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残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(60)

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Hassan’s smile wilted. He looked older than I’d remembered. No, not older, old. Was that possible? Lines had etched into his tanned face and creases framed his eyes, his mouth. I might as well have taken a knife and carved those lines myself.哈桑的笑容枯萎了。他看起来比我记得的要大,不,不是大,是老。怎么会这样呢?皱纹爬上他那张饱经风吹日晒的脸,爬过他的眼角,他的唇边。也许那些皱纹,正是我亲手拿刀刻出来的。
“What would you do?” I repeated.“你会怎么做呢?”我重复。
The color fell from his face. Next to him, the stapled pages of the story I’d promised to read him fluttered in the breeze. I hurled the pomegranate at him. It struck him in the chest, exploded in a spray of red pulp. Hassan’s cry was pregnant with surprise and pain.他脸无血色。我答应要念给他听的那本故事书在他脚下,书页被微风吹得劈啪响。我朝他扔了个石榴,打中他的胸膛,爆裂出红色的果肉。哈桑又惊又痛,放声大哭。
“Hit me back!” I snapped. Hassan looked from the stain on his chest to me.“还手啊!”我咆哮着。哈桑看看胸前的污渍,又看看我。
“Get up! Hit me!” I said. Hassan did get up, but he just stood there, looking dazed like a man dragged into the ocean by a riptide when, just a moment ago, he was enjoying a nice stroll on the beach.“起来!打我!”我说。哈桑站起来了,但他只是站在那儿,露出茫然失措的表情,好比一个男人,刚才还在海滩愉快地散步,此刻却被浪花卷到大洋中间。
I hit him with another pomegranate, in the shoulder this time. The juice splattered his face. “Hit me back!” I spat. “Hit me back, goddamn you!” I wished he would. I wished he’d give me the punishment I craved, so maybe I’d finally sleep at night. Maybe then things could return to how they used to be between us. But Hassan did nothing as I pelted him again and again. “You’re a coward!” I said. “Nothing but a goddamn coward!”我又扔出一个石榴,这次打在他的肩膀上,果汁染上他的脸。“还手!”我大喊,“还手,你这个该死的家伙!”我希望他还击。我希望他满足我的愿望,好好惩罚我,这样我晚上就能睡着了。也许到时事情就会回到我们以前那个样子。但哈桑纹丝不动,任由我一次又一次扔他。“你是个懦夫!”我说,“你什么都不是,只是个该死的懦夫!”
I don’t know how many times I hit him. All I know is that, when I finally stopped, exhausted and panting, Hassan was smeared in red like he’d been shot by a firing squad. I fell to my knees, tired, spent, frustrated.我不知道自己击中他多少次。我所知道的是,当我终于停下来,筋疲力尽,气喘吁吁,哈桑浑身血红,仿佛被一队士兵射击过那样。我双足跪倒,疲累不堪,垂头丧气。
Then Hassan did pick up a pomegranate. He walked toward me. He opened it and crushed it against his own forehead. “There,” he croaked, red dripping down his face like blood. “Are you satisfied? Do you feel better?” He turned around and started down the hill.然后哈桑捡起一个石榴。他朝我走来,将它掰开,在额头上磨碎。“那么,”他哽咽着,红色的石榴汁如同鲜血一样从他脸上滴下来。“你满意了吧?你觉得好受了吗?”他转过身,朝山下走去。
I let the tears break free, rocked back and forth on my knees.“What am I going to do with you, Hassan? What am I going to do with you?” But by the time the tears dried up and I trudged down the hill, I knew the answer to that question.我任由泪水决堤,跪在地上,身体前后摇晃。“我该拿你怎么办,哈桑?我该拿你怎么办?”但等到泪痕风干,我脚步沉重地走回家,我找到了答案。

Hassan’s smile wilted. He looked older than I’d remembered. No, not older, old. Was that possible? Lines had etched into his tanned face and creases framed his eyes, his mouth. I might as well have taken a knife and carved those lines myself.
“What would you do?” I repeated.
The color fell from his face. Next to him, the stapled pages of the story I’d promised to read him fluttered in the breeze. I hurled the pomegranate at him. It struck him in the chest, exploded in a spray of red pulp. Hassan’s cry was pregnant with surprise and pain.
“Hit me back!” I snapped. Hassan looked from the stain on his chest to me.
“Get up! Hit me!” I said. Hassan did get up, but he just stood there, looking dazed like a man dragged into the ocean by a riptide when, just a moment ago, he was enjoying a nice stroll on the beach.
I hit him with another pomegranate, in the shoulder this time. The juice splattered his face. “Hit me back!” I spat. “Hit me back, goddamn you!” I wished he would. I wished he’d give me the punishment I craved, so maybe I’d finally sleep at night. Maybe then things could return to how they used to be between us. But Hassan did nothing as I pelted him again and again. “You’re a coward!” I said. “Nothing but a goddamn coward!”
I don’t know how many times I hit him. All I know is that, when I finally stopped, exhausted and panting, Hassan was smeared in red like he’d been shot by a firing squad. I fell to my knees, tired, spent, frustrated.
Then Hassan did pick up a pomegranate. He walked toward me. He opened it and crushed it against his own forehead. “There,” he croaked, red dripping down his face like blood. “Are you satisfied? Do you feel better?” He turned around and started down the hill.
I let the tears break free, rocked back and forth on my knees.“What am I going to do with you, Hassan? What am I going to do with you?” But by the time the tears dried up and I trudged down the hill, I knew the answer to that question.


哈桑的笑容枯萎了。他看起来比我记得的要大,不,不是大,是老。怎么会这样呢?皱纹爬上他那张饱经风吹日晒的脸,爬过他的眼角,他的唇边。也许那些皱纹,正是我亲手拿刀刻出来的。
“你会怎么做呢?”我重复。
他脸无血色。我答应要念给他听的那本故事书在他脚下,书页被微风吹得劈啪响。我朝他扔了个石榴,打中他的胸膛,爆裂出红色的果肉。哈桑又惊又痛,放声大哭。
“还手啊!”我咆哮着。哈桑看看胸前的污渍,又看看我。
“起来!打我!”我说。哈桑站起来了,但他只是站在那儿,露出茫然失措的表情,好比一个男人,刚才还在海滩愉快地散步,此刻却被浪花卷到大洋中间。
我又扔出一个石榴,这次打在他的肩膀上,果汁染上他的脸。“还手!”我大喊,“还手,你这个该死的家伙!”我希望他还击。我希望他满足我的愿望,好好惩罚我,这样我晚上就能睡着了。也许到时事情就会回到我们以前那个样子。但哈桑纹丝不动,任由我一次又一次扔他。“你是个懦夫!”我说,“你什么都不是,只是个该死的懦夫!”
我不知道自己击中他多少次。我所知道的是,当我终于停下来,筋疲力尽,气喘吁吁,哈桑浑身血红,仿佛被一队士兵射击过那样。我双足跪倒,疲累不堪,垂头丧气。
然后哈桑捡起一个石榴。他朝我走来,将它掰开,在额头上磨碎。“那么,”他哽咽着,红色的石榴汁如同鲜血一样从他脸上滴下来。“你满意了吧?你觉得好受了吗?”他转过身,朝山下走去。
我任由泪水决堤,跪在地上,身体前后摇晃。“我该拿你怎么办,哈桑?我该拿你怎么办?”但等到泪痕风干,我脚步沉重地走回家,我找到了答案。
重点单词   查看全部解释    
shoulder ['ʃəuldə]

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n. 肩膀,肩部
v. 扛,肩负,承担,(用肩

 
fell [fel]

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动词fall的过去式
n. 兽皮
v

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pulp [pʌlp]

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n. 果肉,纸浆,木髓,牙髓,低级刊物 vt. 使成为浆

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coward ['kauəd]

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n. 懦夫
adj. 胆小的
Cow

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stain [stein]

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n. 污点,瑕疵,染料,着色剂
v. 玷污,弄

 
runner ['rʌnə]

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n. 赛跑的人,跑步者

 
spat [spæt]

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n. 贝卵,蚝卵,蚝仔 n. 鞋罩 n. 小争吵,轻打声

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stroll [strəul]

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n. 闲逛,漫步
v. 闲逛,漫步

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