殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(70)

But it rained the afternoon Baba took Ali and Hassan to the bus station. Thunderheads rolled in, painted the sky iron gray. Within minutes, sheets of rain were sweeping in, the steady hiss of falling water swelling in my ears.
Baba had offered to drive them to Bamiyan himself, but Ali refused. Through the blurry, rain-soaked window of my bedroom, I watched Ali haul the lone suitcase carrying all of their belongings to Baba’s car idling outside the gates. Hassan lugged his mattress, rolled tightly and tied with a rope, on his back. He’d left all of his toys behind in the empty shack--I discovered them the next day, piled in a corner just like the birthday presents in my room.
Slithering beads of rain sluiced down my window. I saw Baba slam the trunk shut. Already drenched, he walked to the driver’s side. Leaned in and said something to Ali in the backseat, perhaps one last-ditch effort to change his mind. They talked that way awhile, Baba getting soaked, stooping, one arm on the roof of the car. But when he straightened, I saw in his slumping shoulders that the life I had known since I’d been born was over. Baba slid in. The headlights came on and cut twin funnels of light in the rain. If this were one of the Hindi movies Hassan and I used to watch, this was the part where I’d run outside, my bare feet splashing rainwater. I’d chase the car, screaming for it to stop. I’d pull Hassan out of the backseat and tell him I was sorry, so sorry, my tears mixing with rainwater. We’d hug in the downpour. But this was no Hindi movie. I was sorry, but I didn’t cry and I didn’t chase the car. I watched Baba’s car pull away from the curb, taking with it the person whose first spoken word had been my name. I caught one final blurry glimpse of Hassan slumped in the back seat before Baba turned left at the street corner where we’d played marbles so many times.
I stepped back and all I saw was rain through windowpanes that looked like melting silver.

但爸爸送阿里和哈桑去車站那天下午，天下雨了。雷轟電閃，天空灰沉沉的。頃刻之間，大雨傾盆而至，嘩嘩的雨聲在我耳邊迴盪。
爸爸本來要親自送他們到巴米揚，但阿里拒絕了。透過我的臥房那扇被雨水溼透的模糊窗戶，我看見阿里拖着個孤零零的箱子，裏面裝着他們全副身家，走向爸爸停在大門外的轎車。哈桑的毯子緊緊捲起來，用繩子繫住，背在他身後。他把所有的玩具都留在那間四壁蕭然的斗室了，隔天我發現它們堆在屋角，如同我房間裏面的生日禮物。
雨珠刷刷流下我的窗戶。我看見爸爸將行李廂的門摔上。他渾身溼透，走向駕駛座那邊，斜倚着身子，向後座的阿里說些什麼，也許是作最後的努力，以便讓他回心轉意。他們那樣交談了片刻，爸爸身上溼淋淋的，彎下腰，一隻手放在轎車的頂篷上。但當他站起身來，我從他鬆垮的肩膀看出，我與生俱來的那種熟悉的生活已經一去不返了。爸爸上車，車前燈亮起，在雨水中照出兩道燈光。如果這是哈桑跟我過去常看的印度電影，在這個時候，我應該跑出去，赤裸的雙腳濺起雨水。我應該追逐着轎車，高聲叫喊，讓它停下來。我應該把哈桑從後座拉出來，告訴他我很抱歉，非常抱歉，我的眼淚會跟雨水混在一起。我們會在如注大雨中擁抱。可這不是印度電影。我很抱歉，但我不會哭喊，不會追逐那輛轎車。我看着爸爸的轎車駛離路邊，帶走那個人，那個平生說出的第一個字是我名字的人。我最後一次模糊地瞥見哈桑，他癱坐在後座，接着爸爸轉過街角，那個我們曾無數次玩彈珠的地方。
我退後，眼裏只見到玻璃窗外的雨水，看上去好像熔化的白銀。