The Kite Runner(追风筝的人): Chapter15

Three hours after my flight landed in Peshawar, I was sitting on shredded upholstery in the backseat of a smoke-filled taxicab. 

我乘坐的航班在白沙瓦着陆三个小时之后，我坐在一辆弥漫着烟味的的士破旧的后座上。

My driver, a chain-smoking, sweaty little man who introduced himself as Gholam, drove nonchalantly and recklessly, averting collisions by the thinnest of margins, all without so much as a pause in the incessant stream of words spewing from his mouth:

汗津津的司机个子矮小，一根接一根抽着烟，自我介绍说他叫戈蓝。他开起车来毫无顾忌，横冲直撞，每每与其他车辆擦身而过，一路上滔滔不绝的话语片刻不停地从他口中涌出来：

“. . . terrible what is happening in your country, yar. Afghani people and Pakistani people they are like brothers, I tell you. Muslims have to help Muslims so . . .”

“……你的祖国发生的一切太恐怖了，真的。阿富汗人和巴基斯坦人就像兄弟，我告诉你，穆斯林必须帮助穆斯林，所以……”

I tuned him out, switched to a polite nodding mode. I remembered Peshawar pretty well from the few months Baba and I had spent there in 1981. We were heading west now on Jamrud road, past the Cantonment and its lavish, high-walled homes. The bustle of the city blurring past me reminded me of a busier, more crowded version of the Kabul I knew, particularly of the Kocheh-Morgha, or Chicken Bazaar, where Hassan and I used to buy chutney-dipped potatoes and cherry water. 

我不搭腔，带着礼貌点头称是。1981年，爸爸和我在这里住过几个月，脑海里依然认得白沙瓦。现在我们在雅姆鲁德路往西开着，路过兵站，还有那些高墙耸立的豪宅。这喧嚣的城市匆匆后退，让我想起记忆中的喀布尔，比这里更繁忙、更拥挤，特别是鸡市，哈桑和我过去常常去那儿，买酸辣酱腌过的土豆和樱桃水。

The streets were clogged with bicycle riders, milling pedestrians, and rickshaws popping blue smoke, all weaving through a maze of narrow lanes and alleys. Bearded vendors draped in thin blankets sold animal-skin lampshades, carpets, embroidered shawls, and copper goods from rows of small, tightly jammed stalls. The city was bursting with sounds; the shouts of vendors rang in my ears mingled with the blare of Hindi music, the sputtering of rickshaws, and the jingling bells of horse-drawn carts. Rich scents, both pleasant and not so pleasant, drifted to me through the passenger window, the spicy aroma of pakora and the nihari Baba had loved so much blended with the sting of diesel fumes, the stench of rot, garbage, and feces.

街路上挤满了自行车、摩肩接踵的行人，还有冒出袅袅蓝烟的黄包车，所有这些，都在迷宫般的狭窄巷道穿来插去。拥挤的小摊排成一行行，留着胡子的小贩在地面摆开一张张薄薄的褥子，兜售兽皮灯罩、地毯、绣花披肩和铜器。这座城市喧闹非凡，小贩的叫卖声、震耳欲聋的印度音乐声、黄包车高喊让路的叫声、马车的叮叮当当声，全都混在一起，在我耳边回荡。还有各种各样的味道，香的臭的，炸蔬菜的香辣味、爸爸最喜爱的炖肉味、柴油机的烟味，还有腐烂物、垃圾、粪便的臭味，纷纷飘进车窗，扑鼻而来。

……

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