The Kite Runner(追风筝的人): Chapter20

The Kite Runner(追风筝的人): Chapter20

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Farid had warned me. He had. But, as it turned out, he had wasted his breath.

法里德警告过我。他警告过,可是,到头来,他不过是白费唇舌。


We were driving down the cratered road that winds from Jalalabad to Kabul. The last time I’d traveled that road was in a tarpaulin-covered truck going the other way. Baba had nearly gotten himself shot by a singing, stoned Roussi officer—Baba had made me so mad that night, so scared, and, ultimately, so proud. The trek between Kabul and Jalalabad, a bone-jarring ride down a teetering pass snaking through the rocks, had become a relic now, a relic of two wars. Twenty years earlier, I had seen some of the first war with my own eyes. Grim reminders of it were strewn along the road: burned carcasses of old Soviet tanks, overturned military trucks gone to rust, a crushed Russian jeep that had plunged over the mountainside. The second war, I had watched on my TV screen. And now I was seeing it through Farid’s eyes.

我们沿着弹坑密布的道路,从贾拉拉巴特,一路蜿蜒驶向喀布尔。我上一次踏上这条征途,是在盖着帆布的卡车中,往相反的方向而去。爸爸差点被那个嗑了毒品的、唱着歌曲的俄国兵射杀——那晚爸爸真让我抓狂,我吓坏了,而最终为他感到骄傲。喀布尔到贾拉拉巴特的车程非常崎岖,道路在山岩之间逶迤颠簸,足以震得人们的骨头咔咔响。如今沿途景象荒凉,正是两次战争遗下的残迹。二十年前,我目睹了第一场战争的一部分。路边散落的东西无情地提醒着它的存在:焚毁的旧俄军坦克残骸、锈蚀的倾覆的军车,还有一辆陷在山脚被撞得粉碎的俄军吉普。至于第二次战争,我曾在电视上见过,现在正透过法里德的眼睛审视着它。


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