殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(52)

I ran because I was a coward. I was afraid of Assef and what he would do to me. I was afraid of getting hurt. That’s what I told myself as I turned my back to the alley, to Hassan. That’s what I made myself believe. I actually aspired to cowardice, because the alternative, the real reason I was running, was that Assef was right: Nothing was free in this world. Maybe Hassan was the price I had to pay, the lamb I had to slay, to win Baba. Was it a fair price? The answer floated to my conscious mind before I could thwart it: He was just a Hazara, wasn’t he?
I ran back the way I’d come. Ran back to the all but deserted bazaar. I lurched to a cubicle and leaned against the padlocked swinging doors. I stood there panting, sweating, wishing things had turned out some other way.
About fifteen minutes later, I heard voices and running footfalls. I crouched behind the cubicle and watched Assef and the other two sprinting by, laughing as they hurried down the deserted lane. I forced myself to wait ten more minutes. Then I walked back to the rutted track that ran along the snow-filled ravine. I squinted in the dimming light and spotted Hassan walking slowly toward me. I met him by a leafless birch tree on the edge of the ravine.
He had the blue kite in his hands; that was the first thing I saw. And I can’t lie now and say my eyes didn’t scan it for any rips. His chapan had mud smudges down the front and his shirt was ripped just below the collar. He stopped. Swayed on his feet like he was going to collapse. Then he steadied himself. Handed me the kite.

“Where were you? I looked for you,” I said. Speaking those words was like chewing on a rock.
Hassan dragged a sleeve across his face, wiped snot and tears. I waited for him to say something, but we just stood there in silence, in the fading light. I was grateful for the early-evening shadows that fell on Hassan’s face and concealed mine. I was glad I didn’t have to return his gaze. Did he know I knew? And if he knew, then what would I see if I did look in his eyes? Blame? Indignation? Or, God forbid, what I feared most: guileless devotion? That, most of all, I couldn’t bear to see.
He began to say something and his voice cracked. He closed his mouth, opened it, and closed it again. Took a step back. Wiped his face. And that was as close as Hassan and I ever came to discussing what had happened in the alley. I thought he might burst into tears, but, to my relief, he didn’t, and I pretended I hadn’t heard the crack in his voice. Just like I pretended I hadn’t seen the dark stain in the seat of his pants. Or those tiny drops that fell from between his legs and stained the snow black.
“Agha sahib will worry,” was all he said. He turned from me and limped away.
IT HAPPENED JUST THE WAY I’d imagined. I opened the door to the smoky study and stepped in. Baba and Rahim Khan were drinking tea and listening to the news crackling on the radio. Their heads turned. Then a smile played on my father’s lips. He opened his arms. I put the kite down and walked into his thick hairy arms. I buried my face in the warmth of his chest and wept. Baba held me close to him, rocking me back and forth. In his arms, I forgot what I’d done. And that was good.

我逃跑，因爲我是懦夫。我害怕阿塞夫，害怕他折磨我。我害怕受到傷害。我轉身離開小巷、離開哈桑的時候，心裏這樣對自己說。我試圖讓自己這麼認爲。說真的，我寧願相信自己是出於軟弱，因爲另外的答案，我逃跑的真正原因，是覺得阿塞夫說得對：這個世界沒有什麼是免費的。爲了贏回爸爸，也許哈桑只是必須付出的代價，是我必須宰割的羔羊。這是個公平的代價嗎?我還來不及抑止，答案就從意識中冒出來：他只是個哈扎拉人，不是嗎?
我沿着來路跑回去，回到那個空無一人的市場。我跌撞上一家小店鋪，斜倚着那緊閉的推門。我站在那兒，氣喘吁吁，汗水直流，希望事情並沒有變成這個樣子。
約莫隔了十五分鐘，我聽到人聲，還有腳步聲。我躲在那家小店，望着阿塞夫和那兩個人走過，笑聲飄過空蕩蕩的過道。我強迫自己再等十分鐘。然後我走回到那條和冰封的小溪平行、滿是車痕的小巷。我在昏暗的光芒中眯起眼睛，看見哈桑慢慢朝我走來。在河邊一棵光禿禿的樺樹下，我和他相遇。
他手裏拿着那隻藍風箏，那是我第一眼看到的東西。時至今日，我無法扯謊說自己當時沒有查看風箏是否有什麼裂痕。他的長袍前方沾滿泥土，襯衣領子下面開裂。他站着，雙腿搖搖晃晃，似乎隨時都會倒下。接着他站穩了，把風箏遞給我。
“你到哪裏去了?我在找你。”我艱難地說，彷彿在吞嚼一塊石頭。
哈桑伸手用衣袖擦擦臉，抹去眼淚和鼻涕。我等待他開口，但我們只是靜靜地站在那兒，在消逝的天光中。我很感謝夜幕降臨，遮住了哈桑的臉，也掩蓋了我的面龐。我很高興我不用看着他的眼睛。他知道我知道嗎?如果他知道，我能從他眼裏看到什麼呢?埋怨?恥辱?或者，願真主制止，我最怕看到的：真誠的奉獻。所有這些裏，那是我最不願看到的。
他開始說些什麼，但他有點哽咽。他閉上嘴巴，張開，又閉上，往後退了一步，擦擦他的臉。就在當時，我幾乎就要和哈桑談論起在小巷裏頭髮生的事情來。我原以爲他會痛哭流涕，但，謝天謝地，他沒有，而我假裝沒有聽到他喉嚨的哽咽。就像我假裝沒有看到他褲子後面深色的污漬一樣。也假裝沒有看到從他雙腿之間滴下的血滴，它們滴下來，將雪地染成黑色。
“老爺會擔心的。”他就說了這麼一句。他轉過頭，蹣跚着走開。
事情就如我想像的那樣。我打開門，走進那煙霧繚繞的書房。爸爸和拉辛汗在喝茶，聽着收音機傳出的劈里啪啦的新聞。他們轉過頭，接着爸爸嘴角亮起一絲笑容，他張開雙手，我把臉埋在他溫暖的胸膛上，哭起來。爸爸緊緊抱着我，不斷撫摸着我的後背。在他懷裏，我忘了自己的所作所爲。那感覺真好。