的座位上，看着那些騎士在我們面前呼嘯而過，他們的坐騎則白沫橫飛。[qh]

At one point Baba pointed to someone. "Amir, do you see that man sitting up there with those other men around him?"[qh]
爸爸指着某個人:"阿米爾，你看到坐在那邊的傢伙嗎，身邊圍着很多人那個?"[qh]

I did.[qh]
我說:"看到了"。[qh]

"That's Henry Kissinger."[qh]
"那是亨利·基辛格。"[qh]

"Oh,"I said. I didn't know who Henry Kissinger was, and I might have asked. But at the moment, I watched with horror as one of the "chapandaz" fell off his saddle and was trampled under a score of hooves. His body was tossed and hurled in the stampede like a rag doll, finally rolling to a stop when the melee moved on. He twitched once and lay motionless, his legs bent at unnatural angles, a pool of his blood soaking through the sand.[qh]
"哦。"我不知道基辛格是何許人，興許隨口問了。但在那個關頭，我見到一件恐怖的事情：有個騎士從鞍上跌落，數十隻馬蹄從他身上踐踏而過。他的身體像個布娃娃，在馬蹄飛舞間被拉來扯去。馬隊飛奔而過，他終於跌落下來，抽搐了一下，便再也沒有動彈；他的雙腿彎曲成不自然的角度，大片的血液染紅了沙地。[qh]

I began to cry.[qh]
我放聲大哭。[qh]

I cried all the way back Home. I remember how Baba's hands clenched around the steering wheel. Clenched and unclenched. Mostly, I will never forget Baba's valiant efforts to conceal the disgusted look on his face as he drove in silence.[qh]
我一路上哭着回家。我記得爸爸的手死死抓住方向盤，一會兒抓緊，一會兒放鬆。更重要的是，爸爸開車時沉默不語，厭惡溢於言表，我永遠都不會忘記。