第八章 - 追风筝的人 - 蜗牛双语阅读

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追风筝的人 | 第八章

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For a week, I barely saw Hassan. I woke up to find toasted bread, brewed tea, and a boiled egg already on the kitchen table. My clothes for the day were ironed and folded, left on the cane seat chair in the foyer where Hassan usually did his ironing. He used to wait for me to sit at the breakfast table before he started ironing -- that way, we could talk. Used to sing too, over the hissing of the iron, sang old Hazara songs about tulip fields. Now only the folded clothes greeted me. That, and a breakfast I hardly finished anymore.

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One overcast morning, as I was pushing the boiled egg around on my plate, Ali walked in cradling a pile of chopped wood. I asked him where Hassan was.

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"He went back to sleep," Ali said, kneeling before the stove. He pulled the little square door open.

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Would Hassan be able to play today?

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Ali paused with a log in his hand. A worried look crossed his face. "Lately, it seems all he wants to do is sleep. He does his chores -- I see to that -- but then he just wants to crawl under his blanket. Can I ask you something?"

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"If you have to."

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"After that kite tournament, he came Home a little bloodied and his shirt was torn. I asked him what had happened and he said it was nothing, that he'd gotten into a little scuffle with some kids over the kite."

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追风筝的人 | 第八章

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