追风筝的人经典书评 残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(33)

残忍而美丽的情谊:The Kite Runner 追风筝的人(33)  

Winter.
Here is what I do on the first day of snowfall every year: I step out of the house early in the morning
still in my pajamas
hugging my arms against the chill. I find the driveway
my father's car
the walls
the trees
the rooftops
and the hills buried under a foot of snow. I smile. The sky is seamless and blue
the snow so white my eyes burn. I shovel a handful of the fresh snow into my mouth
lis ten to the muffled stillness broken only by the cawing of crows. I walk down the front steps
barefoot
and call for Hassan to e out and see.
Winter was every kid's favorite season in Kabul
at least those whose fathers could afford to buy a good iron stove. The reason was simple: They shut down school for the icy season. Winter to me was the end of long division and naming the capital of Bulgaria
and the start of three months of playing cards by the stove with Hassan
free Russian movies on Tuesday mornings at Cinema Park
sweet turnip "qurma" over rice for lunch after a morning of building snowmen.
冬天是喀布尔每个孩子最喜欢的季节，至少那些家里买得起一个温暖铁炉的孩子是这样的。理由很简单：每当天寒地冻，学校就停课了。于我而言，冬天意味着那些复杂的除法题目的结束，也不用去背保加利亚的首都，可以开始一连三个月坐在火炉边跟哈桑玩扑克，星期二早晨去电影院公园看免费的俄罗斯影片，早上堆个雪人之后，午餐吃一顿甜芜青拌饭。
And kites
of course. Flying kites. And running them.
For a few unfortunate kids
winter did not spell the end of the school year. There were the so-called voluntary winter courses. No kid I knew ever volunteered to go to these classes; parents
of course
did the volunteering for them. Fortunately for me
Baba was not one of them. I remember one kid
Ahmad
who lived across the street from us. His father was some kind of doctor
I think. Ahmad had epilepsy and always wore a wool vest and thick blackrimmed glasses--he was one of Assef's regular victims. Every morning
I watched from my bedroom window as their Hazara servant shoveled snow from the driveway
cleared the way for the black Opel. I made a point of watching Ahmad and his father get into the car
Ahmad in his wool vest and winter coat
his schoolbag filled with books and pencils. I waited until they pulled away
turned the corner
then I slipped back into bed in my flannel pajamas. I pulled the blanket to my chin and watched the snowcapped hills in the north through the window. Watched them until I drifted back to sleep.
I loved wintertime in Kabul. I loved it for the soft pattering of snow against my window at night
for the way fresh snow crunched under my black rubber boots
for the warmth of the cast-iron stove as the wind screeched through the yards
the streets. But mostly because
as the trees froze and ice sheathed the roads
the chill beeen Baba and me thawed a little. And the reason for that was the kites. Baba and I lived in the same house
but in different spheres of existence. Kites were the one paper thin slice of intersection beeen those spheres.