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追风筝的人(10)

The Kite Runner(10)
追风筝的人(10)
705字
2019-10-09 19:15
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追风筝的人(10)

They weren't shooting ducks after all. As it turned out, they hadn't shot much of anything that night of July 17, 1973. Kabul awoke the next morning to find that the monarchy was a thing of the past. The king, Zahir Shah, was away in Italy. In his absence, his cousin Daoud Khan had ended the king's forty-year reign with a bloodless coup.

他们根本不是在猎杀野鸭。真相终于大白:1973年7月17日夜里,他们根本就没有对什么东西开枪。翌日清晨,大梦初醒的喀布尔发现君主制已然成为历史。查希尔国王远在意大利,他的堂兄达乌德汗趁他不在,发动了政变,没有多加杀戮,就终结了他四十年来的统治。

I remember Hassan and I crouching that next morning outside my father's study, as Baba and Rahim Khan sipped black tea and listened to breaking news of the coup on Radio Kabul.

我记得隔日早上,爸爸和拉辛汗喝着红茶,听着喀布尔广播电台播送的有关政变的最新消息,我跟哈桑躲在爸爸的书房外面。

"Amir agha?"Hassan whispered.

“阿米尔少爷?”哈桑低声说。

"What?"

“怎么了?”

"What's a 'republic'?"

“什么是'共和'?”

I shrugged. "I don't know."On Baba's radio, they were saying that word, "republic",over and over again.

我耸耸肩:“我不懂。”爸爸的收音机一遍又一遍地传出“共和”这个词。

"Amir agha?"

“阿米尔少爷?”

"What?"

“怎么了?”

"Does 'republic'mean Father and I will have to move away?"

“'共和'是不是要我和爸爸离开这里?”

"I don't think so,"I whispered back.

“我觉得不是。”我低声回答。

Hassan considered this. "Amir agha?"

哈桑想了想,说:“阿米尔少爷?”

"What?"

“怎么了?”

"I don't want them to send me and Father away."

“我不想他们把我跟爸爸送走。”

I smiled. "Bas, you donkey. No one's sending you away."

我露出微笑:“好啦,你这头驴子,没有人会送走你们。”

"Amir agha?"

“阿米尔少爷?”

"What?"

“怎么了?”

"Do you want to go climb our tree?"

“你想去爬我们的树吗?”

My smile broadened. That was another thing about Hassan. He always knew when to say the right thing--the news on the radio was getting pretty boring. Hassan went to his shack to get ready and I ran upstairs to grab a book. 

我笑得更开心了。这也是哈桑的本领,他总是懂得在恰当的时间说恰当的事情--收音机的新闻实在是太闷了。哈桑回到他那寒碜的屋子去做准备,我跑上楼抓起一本书。

Then I went to the kitchen, stuffed my pockets with handfuls of pine nuts, and ran outside to find Hassan waiting for me. We burst through the front gates and headed for the hill.

接着我到厨房去,往口袋里塞一把松子,然后跑出去,哈桑在外面等我。我们穿过前门,朝那座山头进发。

We crossed the residential street and were trekking through a barren patch of rough land that led to the hill when, suddenly, a rock struck Hassan in the back. We whirled around and my heart dropped. Assef and two of his friends, Wali and Kamal, were approaching us.

我们穿过住宅区,在一片通往山丘的荒芜空地上跋涉前进。突然间,一块石头击中了哈桑的后背。我们转过身,我的心一沉。阿塞夫和他的两个狐朋狗友,瓦里和卡莫,正朝我们走过来。

Assef was the son of one of my father's friends, Mahmood, an airline pilot. His family lived a few streets south of our Home, in a posh, high-walled compound with palm trees. If you were a kid living in the Wazir Akbar Khan section of Kabul, you knew about Assef and his famous stainless-steel brass knuckles, hopefully not through personal experience.

阿塞夫的父亲叫马赫穆德,我爸爸的朋友,是个飞机驾驶员。他家位于一处豪华的住宅区,深院高墙,棕榈环绕,就在我们家南边,只隔了几条街。住在喀布尔瓦兹尔·阿克巴·汗区的小孩,人人都知道阿塞夫和他那臭名昭著的不锈钢拳套,谁都不愿意尝尝它的滋味。

Born to a German mother and Afghan father, the blond, blue-eyed Assef towered over the other kids. His well-earned reputation for savagery preceded him on the streets. Flanked by his obeying friends, he walked the neighborhood like a Khan strolling through his land with his eager-to-please entourage. 

由于父亲是阿富汗人,母亲是德国人,蓝眼睛的阿塞夫头发金黄,身材比其他孩子都要高大。他凶残成性,恶名远播,人们总是避之惟恐不及。他身旁有群为虎作伥的党羽,走在附近的街道上,宛如可汗在阿谀逢迎的部属陪伴下,视察自己的领地。

His word was law, and if you needed a little legal education, then those brass knuckles were just the right teaching tool. I saw him use those knuckles once on a kid from the Karteh-Char district. I will never forget how Assef's blue eyes glinted with a light not entirely sane and how he grinned, how he "grinned", as he pummeled that poor kid unconscious. Some of the boys in Wazir Akbar Khan had nicknamed him Assef "Goshkhor", or Assef "the Ear Eater".

他说的话就是法律,如果你需要一点法律教育,那么他那不锈钢拳套无疑是最好的教具。我曾见过他用那拳套折磨一个卡德察区的小孩。我永远都不会忘记阿塞夫蓝色的眼睛中闪烁的近乎疯狂的光芒,还有他那邪恶的笑脸--那可怜的孩子被他痛击得不省人事,他竟然咧嘴而笑。瓦兹尔·阿克巴·汗区某些儿童给他起了个花名,叫“吃耳朵的阿塞夫”。

Of course, none of them dared utter it to his face unless they wished to suffer the same fate as the poor kid who had unwittingly inspired that nickname when he had fought Assef over a kite and ended up Fishing his right ear from a muddy gutter. Years later, I learned an English word for the creature that Assef was, a word for which a good Farsi equivalent does not exist:"sociopath."

当然,没有人胆敢当面这样称呼他,除非他们想亲身体会那个可怜孩子的下场:他跟阿塞夫争夺一只风筝,结果之后在路边的臭水沟打捞自己的右耳。多年以后,我学到了一个英文单词,在法尔西语找不到对应的字眼,可以用来形容阿塞夫那样的人:反社会分子。

Of all the neighborhood boys who tortured Ali, Assef was by far the most relentless. He was, in fact, the originator of the Babalu jeer, "Hey, Babalu, who did you eat today? Huh? Come on, Babalu, give us a smile!" And on days when he felt particularly inspired, he spiced up his badgering a little, "Hey, you flat-nosed Babalu, who did you eat today? Tell us, you slant-eyed donkey!"

在那些折磨阿里的男孩中,阿塞夫远比其他人来得恶毒。实际上,人们用“巴巴鲁”来嘲弄阿里,他正是始作俑者。喂,巴巴鲁,你今天吃了谁啊?哦?来吧,巴巴鲁,朝我们笑一笑。在那些他觉得特别来劲的日子,他会加油添醋:喂,你这个塌鼻子巴巴鲁,今天吃了谁啊?告诉我们,你这头细眼睛的驴子!

Now he was walking toward us, hands on his hips, his sneakers kicking up little puffs of dust.

眼下他正双手放在背后,用那双胶底运动鞋踢起尘灰,朝我们走来。

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