The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(23)

Something roared like thunder. The earth shook a little and we heard the "rat-a-tat-tat" of gunfire. "Father!"Hassan cried. We sprung to our feet and raced out of the living room. We found Ali hobbling frantically across the foyer.
不知道什麼東西發出一陣雷鳴般的聲響，接着大地微微抖動，我們聽見"砰--砰--砰"的槍聲。"爸爸!"哈桑大聲叫喊。我們拔腿跑出起居室，看見阿里跛着腳在走廊狂奔。

"Father! What's that sound?"Hassan yelped, his hands outstretched toward Ali. Ali wrapped his arms around us. A white light flashed, lit the sky in silver. It flashed again and was followed by a rapid staccato of gunfire.
"爸爸!那是什麼聲音?"哈桑大叫，伸開雙臂朝阿里奔過去。阿里伸手攬住我們。一道白光閃起，夜空亮起銀輝。又是一道白光，隨後是暴風驟雨般的槍聲。

"They're hunting ducks,"Ali said in a hoarse voice. "They hunt ducks at night, you know. Don't be afraid."
"他們在獵殺野鴨。"阿里嘶啞地說，"他們在夜裏獵鴨子，別害怕。"

A siren went off in the distance. Somewhere glass shattered and someone shouted. I heard people on the street, jolted from sleep and probably still in their pajamas, with ruffled hair and puffy eyes. Hassan was crying. Ali pulled him close, clutched him with tenderness. Later, I would tell myself I hadn't felt envious of Hassan. Not at all.
遠處傳來警報聲。不知道從什麼地方傳來玻璃破裂的聲音，還有人高聲叫嚷。我聽見人們從睡夢中驚醒，跑到街道上，也許身上還穿着睡衣，披頭散髮，睡眼惺忪。哈桑在哭，阿里將他抱緊，輕輕地撫摸着他。後來我告訴自己，我沒有妒忌哈桑，一點都沒有。

We stayed huddled that way until the early hours of the morning. The shootings and explosions had lasted less than an hour, but they had frightened us badly, because none of us had ever heard gunshots in the streets. They were foreign sounds to us then. The generation of Afghan children whose ears would know nothing but the sounds of bombs and gunfire was not yet born. Huddled together in the dining room and waiting for the sun to rise, none of us had any notion that a way of life had ended. Our way of life. If not quite yet, then at least it was the beginning of the end. The end, the "official" end, would come first in April 1978 with the communist coup d'état, and then in December 1979, when Russian tanks would roll into the very same streets where Hassan and I played, bringing the death of the Afghanistan I knew and marking the start of a still ongoing era of bloodletting.
我們就那樣哆嗦地抱成一團，直到天快破曉。槍聲和爆炸聲還沒一個鐘頭就結束，可是把我們嚇壞了，因爲我們從來沒聽過街道上會有槍響。當時這些聲音對我們來說太奇怪了。那些耳朵裏面除了槍響再沒有其他聲音的阿富汗孩子當時還沒出世。在餐廳裏，我們擠成一堆，等待太陽升起，沒有人意識到過去的生活方式已然告終。我們的生活方式，即使尚未全然終結，那也是苟延殘喘。終結，正式的終結是在1978年4月，其時政變發生，接着是1979年12月，俄國坦克在我和哈桑玩耍的街道上耀武揚威，給我的父老鄉親帶來死亡，開啓瞭如今仍未過去的、血流成河的時代。

Just before sunrise, Baba's car peeled into the driveway. His door slammed shut and his running footsteps pounded the stairs. Then he appeared in the doorway and I saw something on his face. Something I didn't recognize right away because I'd never seen it before: fear. "Amir! Hassan!"he exclaimed as he ran to us, opening his arms wide. "They blocked all the roads and the tele phone didn't work. I was so worried!"
太陽快升起的時候，爸爸的轎車駛進車道。他重重地關上車門，匆忙的腳步在臺階上發出沉重的聲音。接着他在門口出現，我看見他臉色掛着某種神情，那種臉色我一時辨認不出來，因爲此前從未在他身上見過：恐懼。"阿米爾!哈桑!"他大喊，張開雙臂朝我們跑過來,"他們封鎖了所有的道路，電話又壞了，我很擔心。"

We let him wrap us in his arms and, for a brief insane moment, I was glad about whatever had happened that night.
我們停在他懷裏，有那麼一會兒，我竟然發瘋似的覺得很高興，而不管當晚究竟發生了什麼事情。