殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(190)

I THOUGHT WE’D END UP DRIVing around the city until night fell. I saw myself calling the police, describing Sohrab to them under Fayyaz’s reproachful glare. I heard the officer, his voice tired and uninterested, asking his obligatory questions. And beneath the official questions, an unofficial one: Who the hell cared about another dead Afghan kid?
But we found him about a hundred yards from the mosque, sitting in the half-full parking lot, on an island of grass. Fayyaz pulled up to the island and let me out. “I have to get back,” he said.
“That’s fine. We’ll walk back,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Fayyaz. Really.”He leaned across the front seat when I got out. “Can I say something to you?”
“Sure.”
In the dark of twilight, his face was just a pair of eyeglasses reflecting the fading light. “The thing about you Afghanis is that... well, you people are a little reckless.”
I was tired and in pain. My jaws throbbed. And those damn wounds on my chest and stomach felt like barbed wire under my skin. But I started to laugh anyway.
“What... what did I...” Fayyaz was saying, but I was cackling by then, full-throated bursts of laughter spilling through my wired mouth.
“Crazy people,” he said. His tires screeched when he peeled away, his tail-lights blinking red in the dimming light.“You GAVE ME A GOOD SCARE,” I said. I sat beside him, wincing with pain as I was looking at the mosque. Shah Faisal Mosque was shaped like a giant tent. Cars came and went; worshipers dressed in white streamed in and out. We sat in silence, me leaning against the tree, Sohrab next to me, knees to his chest. We listened to the call to prayer, watched the building’s hundreds of lights come on as daylight faded. The mosque sparkled like a diamond in the dark. It lit up the sky, Sohrab’s face. “Have you ever been to Mazar-i-Sharif?” Sohrab said, his chin resting on his kneecaps.
“A long time ago. I don’t remember it much.”
“Father took me there when I was little. Mother and Sasa came along too. Father bought me a monkey from the bazaar. Not a real one but the kind you have to blow up. It was brown and had a bow tie.”
“I might have had one of those when I was a kid.”

我原以爲我們會在城裏四處尋找，直到夜幕降臨。我以爲我會看到自己報警，在費亞茲同情的目光下，給他們描繪索拉博的樣子。我以爲會聽見那個警官疲累冷漠的聲音，例行公事的提問。而在那些正式的問題之後，會來個私人的問題：不就是又一個死掉的阿富汗孩子，誰他媽的關心啊？
但我們在離清真寺約莫一百米的地方找到他，坐在車輛停滿一半的停車場裏面，一片草堆上。費亞茲在那片草堆停下，讓我下車。“我得回去。”他說。
“好的。我們會走回去。”我說，“謝謝你，費亞茲先生，真的謝謝。”我走出去的時候，他身子從前座探出來。“我能對你說幾句嗎？”?
“當然。”
在薄暮的黑暗中，他的臉只剩下一對反照出微光的眼鏡。“你們阿富汗的事情……這麼說吧，你們有點魯莽。”
我很累，很痛。我的下巴抖動，胸膛和腹部那些該死的傷口像魚鉤在拉我的皮膚。但儘管這樣，我還是開始大笑起來。
“我……我說了……”費亞茲在說話，但我那時哈哈大笑，喉頭爆發出來的笑聲從我縫着線的嘴巴進出來。
“瘋掉了。”他說。他踩下油門，車輪在地面打轉，尾燈在黯淡的夜光中閃閃發亮。“你把我嚇壞了。”我說。我在他身旁坐下，強忍彎腰帶來的劇痛。他望着清真寺。費薩爾清真寺的外觀像一頂巨大的帳篷。轎車進進出出，穿着白衣的信徒川流不息。我們默默坐着，我斜倚着樹，索拉博挨着我，膝蓋抵在胸前。我們聽着宣告祈禱開始的鐘聲，看着那屋宇隨日光消退而亮起成千上萬的燈光。清真寺在黑暗中像鑽石那樣閃着光芒。它照亮了夜空，照亮了索拉博的臉龐。“你去過馬紮裏沙里夫嗎？”索拉博說，下巴放在膝蓋上。
“很久以前去過，我不太記得了。”
“我很小的時候，爸爸帶我去過那兒，媽媽和莎莎也去了。爸爸在市集給我買了一隻猴子。不是真的那種，而是你得把它吹起來的那種。它是棕色的，還打着蝴蝶結。”
“我小時候似乎也有一隻。”