第二十章 - 追风筝的人 - 蜗牛双语阅读

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追风筝的人 | 第二十章

2/19

We drove past the burned village, and the dog didn't move.In the old days, the drive from Jalalabad to Kabul took two hours, maybe a little more. It took Farid and me over four hours to reach Kabul. And when we did... Farid warned me just after we passed the Mahipar dam.

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"Kabul is not the way you remember it," he said.

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"So I hear."

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Farid gave me a look that said hearing is not the same as seeing. And he was right. Because when Kabul finally did unroll before us, I was certain, absolutely certain, that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Farid must have seen my stupefied expression; shuttling people back and forth to Kabul, he would have become familiar with that expression on the faces of those who hadn't seen Kabul for a long time.

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He patted me on the shoulder. "Welcome back," he said morosely.

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Rubble and beggars. Everywhere I looked, that was what I saw. I remembered beggars in the old days too -- Baba always carried an extra handful of Afghani bills in his pocket just for them; I'd never seen him deny a peddler. Now, though, they squatted at every street corner, dressed in shredded burlap rags, mud-caked hands held out for a coin. And the beggars were mostly children now, thin and grim-faced, some no older than five or six. They sat in the laps of their burqa-clad mothers alongside gutters at busy street corners and chanted "Bakhshesh, bakhshesh!" And something else, something I hadn't noticed right away: Hardly any of them sat with an adult male -- the wars had made fathers a rare commodity in Afghanistan.

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追风筝的人 | 第二十章

2/19

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