The Kite Runner(追风筝的人): Chapter17

Rahim Khan slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned against the bare wall in the wary, deliberate way of a man whose every movement triggers spikes of pain. Outside, a donkey was braying and someone was shouting something in Urdu. The sun was beginning to set, glittering red through the cracks between the ramshackle buildings.

拉辛汗慢慢地伸开双腿，斜倚在光秃秃的墙上，他的举止是那样小心翼翼，仿佛每个动作都会带来剧痛。外面有头驴子叫起来，有人用乌尔都语不知道喊了些什么。太阳开始下山，那些摇摇欲坠的房子的裂缝中，渗出闪闪的红色斜晖。

It hit me again, the enormity of what I had done that winter and that following summer. The names rang in my head: Hassan, Sohrab, Ali, Farzana, and Sanaubar. Hearing Rahim Khan speak Ali’s name was like finding an old dusty music box that hadn’t been opened in years; the melody began to play immediately: Who did you eat today, Babalu?Who did you eat, you slant-eyed Babalu? I tried to conjure Ali’s frozen face, to really see his tranquil eyes, but time can be a greedy thing—sometimes it steals all the details for itself.

我在那年冬天、以及随后那个夏天所犯下的罪恶，再次向我袭来。那些名字在我脑海回荡：哈桑、索拉博、阿里、法莎娜，还有莎娜芭。听着拉辛汗提起阿里的名字，恍如找到一个尘封多年的老旧唱机，那些旋律立即开始演奏：你今天吃了谁啊，巴巴鲁。你吃了谁啊，你这个斜眼的巴巴鲁？我努力想起阿里那张冰冷的脸，想真的见到他那双安详的眼睛，但时间很贪婪——有时候，它会独自吞噬所有的细节。

“Is Hassan still in that house now?” I asked.

“哈桑现在仍住那间屋子吗？”

Rahim Khan raised the teacup to his parched lips and took a sip. He then fished an envelope from the breast pocket of his vest and handed it to me. “For you.”

拉辛汗把茶杯举到他干裂的唇边，啜了一口，接着从他背心的上袋掏出一封信，递给我。“给你的。”

I tore the sealed envelope. Inside, I found a Polaroid photograph and a folded letter. I stared at the photograph for a full minute.

我撕开贴好的信封，里面有张宝丽莱相片，和一封折叠着的信。我盯着那张照片，足足看了一分钟。

……

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