殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(163)

TWENTY-TWO
Farid eased the Land Cruiser up the driveway of a big house in Wazir Akbar Khan. He parked in the shadows of willow trees that spilled over the walls of the compound located on Street 15, Sarak-e-Mehmana, Street of the Guests. He killed the engine and we sat for a minute, listening to the tink-tink of the engine cooling off, neither one of us saying anything. Farid shifted on his seat and toyed with the keys still hanging from the ignition switch. I could tell he was readying himself to tell me something.
“I guess I’ll wait in the car for you,” he said finally, his tone a little apologetic. He wouldn’t look at me. “This is your business now. I--”
I patted his arm. “You’ve done much more than I’ve paid you for. I don’t expect you to go with me.” But I wished I didn’t have to go in alone. Despite what I had learned about Baba, I wished he were standing alongside me now. Baba would have busted through the front doors and demanded to be taken to the man in charge, piss on the beard of anyone who stood in his way. But Baba was long dead, buried in the Afghan section of a little cemetery in Hayward. Just last month, Soraya and I had placed a bouquet of daisies and freesias beside his headstone. I was on my own.
I stepped out of the car and walked to the tall, wooden front gates of the house. I rang the bell but no buzz came--still no electricity--and I had to pound on the doors. A moment later, I heard terse voices from the other side and a pair of men toting Kalash nikovs answered the door.
I glanced at Farid sitting in the car and mouthed, I’ll be back, not so sure at all that I would be. The armed men frisked me head to toe, patted my legs, felt my crotch. One of them said something in Pashtu and they both chuckled. We stepped through the front gates. The two guards escorted me across a well-manicured lawn, past a row of geraniums and stubby bushes lined along the wall. An old hand-pump water well stood at the far end of the yard. I remembered how Kaka Homayoun’s house in Jalalabad had had a water well like that--the twins, Fazila and Karima, and I used to drop pebbles in it, listen for the plink.

第二十二章
法裏德駕駛陸地巡洋艦，緩緩開上瓦茲爾?阿克巴?汗區一座大房子的車道。那座院子在十五號街，迎賓大道，柳樹的枝條從圍牆上伸出來，法裏德把車停在柳陰下。他熄了火，我們坐了那麼一分鐘，聽着發動機嘀嘀的冷卻聲，沒有人說話。法裏德在座位上轉動身子，撥弄那把還掛在點火鎖孔的鑰匙。我知道他心裏有話要對我說。
“我想我會留在車裏等你。”他最後說，他沒有看着我，我……”
語氣有點抱歉。“這是你的事情。我拍拍他的手臂。“你替我做的事情，比我付錢請你做的還多。我沒想過要你陪我進去。”但我希望自己不用獨自進去。儘管已經知道爸爸的真面目，我還是希望他現在就站在我身邊。爸爸會昂首挺胸走進前門，要求去見他們的頭目，在那些膽敢攔住去路的人鬍子上撒尿。可是爸爸死去很久了，長埋在海沃德一座小小墓園的阿富汗區。就在上個月，索拉雅和我還在他的墳頭擺一束雛菊和小蒼蘭。我只有靠自己了。
我下車，走向那房子高高的木頭大門。我按下門鈴，但沒有反應——還在停電，我只好嘭嘭敲門。片刻之後，門後傳來短促的應聲，兩個扛着俄製步槍的男人打開門。
我看了看坐在車裏的法裏德，大聲說：“我會回來的。”但心裏卻是忐忑不安。持着槍械的傢伙搜遍我全身，拍拍我的腿，摸摸我的胯下。其中一個用普什圖語說了幾句，他們兩個哈哈大笑。我們穿過前門。那兩個衛兵護送着我，走過一片修剪齊整的草坪，經過一排植在牆邊的天竺葵和茂密的灌木叢。遠處，在院子盡頭，有一泵搖井。我記得霍瑪勇叔叔在賈拉拉巴特的房子也有這樣的水井——那對雙胞胎，法茜拉和卡麗瑪，還有我，經常往裏面丟石頭，聽它落水的聲音。