殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(110)
She stood up now. “Pakistan?”
“Rahim Khan is very sick.” A fist clenched inside me with those words.
“Kaka’s old business partner?” She’d never met Rahim Khan, but I had told her about him. I nodded.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Amir.”
“We used to be close,” I said. “When I was a kid, he was the first grown-up I ever thought of as a friend.” I pictured him and Baba drinking tea in Baba’s study, then smoking near the window, a sweetbrier-scented breeze blowing from the garden and bending the twin columns of smoke.
“I remember you telling me that,” Soraya said. She paused. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. He wants to see me.”
“Is it...”
“Yes, it’s safe. I’ll be all right, Soraya.” It was the question she’d wanted to ask all along--fifteen years of marriage had turned us into mind readers.
“I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Should I go with you?”
“Nay, I’d rather be alone.”
I DROVE TO GOLDEN GATE PARK and walked along Spreckels Lake on the northern edge of the park. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon; the sun sparkled on the water where dozens of miniature boats sailed, propelled by a crisp San Francisco breeze. I sat on a park bench, watched a man toss a football to his son, telling him to not sidearm the ball, to throw over the shoulder. I glanced up and saw a pair of kites, red with long blue tails. They floated high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills.
I thought about a comment Rahim Khan had made just before we hung up. Made it in passing, almost as an afterthought. I closed my eyes and saw him at the other end of the scratchy longdistance line, saw him with his lips slightly parted, head tilted to one side. And again, something in his bottomless black eyes hinted at an unspoken secret between us. Except now I knew he knew. My suspicions had been right all those years. He knew about Assef, the kite, the money, the watch with the lightning bolt hands. He had always known.
Come. There is a way to be good again, Rahim Khan had said on the phone just before hanging up. Said it in passing, almost as an afterthought.
A way to be good again.
她當即站起來：“巴基斯坦？”
“拉辛汗病得很厲害。”我說着這話的時候內心絞痛。
“叔叔以前的合夥人嗎？”她從未見過拉辛汗，但我提及過他。我點點頭。
“哦，”她說，“我很難過，阿米爾。”
“過去我們很要好。”我說，“當我還是孩子的時候，他是第一個被我當成朋友的成年人。”我描述起來，說到他和爸爸在書房裏面喝茶，然後靠近窗戶吸菸，和風從花園帶來陣陣薔薇的香味，吹得兩根菸柱嫋嫋飄散。
“我記得你提到過。”索拉雅說。她沉默了一會，“你會去多久？”
“我不知道，他想看到我。”
“那兒……”
“是的，那兒很安全。我會沒事的，索拉雅。”她想問的是這個問題——十五年的琴瑟和鳴讓我們變得心有靈犀。
“我想出去走走。”
“要我陪着你嗎？”
“不用，我想一個人。
”我驅車前往金門公園，獨自沿着公園北邊的斯普瑞柯湖邊散步。那是個美麗的星期天下午，太陽照在波光粼粼的水面上，數十艘輕舟在舊金山清新的和風吹拂中漂行。我坐在公園的長椅上，看着一個男人將橄欖球扔給他的兒子，告訴他不可橫臂投球，要舉過肩膀。我擡起頭，望見兩隻紅色的風箏，拖着藍色的長尾巴。它們越過公園西端的樹林，越過風車。
我想起掛電話之前拉辛汗所說的一句話。他不經意間提起，卻宛如經過深思熟慮。我閉上眼，看見他在嘈雜的長途電話線那端，看見他歪着頭，嘴脣微微分合。再一次，他深邃莫測的黑色眼珠中，有些東西暗示着我們之間未經說出的祕密。但是此刻我知道他知道。我這些年來的懷疑是對的。他知道阿塞夫、風箏、錢，還有那個指針閃光的手錶的事情。他一直都知道。
“來吧。這兒有再次成爲好人的路。”拉辛汗在掛電話之前說了這句話。不經意間提起，卻宛如經過深思熟慮。
再次成爲好人的路。
