殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(102)

I sold Baba’s VW bus and, to this day, I have not gone back to the flea market. I would drive to his gravesite every Friday, and, sometimes, I’d find a fresh bouquet of freesias by the headstone and know Soraya had been there too.
Soraya and I settled into the routines--and minor wonders-- of married life. We shared toothbrushes and socks, passed each other the morning paper. She slept on the right side of the bed, I preferred the left. She liked fluffy pillows, I liked the hard ones. She ate her cereal dry, like a snack, and chased it with milk.
I got my acceptance at San Jose State that summer and declared an English major. I took on a security job, swing shift at a furniture warehouse in Sunnyvale. The job was dreadfully boring, but its saving grace was a considerable one: When everyone left at 6 P.M. and shadows began to crawl between aisles of plastic-covered sofas piled to the ceiling, I took out my books and studied. It was in the Pine-Sol-scented office of that furniture warehouse that I began my first novel.
Soraya joined me at San Jose State the following year and enrolled, to her father’s chagrin, in the teaching track.
“I don’t know why you’re wasting your talents like this,” the general said one night over dinner. “Did you know, Amir jan, that she earned nothing but A’s in high school?” He turned to her. “An intelligent girl like you could become a lawyer, a political scientist. And, _Inshallah_, when Afghanistan is free, you could help write the new constitution. There would be a need for young talented Afghans like you. They might even offer you a ministry position, given your family name.”
I could see Soraya holding back, her face tightening. “I’m not a girl, Padar. I’m a married woman. Besides, they’d need teachers too.”
“Anyone can teach.”
“Is there any more rice, Madar?” Soraya said.
After the general excused himself to meet some friends in Hayward, Khala Jamila tried to console Soraya. “He means well,” she said. “He just wants you to be successful.”
“So he can boast about his attorney daughter to his friends. Another medal for the general,” Soraya said.
“Such nonsense you speak!”

我賣掉爸爸的大衆巴士，時至今日，我再也沒回到跳蚤市場去。每逢週五，我會開車到墓地去，有時，我發現墓碑上擺着一束新鮮的小蒼蘭，就知道索拉雅剛剛來過。索拉雅和我的婚姻生活變得波瀾不興，像例行公事。我們共用牙刷和襪子，交換着看晨報。她睡在牀的右邊，我喜歡睡在左邊。她喜歡鬆軟的枕頭，我喜歡硬的。她喜歡像吃點心那樣幹吃早餐麥片，然後用牛奶送下。
那年夏天，我接到聖荷塞州立大學的錄取通知，主修英文。我在桑尼維爾找到一份保安工作，輪班看守太陽谷某家傢俱倉庫。工作極其無聊，但也帶來相當的好處：下午六點之後，人們統統離開，倉庫的沙發堆至天花板，一排排蓋着塑料覆膜，陰影爬上它們之間的通道，我掏出書本學習。正是在傢俱倉庫那間瀰漫着松香除臭劑的辦公室，我開始創作自己的第一本小說。
第二年，索拉雅也跟着進了聖荷塞州立大學，主修教育，這令她父親大爲光火。
“我搞不懂你幹嗎要這樣浪費自己的天分，”某天用過晚飯後，將軍說，“你知道嗎，親愛的阿米爾，她念高中的時候所有課程都得優秀？”他轉向她，“像你這樣的聰明女孩，應該去當律師，當政治科學家。並且，奉安拉之名，阿富汗重獲
自由之後，你可以幫忙起草新的憲法。像你這樣聰明的年輕阿富汗人大有用武之地。他們甚至會讓你當大臣，旌表你的家族。”
我看到索拉雅身子一縮，繃緊了臉。“我又不是女孩，爸爸。我是結了婚的婦女。還有，他們也需要教師。”
“誰都可以當教師。”
“還有米飯嗎，媽媽？”索拉雅說。在將軍找藉口去海沃德看望朋友之後，雅米拉阿姨試着安慰索拉雅。
“他沒有惡意，”她說，“他只是希望你出人頭地。”
“那麼他便可以跟他的朋友吹牛啦，說他有個當律師的女兒。又是一個軍功章。”索拉雅說。
“胡說八道！”