殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(146)

“Don’t ever stare at them! Do you understand me? Never!”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said.
“Your friend is quite right, Agha. You might as well poke a rabid dog with a stick,” someone said. This new voice belonged to an old beggar sitting barefoot on the steps of a bullet-scarred building. He wore a threadbare chapan worn to frayed shreds and a dirt-crusted turban. His left eyelid drooped over an empty socket. With an arthritic hand, he pointed to the direction the red truck had gone. “They drive around looking. Looking and hoping that someone will provoke them. Sooner or later, someone always obliges. Then the dogs feast and the day’s boredom is broken at last and everyone says ‘Allah-u-akbar!’ And on those days when no one offends, well, there is always random violence, isn’t there?”
“Keep your eyes on your feet when the Talibs are near,” Farid said.
“Your friend dispenses good advice,” the old beggar chimed in. He barked a wet cough and spat in a soiled handkerchief. “Forgive me, but could you spare a few Afghanis?” he breathed.
“Bas. Let’s go,” Farid said, pulling me by the arm.I handed the old man a hundred thousand Afghanis, or the equivalent of about three dollars. When he leaned forward to take the money, his stench--like sour milk and feet that hadn’t been washed in weeks--flooded my nostrils and made my gorge rise. He hurriedly slipped the money in his waist, his lone eye darting side to side.

“A world of thanks for your benevolence, Agha sahib.”
“Do you know where the orphanage is in Karteh-Seh?” I said.
“It’s not hard to find, it’s just west of Darulaman Boulevard,” he said. “The children were moved from here to Karteh-Seh after the rockets hit the old orphanage. Which is like saving someone from the lion’s cage and throwing them in the tiger’s.”
“Thank you, Agha,” I said. I turned to go.
“That was your first time, nay?”
“I’m sorry?”

“永遠不要瞪着他們！你聽到了嗎？永遠不要！”
“我不是故意的。”我說。
“你的朋友說得對，老爺。好像你不該用棍子去捅一條瘋狗。”有人說。聲音來自一個老乞丐，赤足坐在一座彈印斑斑的建築的臺階上。他身上的舊衣磨得破爛不堪，戴着骯髒的頭巾。他左邊眼眶空空如也，眼皮耷拉。他舉起患關節炎的手，指着紅色皮卡駛去的方向。“他們開着車，四處尋找。希望找到那些激怒他們的人，他們遲早會找到，然後那些瘋狗就有得吃了，整天的沉悶終於被打破，每個人都高呼‘真主至尊！’而在那些沒人冒犯他們的日子裏，嗯，他們就隨便發泄。對吧？”
“塔利班走近的時候，你的眼睛要看着地面。”法裏德說。
“你的朋友提了個好建議。”老乞丐插嘴說。他咳了一聲，把痰吐在油污的手帕上。“原諒我，你能施捨幾個阿富汗尼嗎？”他喘着氣說。
“別理他。我們走。”法裏德說，拉着我的手臂。我給了那個老人一張十萬阿富汗尼的鈔票，大約相等於三美元。他傾着身子過來取錢，身上的臭氣——好像酸牛奶和幾個星期沒洗的臭腳——撲鼻而來，令我欲嘔。他匆忙把錢塞在腰間，獨眼滴溜溜轉。
“謝謝你的慷慨佈施，老爺。”
“你知道卡德察的恤孤院在哪裏嗎？”我問。
“它不難找，就在達魯拉曼大道西端。”他說，“自從火箭炸燬老恤孤院之後，孩子們就搬到那邊去了。真是才脫狼羣，又落虎口。”
“謝謝你，老爺。”我說，轉身走開。
“你這是第一次嗎？”
“什麼？”