殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(72)

Boot heels clicked on asphalt. Someone flung open the tarpaulin hanging over the back of the truck, and three faces peered in. One was Karim, the other two were soldiers, one Afghan, the other a grinning Russian, face like a bulldog’s, cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. Behind them, a bone-colored moon hung in the sky. Karim and the Afghan soldier had a brief exchange in Pashtu. I caught a little of it--something about Toor and his bad luck. The Russian soldier thrust his face into the rear of the truck. He was humming the wedding song and drumming his finger on the edge of the tailgate. Even in the dim light of the moon, I saw the glazed look in his eyes as they skipped from passenger to passenger. Despite the cold, sweat streamed from his brow. His eyes settled on the young woman wearing the black shawl. He spoke in Russian to Karim without taking his eyes off her. Karim gave a curt reply in Russian, which the soldier returned with an even curter retort. The Afghan soldier said some thing too,in a low, reasoning voice. But the Russian soldier shouted something that made the other two flinch. I could feel Baba tightening up next to me. Karim cleared his throat, dropped his head. Said the soldier wanted a half hour with the lady in the back of the truck.
The young woman pulled the shawl down over her face. Burst into tears. The toddler sitting in her husband’s lap started crying too. The husband’s face had become as pale as the moon hovering above. He told Karim to ask “Mister Soldier Sahib” to show a little mercy, maybe he had a sister or a mother, maybe he had a wife too. The Russian listened to Karim and barked a series of words.
“It’s his price for letting us pass,” Karim said. He couldn’t bring himself to look the husband in the eye.
“But we’ve paid a fair price already. He’s getting paid good money,” the husband said.
Karim and the Russian soldier spoke. “He says... he says every price has a tax.”
That was when Baba stood up. It was my turn to clamp a hand on his thigh, but Baba pried it loose, snatched his leg away. When he stood, he eclipsed the moonlight. “I want you to ask this man something,” Baba said. He said it to Karim, but looked directly at the Russian officer. “Ask him where his shame is.”
They spoke. “He says this is war. There is no shame in war.”
“Tell him he’s wrong. War doesn’t negate decency. It demands it, even more than in times of peace.”
Do you have to always be the hero? I thought, my heart fluttering. Can’t you just let it go for once? But I knew he couldn’t--it wasn’t in his nature. The problem was, his nature was going to get us all killed.
The Russian soldier said something to Karim, a smile creasing his lips. “Agha sahib,” Karim said, “these Roussi are not like us. They understand nothing about respect, honor.”
“What did he say?”
“He says he’ll enjoy putting a bullet in you almost as much as...” Karim trailed off, but nodded his head toward the young woman who had caught the guard’s eye. The soldier flicked his unfinished cigarette and unholstered his handgun. So this is where Baba dies, I thought. This is how it’s going to happen. In my head, I said a prayer I had learned in school.
“Tell him I’ll take a thousand of his bullets before I let this indecency take place,” Baba said. My mind flashed to that winter day six years ago. Me, peering around the corner in the alley. Kamal and Wali holding Hassan down. Assef’s buttock muscles clenching and unclenching, his hips thrusting back and forth. Some hero I had been, fretting about the kite. Sometimes, I too wondered if I was really Baba’s son.
The bulldog-faced Russian raised his gun.

鞋子踏上柏油路。有人掀開懸掛在卡車後面的帆布，探進三張臉。一張是卡林，其他是兩個士兵，一個阿富汗人，另外的是一個咧嘴而笑的俄國佬，臉龐像牛頭犬，嘴巴叼着香菸。在他們身後，一輪明月高懸在空中。卡林和那個阿富汗士兵用普什圖語談了幾句。我聽到一點——有關圖爾和他的黴運。俄國士兵把頭伸進卡車的後鬥，他哼着那首婚禮歌謠，手指敲打着卡車的後擋板。雖然月色昏暗，我還是能看到他的炯炯目光，掃視過一個又一個的乘客。儘管天氣寒冷，他的額頭仍有汗珠滲出。他的眼光落在那個戴着黑色披肩的婦女身上，他眼睛死死盯着她，朝卡林說了幾句俄語。卡林用俄語簡略地回答。那士兵聽了之後轉過身，更簡略地咆哮了一下。阿富汗士兵也開口說話，聲音低沉，曉之以理。但俄國士兵高聲說了幾句，他們兩個畏縮了。我能感到身旁的爸爸變得緊張起來。卡林假咳幾聲，低下腦袋，他說俄國士兵想與那位女士單獨在卡車後面相處半個鐘頭。
那年輕的婦女拉下披肩，蓋住臉，淚如泉涌。她丈夫膝蓋上那個嬰孩也哭喊起來。那個丈夫的臉色變得跟天上的月亮一樣蒼白，他跟卡林說，求求那個“士兵老爺”發發善心，也許他也有姐妹，也有母親，也許他還有妻子。俄國佬聽卡林說完，連珠炮般叫囂了幾句。
“這是他放我們通過的代價，”卡林說，他不敢正視那丈夫的眼光。
“但我們已經付出可觀的報酬，他得到了一大筆錢。”丈夫說。
卡林跟俄國士兵交談。“他說……他說任何代價都有一點附加稅費。”
那當頭，爸爸站起身。這回輪到我用手按住他的大腿了，可是爸爸將其抹開，拔起腿來，他站立的身影擋住了月光。“我要你跟這個傢伙說幾句，”爸爸說，他在跟卡林說話，但眼睛直望着那個俄國兵，“你問他的羞恥到哪裏去了。”
他們交談。“他說這是戰爭。戰爭無所謂羞恥。”
“跟他說他錯了。戰爭不會使高尚的情操消失，人們甚至比和平時期更需要它。”
你每次都得充好漢不可嗎?我想，心怦怦跳。你就不能忍哪怕一次嗎?但我知道他不會——忍氣吞聲不是他的本性。問題是，他的本性正要送我們上西天。
俄國兵對卡林說了什麼，嘴角露出一絲邪笑。“老爺，”卡林說，“這些俄國佬跟我們不同，他們不懂得尊重、榮譽是什麼。”
“他說什麼?”
“他說在你腦袋射顆子彈一定很爽，就像……”卡林說不下去，但朝那個被士兵看中的女人努努嘴。那士兵彈掉手裏還沒吸完的香菸，取下他的手槍。看來爸爸要死在這裏了，我想，事情就會這麼發生。在我的腦海裏，我念了一段從課堂上學來的祈禱。
“告訴他，我就算中了一千顆子彈，也不會讓這齷齪下流的事情發生。”爸爸說。我的心思一閃，回到六年前那個冬天。我，在小巷的拐角處窺視。卡莫和瓦里把哈桑按在地上，阿塞夫臀部的肌肉收緊放鬆，他的屁股前後晃動。我算哪門子英雄?只擔心風箏。有時我也懷疑自己究竟是不是爸爸的親生兒子。
臉龐像牛頭犬的俄國兵舉起他的槍。