介绍:
That same night, I wrote my first short story. It tookme thirty minutes. It was a dark little tale about aman who found a magic cup and learned that if hewept into the cup, his tears turned into pearls. Buteven though he had always been poor, he was ahappy man and rarely shed a tear. So he foundways to make himself sad so that his tears couldmake him rich. As the pearls piled up, so did hisgreed grow. The story ended with the man sitting ona mountain of pearls, knife in hand, weepinghelplessly into the cup with his beloved wife's slainbody in his arms.
当天夜里，我写了自己第一篇短篇小说，花了我半个小时。那是个悲伤的小故事，讲的是有个男人发现了一个魔法杯，得知如果他对着杯子哭泣，掉进杯里的眼泪会变成珍珠。可尽管一贫如洗，他却是个快乐的家伙，罕得流泪。于是他想方设法，让自己悲伤，以便那些眼泪会变成他的财富。珍珠越积越多，他越来越贪婪。小说的结尾是，那男人坐在一座珠宝山上，手里提着刀，怀中抱着他深爱着的妻子死于非命的尸体，无助地将眼泪滴进魔法杯。
That evening, I climbed the stairs and walked into Baba's smoking room, in my hands the twosheets of paper on which I had scribbled the story. Baba and Rahim Khan were smoking pipesand sipping brandy when I came in.
入夜之后，我爬上楼，走进爸爸的吸烟室，手里拿着两张稿纸，上面写着我的故事。我进去的时候，爸爸和拉辛汗边抽大烟边喝白兰地。
"What is it, Amir?"Baba said, reclining on the sofa and lacing his hands behind his head. Bluesmoke swirled around his face. His glare made my throat feel dry. I cleared it and told him I'dwritten a story.
"那是什么，阿米尔?"爸爸说，他斜靠在沙发上，双手放在脑后。蓝色的烟雾环绕着他的脸庞，他的眼光让我唇干舌燥。我清清喉咙，告诉他我创作了一篇小说。
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 cloudof smoke.
爸爸点点头，那丝微笑表明他对此并无多大兴趣。"挺好的，你写得很好吧，是吗?"他说，然后就没有话了，只是穿过缭绕的烟雾望着我。
I probably stood there for under a minute, but, to this day, it was one of the longest minutesof my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. Air grew heavydamp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Baba went on staring me down, and didn't offer toread.
也许我在那儿站了不到一分钟，但时至今日，那依旧是我生命中最漫长的一分钟。时间一秒一秒过去，而一秒与一秒之间，似乎隔着永恒。空气变得沉闷，潮湿，甚至凝固，我呼吸艰难。爸爸继续盯着我，丝毫没有要看一看的意思。
As always, it was Rahim Khan who rescued me. He held out his hand and favored me with asmile that had nothing feigned about it. "May I have it, Amir jan? I would very much like toread it."Baba hardly ever used the term of endearment "jan" when he addressed me. Babashrugged and stood up. He looked relieved, as if he too had been rescued by Rahim Khan. "Yes, give it to Kaka Rahim. I'm going upstairs to get ready.?And with that, he left the room. Most days I worshiped Baba with an intensity approaching the religious. But right then, Iwished I could open my veins and drain his cursed blood from my body.
一如既往，仍是拉辛汗救了我。他伸出手，给我一个毫不造作的微笑:"可以让我看看吗，亲爱的阿米尔?我会很高兴能读你写的故事。"爸爸称呼我的时候，几乎从来不用这个表示亲昵的"亲爱的"。爸爸耸耸肩，站起来。他看上去浑身轻松，仿佛拉辛汗也解放了他。"这就对了，把它给拉辛汗。我要上楼去准备了。"他扔下这句话，转身离开。在我生命的大部分时光，我对爸爸敬若神明。可是那一刻，我恨不得能扯开自己的血管，让他那些该死的血统统流出我的身体。
An hour later, as the evening sky dimmed, the twoof them drove off in my father's car to attend aparty. On his way out, Rahim Khan hunkered beforeme and handed me my story and another foldedpiece of paper. He flashed a smile and winked. "Foryou. Read it later."Then he paused and added asingle word that did more to encourage me topursue writing than any compliment any editor hasever paid me. That word was "Bravo".
过了一个钟头，夜色更加黯淡了。他们两个开着爸爸的轿车去参加派对。拉辛汗快出门的时候，在我身前蹲下来，递给我那篇故事，还有另外一张折好 的纸。他亮起微笑，还眨眨眼。"给你，等会再看。"然后他停下来，加了一个词：太棒了!就鼓励我写作而言，这个词比如今任何编辑的恭维给了我更 多的勇气。
When they left, I sat on my bed and wished Rahim Khan had been my father. Then I thought ofBaba and his great big chest and how good it felt when he held me against it, how he smelledof Brut in the morning, and how his beard tickled my face. I was overcome with such suddenguilt that I bolted to the bathroom and vomited in the sink.
他们离开了，我坐在自己的床上，心里想要是拉辛汗是我父亲就好了。随后我想起爸爸，还有他宽广的胸膛，他抱着我的时候，靠着它感觉多好啊。我 想起每天早晨他身上甜甜的酒味，想起他用胡子扎我的脸蛋。一阵突如其来的罪恶感将我淹没，我跑进卫生间，在水槽里吐了。
Later that night, curled up in bed, I read Rahim Khan's note over and over. It read like this:
那夜稍晚的时候，我蜷缩在床上，一遍遍读着拉辛汗的字条。他写道：
Amir jan,
亲爱的阿米尔：
I enjoyed your story very much. "Mashallah", God has granted you a special talent. It is nowyour duty to hone that talent, because a person who wastes his God-given talents is a donkey. You have written your story with sound grammar and interesting style. But the mostimpressive thing about your story is that it has irony. You may not even know what that wordmeans. But you will someday. It is something that some writers reach for their entire careersand never attain. You have achieved it with your first story.
我非常喜欢你的故事。我的天，真主赋予你独特的天分。如今你的责任是磨炼这份天才，因为将真主给予的天分白白浪费的人是蠢驴。你写的故事语法 正确，风格引人入胜。但最令人难忘的是，你的故事饱含讽刺的意味。你也许还不懂得讽刺是什么，但你以后会懂的。有些作家奋斗终生，对它梦寐以求，然而 徒唤奈何。你的第一篇故事已经达到了。
My door is and always will be open to you, Amir jan. I shall hear any story you have to tell. Bravo.
我的大门永远为你开着，亲爱的阿米尔。我愿意倾听你诉说的任何故事。太棒了!
Your friend,
你的朋友，
Rahim
拉辛
Buoyed by Rahim Khan's note, I grabbed the story and hurried downstairs to the foyer whereAli and Hassan were sleeping on a mattress. That was the only time they slept in the house, when Baba was away and Ali had to watch over me. I shook Hassan awake and asked him if hewanted to hear a story.
拉辛汗的字条让我飘飘然，我抓起那篇故事，直奔楼下而去，冲到门廊。阿里和哈桑睡在那儿的地毯上。只有当爸爸外出，阿里不得不照看我的时候， 他们才会睡在屋子里。我把哈桑摇醒，问他是否愿意听个故事。
He rubbed his sleep-clogged eyes and stretched. "Now? What time is it?"
他揉揉惺忪的睡眼，伸伸懒腰:"现在吗?几点了?"
"Never mind the time. This story's special. I wrote it myself,"I whispered, hoping not to wakeAli. Hassan's face brightened.
"别问几点了。这个故事很特别，我自己写的。"我不想吵醒阿里，低声说。哈桑脸上神色一振。
"Then I have to hear it," he said, already pulling the blanket off him.
"那我一定要听听。"他拉开盖在身上的毛毯，说道。
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