殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(38)

UsuAlly, each neighborhood held its own competition. But that year, the tournament was going to be held in my neighborhood, Wazir Akbar Khan, and several other districts--Karteh-Char, Karteh-Parwan, Mekro-Rayan, and Koteh-Sangi--had been invited. You could hardly go anywhere without hearing talk of the upcoming tournament. Word had it this was going to be the biggest tournament in twenty-five years.

通常，每個街區都會舉辦自己的比賽。但那年，巡迴賽由我所在的街區，瓦茲爾·阿克巴·汗區舉辦，幾個其他的城區--卡德察區、卡德帕灣區、梅寇拉揚區、科德桑吉區--也應邀參加。無論走到哪裏，都能聽見人們在談論即將舉辦的巡迴賽，據說這是二十五年來規模最大的風箏比賽。

One night that winter, with the big contest only four days away, Baba and I sat in his study in overstuffed leather chairs by the glow of the fireplace. We were sipping tea, talking. Ali had served dinner earlier--potatoes and curried cauliflower over rice--and had retired for the night with Hassan. Baba was fattening his pipe and I was asking him to tell the story about the winter a pack of wolves had descended from the mountains in Herat and forced everyone to stay indoors for a week, when he lit a match and said, casually, "I think maybe you'll win the tournament this year. What do you think?"

那年冬天的一個夜裏，距比賽還有四天，爸爸和我坐在書房裏鋪滿毛皮的椅子上，烤着火，邊喝茶邊交談。早些時候，阿里服侍我們用過晚餐--土豆、咖喱西蘭花拌飯，回去跟哈桑度過漫漫長夜。爸爸塞着他的煙管，我求他講那個故事給我聽，據說某年冬天，有一羣狼從山上下來，遊蕩到赫拉特，迫使人們在屋裏躲了一個星期。爸爸劃了一根火柴，說:"我覺得今年你也許能贏得巡迴賽，你覺得呢?"

I didn't know what to think. Or what to say. Was that what it would take? Had he just slipped me a key? I was a good kite fighter. Actually, a very good one. A few times, I'd even come close to winning the winter tournament--once, I'd made it to the final three. But coming close wasn't the same as winning, was it? Baba hadn't "come close". He had won because winners won and everyone else just went Home. Baba was used to winning, winning at everything he set his mind to. Didn't he have a right to expect the same from his son? And just imagine. If I did win...

我不知道該怎麼想，或者該怎麼說。我要是取勝了會怎麼樣呢?他只是交給我一把鑰匙嗎?我是鬥風箏的好手，實際上，是非常出色的好手。好幾次我差點贏得冬季巡迴賽--有一次，我還進了前三名。但差點兒和贏得比賽是兩回事，不是嗎?爸爸從來不差點兒，他只是獲勝，獲勝者贏得比賽，其他人只能回家。爸爸總是勝利，贏得一切他想贏得的東西。難道他沒有權利要求他的兒子也這樣嗎?想想吧，要是我贏得比賽……

Baba smoked his pipe and talked. I pretended to listen. But I couldn't listen, not really, because Baba's casual little comment had planted a seed in my head: the resolution that I would win that winter's tournament. I was going to win. There was no other viable option. I was going to win, and I was going to run that last kite. Then I'd bring it Home and show it to Baba. Show him once and for all that his son was worthy. Then maybe my life as a ghost in this house would finally be over. I let myself dream: I imagined conversation and laughter over dinner instead of silence broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional grunt. I envisioned us taking a Friday drive in Baba's car to Paghman, stopping on the way at Ghargha Lake for some fried trout and potatoes. We'd go to the zoo to see Marjan the lion, and maybe Baba wouldn't yawn and steal looks at his wristwatch all the time. Maybe Baba would even read one of my stories. I'd write him a hundred if I thought he'd read one. Maybe he'd call me Amir jan like Rahim Khan did. And maybe, just maybe, I would finally be pardoned for killing my mother.

爸爸吸着煙管，跟我說話。我假裝在聽，但我聽不進去，有點心不在焉，因爲爸爸隨口一說，在我腦海埋下了一顆種子：贏得冬季巡迴賽是個好辦法。我要贏得比賽，沒有其他選擇。我要贏得比賽，我的風箏要堅持到最後。然後我會把它帶回家，帶給爸爸看。讓他看看，他的兒子終究非同凡響，那麼也許我在家裏孤魂野鬼般的日子就可以結束。我讓自己幻想着：我幻想吃晚飯的時候，充滿歡聲笑語，而非一言不發，只有銀餐具偶爾的碰撞聲和幾聲"嗯哦"打破寂靜。我想像星期五爸爸開着車帶我去帕格曼，中途在喀爾卡湖稍作休憩，吃着炸鱒魚和炸土豆。我們會去動物園看看那隻叫"瑪揚"的獅子，也許爸爸不會一直打哈欠，偷偷看着他的腕錶。也許爸爸甚至還會看看我寫的故事，我情願爲他寫一百篇，哪怕他只挑一篇看看。也許他會像拉辛汗那樣，叫我"親愛的阿米爾"。也許，只是也許，他最終會原諒我殺了他的妻子。

Baba was telling me about the time he'd cut fourteen kites on the same day. I smiled, nodded, laughed at all the right places, but I hardly heard a word he said. I had a mission now. And I wasn't going to fail Baba. Not this time.

爸爸告訴我有一天他割斷了十四隻風箏的線。我不時微笑，點頭，大笑，一切恰到好處，但我幾乎沒有聽清他在說什麼。現在我有個使命了，我不會讓爸爸失望。這次不會。