第十九章 - 追风筝的人 - 蜗牛双语阅读

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追风筝的人 | 第十九章

2/18

"Lemon. Good for the sickness," Farid said. "I always bring one for this drive."

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"Nay, thank you," I said. The mere thought of adding acidity to my stomach stirred more nausea. Farid snickered. "It's not fancy like American Medicine, I know, just an old remedy my mother taught me."

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I regretted blowing my chance to warm up to him. "In that case, maybe you should give me some."

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He grabbed a paper bag from the backseat and plucked a half lemon out of it. I bit down on it, waited a few minutes. "You were right. I feel better," I lied. As an Afghan, I knew it was better to be miserable than rude. I forced a weak smile.

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"Old watani trick, no need for fancy Medicine," he said. His tone bordered on the surly. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and gave himself a self-satisfied look in the rearview mirror. He was a Tajik, a lanky, dark man with a weather-beaten face, narrow shoulders, and a long neck punctuated by a protruding Adam's apple that only peeked from behind his beard when he turned his head. He was dressed much as I was, though I suppose it was really the other way around: a rough woven wool blanket wrapped over a gray pirhan-tumban and a vest. On his head, he wore a brown pakol, tilted slightly to one side, like the Tajik hero Ahmad Shah Massoud -- referred to by Tajiks as "the Lion of Panjsher."

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追风筝的人 | 第十九章

2/18

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