殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(142)

I STEPPED OUTSIDE. Stood in the silver tarnish of a half-moon and glanced up to a sky riddled with stars. Crickets chirped in the shuttered darkness and a wind wafted through the trees. The ground was cool under my bare feet and suddenly, for the first time since we had crossed the border, I felt like I was back. After all these years, I was home again, standing on the soil of my ancestors. This was the soil on which my great-grandfather had married his third wife a year before dying in the cholera epidemic that hit Kabul in 1915. She’d borne him what his first two wives had failed to, a son at last. It was on this soil that my grandfather had gone on a hunting trip with King Nadir Shah and shot a deer. My mother had died on this soil. And on this soil, I had fought for my father’s love.
I sat against one of the house’s clay walls. The kinship I felt suddenly for the old land... it surprised me. I’d been gone long enough to forget and be forgotten. I had a home in a land that might as well be in another galaxy to the people sleeping on the other side of the wall I leaned against. I thought I had forgotten about this land. But I hadn’t. And, under the bony glow of a halfmoon, I sensed Afghanistan humming under my feet. Maybe Afghanistan hadn’t forgotten me either.I looked westward and marveled that, somewhere over those mountains, Kabul still existed. It really existed, not just as an old memory, or as the heading of an AP story on page 15 of the San Francisco Chronicle. Somewhere over those mountains in the west slept the city where my harelipped brother and I had run kites. Somewhere over there, the blindfolded man from my dream had died a needless death. Once, over those mountains, I had made a choice. And now, a quarter of a century later, that choice had landed me right back on this soil.I was about to go back inside when I heard voices coming from the house. I recognized one as Wahid’s.
“--nothing left for the children.”“We’re hungry but we’re not savages! He is a guest! What was I supposed to do?” he said in a strained voice.“--to find something tomorrow” She sounded near tears. “What do I feed--”I tiptoed away. I understood now why the boys hadn’t shown any interest in the watch. They hadn’t been staring at the watch at all. They’d been staring at my SAID OUR GOOD - BYE S early the next morning. Just before I climbed into the Land Cruiser, I thanked Wahid for his hospitality. He pointed to the little house behind him. “This is your home,” he said. His three sons were standing in the doorway watching us. The little one was wearing the watch--it dangled around his twiggy wrist.I glanced in the side-view mirror as we pulled away. Wahid stood surrounded by his boys in a cloud of dust whipped up by the truck. It occurred to me that, in a different world, those boys wouldn’t have been too hungry to chase after the car. Earlier that morning, when I was certain no one was looking, I did something I had done twenty-six years earlier: I planted a fistful of crumpled money under a mattress.

我走到外面。明月半彎，銀光黯淡，我佇立，擡頭望着星辰遍佈的夜空。蟋蟀隱身黑暗中啾啾鳴叫，風拂過樹梢。我赤裸的腳下大地寒涼，剎那間，自我們穿過國境後，我初次感到我回來了。度過所有這些年月，我又回來了，站在祖輩的土地上。正是在這片土地上，我的曾祖父在去世前一年娶了第三個妻子。 1915年那場橫掃喀布爾的霍亂要了他的命。最後，她給他生了前兩個妻子所未能生出的：一個兒子。正是在這片土地上，我的祖父跟納迪爾國王一起狩獵，射殺一頭鹿。我媽媽死在這片土地上。也是在這片土地上，我曾爲了得到父親的愛苦苦奮鬥。
我倚着那屋子的一堵泥牆坐下。突然間，我覺得自己和這片古老的土地血脈相連……這讓我很吃驚。我的離開很久遠了，久遠得足以遺忘，也足以被遺忘。我在大地某處有個家，對於那些睡在我倚着這面牆那邊的人們來說，那地方或許遙遠如另外一個星系。我曾以爲我忘了這片土地。但是我沒忘。而且，在皎潔的月光中，我感到在我腳下的阿富汗發出低沉的響聲。也許阿富汗也沒有把我遺忘。我朝西望去，覺得真是奇妙，在峯巒那邊的某處，喀布爾依然存在。它真的存在，不只是久遠的記憶，不只是《舊金山紀事報》第十五版上某篇美聯社報道的標題。西方的山脈那邊某個地方有座沉睡的城市，我的兔脣弟弟和我曾在那裏追過風箏。那邊某個地方，我夢中那個蒙着眼的男人死於非命。曾經，在山那邊，我作過一個抉擇。而如今，時隔四分之一個世紀，正是那個抉擇讓我重返這片土地。我正打算回去，聽到屋裏傳出說話聲。我認得有個是瓦希德的嗓音。
“……沒有什麼留給孩子吃的了。”“我們是很餓，但我們不是野蠻人！他是客人！你說我該怎麼辦？”他的聲音很疲累。“……明天去找些東西”她哭泣着說，“我拿什麼來養……”我躡手躡腳走開。現在我明白爲什麼那些男孩對手錶毫無興趣了。他們根本就不是在看着手錶，他們看着的是我的食物。我們在隔日早上道別。就在我爬上陸地巡洋艦之前，我謝謝瓦希德的熱情招待。他指着身後那座小小的房子。“這裏是你的家。”他說。他三個兒子站在門口，看着我們。最小那個戴着手錶——它在他瘦小的手腕上盪來盪去。我們離開的時候，我看着側視鏡。瓦希德被他的兒子環繞着，站在一陣車輪捲起的塵霧中。我突然想起，要是在另外的世界，這些孩子不會餓得連追逐汽車的力氣都沒有。那天早些時候，我確信無人注意，做了一件二十六年前就已經做過的事情：將一把皺皺的鈔票塞在草蓆下面。