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So awful was this news that he couldn't tell my mother, even though he is usually hopeless at keeping secrets, particularly from her.
这个消息太可怕了，他没办法告诉我的母亲。尽管他通常守不住秘密，特别是对母亲。
Instead he told God, 'This is unacceptable. I will give her one of my own eyes.'
相反地，他告诉真主：“我没办法接受这件事情。我愿意分一只眼睛给她。”
But then he was worried that at forty-three years old his own eyes might not be very good.
但他又转而开始操心，他已经43岁了，他自己的眼力多半也没多好。
He hardly slept that night.
那晚，他辗转难眠。
The next morning he asked the major in charge of security if he could borrow his phone to call Colonel Junaid.
第二天早上，他询问负责保卫我们家的少校能不能借他的手机致电朱奈德上校。
'I have heard that Malala can't see,' my father told him in distress.
“我听说马拉拉瞎了。”父亲绝望地告诉他。
That's nonsense,' he replied. 'If she can read and write, how can she not see?
“别听人家胡说，”少校回答，“如果她能读写，怎么可能看不见？
Dr Fiona has kept me updated, and one of the first notes Malala wrote was to ask about you.'
菲奥娜医生定时会跟我汇报她的病况，而马拉拉最初写的一张纸条上，问的就是你的近况。”
Far away in Birmingham, not only could I see but I was asking for a mirror.
在遥远的伯明翰，我不但视力无碍，还要求他们给我一面镜子。
'Mirror,' I wrote in the pink diary – I wanted to see my face and hair.
“镜子。”我在粉红本子上这么写——我想看看自己的脸和头发。
The nurses brought me a small white mirror which I still have.
护士们拿给我一面白色的小镜子，我现在仍把它带在身旁。
When I saw myself, I was distraught.
当我看见自己的脸时，难过得无法自已。
My long hair, which I used to spend ages styling, had gone, and the left side of my head had none at all.
我的长发，我过去会花上数不清的时间打点的长发，没了，头部的左半边更是光秃一片。
'Now my hair is small,' I wrote in the book.
“我现在是短发了。”我在本子里这样写。
I thought the Taliban had cut it off. In fact the Pakistani doctors had shaved my head with no mercy.
我原先以为是塔利班下的手，事实上帮我剃头的却是巴基斯坦那些不留情面的医生。
My face was distorted like someone had pulled it down on one side, and there was a scar to the side of my left eye.
我的脸部扭曲变形，就像有人从一边将它往下拉扯一样，而在我的左眼侧边，则留下了一条疤痕。
