殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(17)

We chased the "Kochi", the nomads who passed through Kabul on their way to the mountains of the north. We would hear their caravans approaching our neighborhood, the mewling of their sheep, the "baaing" of their goats, the jingle of bells around their camels' necks. We'd run outside to watch the caravan plod through our street, men with dusty, weather-beaten faces and women dressed in long, colorful shawls, beads, and silver bracelets around their wrists and ankles. We hurled pebbles at their goats. We squirted water on their mules. I'd make Hassan sit on the Wall of Ailing Corn and fire pebbles with his slingshot at the camels' rears.

我們還追逐過路的遊牧部落，他們經由喀布爾，前往北方的層巒疊嶂。我們能聽到他們的牧羣走近的聲音：綿羊咪咪，山羊咩咩，還有那叮噹作響的駝鈴。我們會跑出去，看着他們的隊伍在街道上行進，男人滿身塵灰，臉色滄桑，女人披着長長的、色彩斑斕的肩巾，掛着珠鏈，手腕和腳踝都戴着銀鐲子。我們朝他們的山羊投擲石頭，拿水潑他們的騾子。我讓哈桑坐在"病玉米之牆"，拿彈弓用小圓石射他們的駱駝的屁股。

We saw our first Western together, "Rio Bravo" with John Wayne, at the Cinema Park, across the street from my favorite bookstore. I remember begging Baba to take us to Iran so we could meet John Wayne. Baba burst out in gales of his deepthroated laughter--a sound not unlike a truck engine revving up--and, when he could talk again, explained to us the concept of voice dubbing. Hassan and I were stunned. Dazed. John Wayne didn't really speak Farsi and he wasn't Iranian! He was American, just like the friendly, longhaired men and women we always saw hanging around in Kabul, dressed in their tattered, brightly colored shirts. We saw "Rio Bravo" three times, but we saw our favorite Western, "The Magnificent Seven", thirteen times. With each viewing, we cried at the end when the Mexican kids buried Charles Bronson--who, as it turned out, wasn't Iranian either.

我們第一次看西部電影也是兩個人，在與那家我最喜歡的書店一街之隔的電影院公園，看的是約翰·韋恩的《赤膽屠龍》。我記得當時我求爸爸帶我們到伊朗去，那樣我們就可以見到約翰·韋恩了。爸爸爆發出一陣爽朗的狂笑--與汽車引擎加速的聲音頗爲相像，等他能說得出話的時候，告訴我們電影配音是怎麼回事。哈桑跟我目瞪口呆，愣住了。原來約翰·韋恩不是真的說法爾西語，也不是伊朗人!他是美國人，就像那些我們經常看到的男男女女一樣，他們神情友善，留着長髮，吊兒郎當地穿着五顏六色的衣服，在喀布爾城裏遊蕩。我們看了三遍《赤膽屠龍》，但我們最喜歡的西部片是《七俠蕩寇志》，看了十三遍。每次電影快結束的時候，我們哭着觀看那些墨西哥小孩埋葬查爾斯·勃朗森--結果他也不是伊朗人。

We took strolls in the musty-smelling bazaars of the Shar-e-Nau section of Kabul, or the new city, west of the Wazir Akbar Khan district. We talked about whatever film we had just seen and walked amid the bustling crowds of "bazarris". We snaked our way among the merchants and the beggars, wandered through narrow alleys cramped with rows of tiny, tightly packed stalls. Baba gave us each a weekly allowance of ten Afghanis and we spent it on warm Coca-Cola and rosewater ice cream topped with crushed pistachios.

我們在喀布爾新城那個瀰漫着難聞氣味的市場閒逛。新城叫沙裏諾區，在瓦茲爾·阿克巴·汗區以西。我們談論剛剛看完的電影，走在市場熙熙攘攘的人羣中。我們在商人和乞丐中蜿蜒前進，穿過那些小店雲集的擁擠過道。爸爸每週給我們每人十塊阿富汗尼Afghanis，阿富汗貨幣名稱。的零花錢，我們用來買溫熱的可口可樂，還有灑着開心果仁的玫瑰香露雪糕。

During the school year, we had a daily routine. By the time I dragged myself out of bed and lumbered to the bathroom, Hassan had already washed up, prayed the morning "namaz" with Ali, and prepared my breakfast: hot black tea with three sugar cubes and a slice of toasted "naan" topped with my favorite sour cherry marmalade, all neatly placed on the dining table. While I ate and complained about homework, Hassan made my bed, polished my shoes, ironed my outfit for the day, packed my books and pencils. I'd hear him singing to himself in the foyer as he ironed, singing old Hazara songs in his nasal voice. Then, Baba and I drove off in his black Ford Mustang--a car that drew envious looks everywhere because it was the same car Steve McQueen had driven in "Bullitt", a film that played in one theater for six months. Hassan stayed Home and helped Ali with the day's chores: hand-washing dirty clothes and hanging them to dry in the yard, sweeping the floors, buying fresh "naan" from the bazaar, marinating meat for dinner, watering the lawn.

上學那些年，我們每日有固定的程式。每當我從牀上爬起來，拖拖沓沓走向衛生間，哈桑早已洗漱完畢，跟阿里做完早晨的祈禱，幫我弄好早餐：加了三塊方糖的熱紅茶，一片塗着我最愛吃的櫻桃醬的饢餅，所有這些整整齊齊地擺在桌子上。我邊吃邊抱怨功課，哈桑收拾我的牀鋪，擦亮我的鞋子，熨好我那天要穿的衣服，替我放好課本和鉛筆。我聽見他在門廊邊熨衣服邊唱歌，用他那帶鼻音的嗓子唱着古老的哈扎拉歌曲。然後，爸爸和我出發，開着他的福特野馬轎車--會引來豔羨的目光，因爲當時有部叫《警網鐵金剛》的電影在電影院已經上映了半年，主角史蒂夫·麥奎因在影片中就開這種車。哈桑留在家裏，幫阿里做些雜務：用手將髒衣服洗乾淨，然後在院子裏晾乾；拖地板；去市場買剛出爐的饢餅；給晚餐準備醃肉；澆灌草坪。

After school, Hassan and I met up, grabbed a book, and trotted up a bowl-shaped hill just north of my father's property in Wazir Akbar Khan. There was an old abandoned cemetery atop the hill with rows of unmarked headstones and tangles of brushwood clogging the aisles. Seasons of rain and snow had turned the iron gate rusty and left the cemetery's low white stone walls in decay. There was a pomegranate tree near the entrance to the cemetery. One summer day, I used one of Ali's kitchen knives to carve our names on it: "Amir and Hassan, the sultans of Kabul. Those words made it formal: the tree was ours. After school, Hassan and I climbed its branches and snatched its bloodred pomegranates. After we'd eaten the fruit and wiped our hands on the grass, I would read to Hassan.

放學後，我跟哈桑碰頭，抓起書本，一溜小跑，爬上瓦茲爾·阿克巴·汗區那座就在爸爸房子北邊的碗狀山丘。山頂有久已廢棄的墓園，各條小徑灌木叢生，還有成排成排的空白墓碑。多年的風霜雨雪鏽蝕了墓園的鐵門，也讓那低矮的白色石牆搖搖欲墜。墓園的入口邊上有株石榴樹。某個夏日，我用阿里廚房的小刀在樹幹刻下我們的名字:"阿米爾和哈桑，喀布爾的蘇丹。"這些字正式宣告：這棵樹屬於我們。放學後，哈桑和我爬上它的枝椏，摘下一些血紅色的石榴果實。吃過石榴，用雜草把手擦乾淨之後，我會念書給哈桑聽。