友情提示:如果本网页打开太慢或显示不完整,请尝试鼠标右键“刷新”本网页!
the kite runner-第10部分
快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完,想下次继续接着阅读,可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能!
ignorance。 One time; I was reading him a Mullah Nasruddin story and he stopped me。 What does that word mean?
Which one?
Imbecile。
You don t know what it means? I said; grinning。
Nay; Amir agha。
But it s such a mon word!
Still; I don t know it。 If he felt the sting of my tease; his smiling face didn t show it。
Well; everyone in my school knows what it means; I said。 Let s see。 Imbecile。 It means smart; intelligent。 I ll use it in a sentence for you。 When it es to words; Hassan is an imbecile。
Aaah; he said; nodding。
I would always feel guilty about it later。 So I d try to make up for it by giving him one of my old shirts or a broken toy。 I would tell myself that was amends enough for a harmless prank。
Hassan s favorite book by far was the _Shahnamah_; the tenth…century epic of ancient Persian heroes。 He liked all of the chapters; the shahs of old; Feridoun; Zal; and Rudabeh。 But his favorite story; and mine; was Rostam and Sohrab; the tale of the great warrior Rostam and his fleet…footed horse; Rakhsh。 Rostam mortally wounds his valiant nemesis; Sohrab; in battle; only to discover that Sohrab is his long…lost son。 Stricken with grief; Rostam hears his son s dying words:
If thou art indeed my father; then hast thou stained thy sword in the life…blood of thy son。 And thou didst it of thine obstinacy。 For I sought to turn thee unto love; and I implored of thee thy name; for I thought to behold in thee the tokens recounted of my mother。 But I appealed unto thy heart in vain; and now is the time gone for meeting。。。
Read it again please; Amir agha; Hassan would say。 Sometimes tears pooled in Hassan s eyes as I read him this passage; and I always wondered whom he wept for; the grief…stricken Rostam who tears his clothes and covers his head with ashes; or the dying Sohrab who only longed for his father s love? Personally; I couldn t see the tragedy in Rostam s fate。 After all; didn t all fathers in their secret hearts harbor a desire to kill their sons?
One day; in July 1973; I played another little trick on Hassan。 I was reading to him; and suddenly I strayed from the written story。 I pretended I was reading from the book; flipping pages regularly; but I had abandoned the text altogether; taken over the story; and made up my own。 Hassan; of course; was oblivious to this。 To him; the words on the page were a scramble of codes; indecipherable; mysterious。 Words were secret doorways and I held all the keys。 After; I started to ask him if he d liked the story; a giggle rising in my throat; when Hassan began to clap。
What are you doing? I said。
That was the best story you ve read me in a long time; he said; still clapping。
I laughed。 Really?
Really。
That s fascinating; I muttered。 I meant it too。 This was。。。 wholly unexpected。 Are you sure; Hassan?
He was still clapping。 It was great; Amir agha。 Will you read me more of it tomorrow?
Fascinating; I repeated; a little breathless; feeling like a man who discovers a buried treasure in his own backyard。 Walking down the hill; thoughts were exploding in my head like the fireworks at _Chaman_。 _Best story you ve read me in a long time_; he d said。 I had read him a _lot_ of stories。 Hassan was asking me something。
What? I said。
What does that mean; fascinating ?
I laughed。 Clutched him in a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek。
What was that for? he said; startled; blushing。
I gave him a friendly shove。 Smiled。 You re a prince; Hassan。 You re a prince and I love you。
That same night; I wrote my first short story。 It took me thirty minutes。 It was a dark little tale about a man who found a magic cup and learned that if he wept
into the cup; his tears turned into pearls。 But even though he had always been poor; he was a happy man and rarely shed a tear。 So he found ways to make himself sad so that his tears could make him rich。 As the pearls piled up; so did his greed grow。 The story ended with the man sitting on a mountain of pearls; knife in hand; weeping helplessly into the cup with his beloved wife s slain body in his arms。
That evening; I climbed the stairs and walked into Baba s smoking room; in my hands the two sheets of paper on which I had scribbled the story。 Baba and Rahim Khan were smoking pipes and sipping brandy when I came in。
What is it; Amir? Baba said; reclining on the sofa and lacing his hands behind his head。 Blue smoke swirled around his face。 His glare made my throat feel dry。 I cleared it and told him I d written a story。
Baba nodded and gave a thin smile that conveyed little more than feigned interest。 Well; that s very good; isn t it? he said。 Then nothing more。 He just looked at me through the cloud of smoke。
I probably stood there for under a minute; but; to this day; it was one of the longest minutes of my life。 Seconds plodded by; each separated from the next by an eternity。 Air grew heavy damp; almost solid。 I was breathing bricks。 Baba went on staring me down; and didn t offer to read。
As always; it was Rahim Khan who rescued me。 He held out his hand and favored me with a smile that had nothing feigned about it。 May I have it;
快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
温馨提示: 温看小说的同时发表评论,说出自己的看法和其它小伙伴们分享也不错哦!发表书评还可以获得积分和经验奖励,认真写原创书评 被采纳为精评可以获得大量金币、积分和经验奖励哦!