殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(119)
Hassan dropped his gaze. He told me that Ali and his cousin--who had owned the house--had been killed by a land mine two years before, just outside of Bamiyan. A land mine. Is there a more Afghan way of dying, Amir jan? And for some crazy reason, I became absolutely certain that it had been Ali’s right leg--his twisted polio leg--that had finally betrayed him and stepped on that land mine. I was deeply saddened to hear Ali had died. Your father and I grew up together, as you know, and Ali had been with him as long as I could remember. I remember when we were all little, the year Ali got polio and almost died. Your father would walk around the house all day crying.
Farzana made us shorwa with beans, turnips, and potatoes. We washed our hands and dipped fresh _naan_ from the tandoor into the shorwa--it was the best meal I had had in months. It was then that I asked Hassan to move to Kabul with me. I told him about the house, how I could not care for it by myself anymore. I told him I would pay him well, that he and his _khanum_ would be comfortable. They looked to each other and did not say anything. Later, after we had washed our hands and Farzana had served us grapes, Hassan said the village was his home now; he and Farzana had made a life for themselves there.
“And Bamiyan is so close. We know people there. Forgive me, Rahim Khan. I pray you understand.”
“Of course,” I said. “You have nothing to apologize for. I understand.”It was midway through tea after shorwa that Hassan asked about you. I told him you were in America, but that I did not know much more. Hassan had so many questions about you. Had you married? Did you have children? How tall were you? Did you still fly kites and go to the cinema? Were you happy? He said he had befriended an old Farsi teacher in Bamiyan who had taught him to read and write. If he wrote you a letter, would I pass it on to you? And did I think you would write back? I told him what I knew of you from the few phone conversations I had had with your father, but mostly I did not know how to answer him. Then he asked me about your father. When I told him, Hassan buried his face in his hands and broke into tears. He wept like a child for the rest of that night.
They insisted that I spend the night there. Farzana fixed a cot for me and left me a glass of well water in case I got thirsty. All night, I heard her whispering to Hassan, and heard him sobbing.
In the morning, Hassan told me he and Farzana had decided to move to Kabul with me.
“I should not have come here,” I said. “You were right, Hassan jan. You have a zendagi, a life here. It was presumptuous of me to just show up and ask you to drop everything. It is me who needs to be forgiven.”
“We don’t have that much to drop, Rahim Khan,” Hassan said. His eyes were still red and puffy. “We’ll go with you. We’ll help you take care of the house.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
哈桑垂下眼光。他告訴我說，阿里和他的表親——這個屋子是他的——兩年前被地雷炸死了，就在巴米揚城外。一枚地雷。阿富汗人還有其他死法嗎，親愛的阿米爾？而且我荒唐地覺得，一定是阿里的右腳——他那患過小兒麻痹的廢腳——背叛了他，踩在地雷上。聽到阿里去世，我心裏非常難過。你知道，你爸爸和我一起長大，從我懂事起，阿里就陪伴着他。我還記得那年我們都很小，阿里得了小兒麻痹症，差點死掉。你爸爸整天繞着屋子走來走去，哭個不停。
法莎娜用豆子、蕪青、土豆做了蔬菜湯，我們洗手，抓起從烤爐取下的新鮮饢餅，浸在湯裏——那是我幾個月來吃過的最好的一頓。就在那時，我求哈桑搬到喀布爾，跟我住一起。我把屋子的情況告訴他，跟他說我再也不能獨力打理。我告訴他我會給他可觀的報酬，讓他和他的妻子過得舒服。他們彼此對望，什麼也沒說。飯後，我們洗過手，法莎娜端給我們葡萄。哈桑說這座村莊現在就是他的家，他和法莎娜在那兒自食其力。
“而且離巴米揚很近，我們在那兒有熟人。原諒我，拉辛汗。我請求你的原諒。”
“當然，”我說，“你不用向我道歉，我知道。”喝完蔬菜湯又喝茶，喝到一半，哈桑問起你來。我告訴你在美國，但其他情況我也不清楚。哈桑問了很多跟你有關的問題。你結婚了嗎？你有孩子嗎？你多高？你還放風箏嗎？還去電影院嗎？你快樂嗎？他說他跟巴米揚一個年老的法爾西語教師成了朋友，他教他讀書寫字。如果他給你寫一封信，我會轉交給你嗎？還問我，你會不會回信？我告訴他，我跟你爸爸打過幾次電話，從他口裏得知你的情況，但我不知道該怎麼回答他。接着他問起你爸爸。我告訴他時，他雙手掩着臉，號啕大哭。那天晚上，他像小孩一樣，抹了整夜的眼淚。
他們執意留我過夜。我在那兒住了一晚。法莎娜給我弄了個鋪位，給我一杯井水，以便渴了可以喝。整個夜裏，我聽見她低聲跟哈桑說話，聽着他哭泣。
翌日早晨，哈桑跟我說，他和法莎娜決定搬到喀布爾，跟我一起住。
“我不該到這裏來，”我說，“你是對的，親愛的哈桑，這兒有你的生活。我到這裏來，要求你放棄一切，真是太冒失了。需要得到原諒的人是我。”
“我們沒有什麼可以放棄的，拉辛汗。”哈桑說，他的眼睛仍是又紅又腫。“我們會跟你走，我們會幫你照料屋子。”
“你真的想好了嗎？”
