THAT NIGHT I asked Baba if we could go to Jalalabad on Friday. He was rocking on the leather swivel chair behind his desk, reading a newspaper. He put it down, took off the reading glasses I disliked so much--Baba wasn’t old, not at all, and he had lots of years left to live, so why did he have to wear those stupid glasses? 当天夜里，我问爸爸可不可以在星期五带我去贾拉拉巴德 。他坐在办公桌后面的皮转椅上，看着报纸。他把报纸放下，摘下那副我很讨厌的老花镜。爸爸又不老，一点都不老，还有好多年可以活，可是他干吗要戴那副愚蠢的眼镜啊?

“Why not!” he said. Lately, Baba agreed to everything I asked. Not only that, just two nights before, he’d asked me if I wanted to see _El Cid_ with Charlton Heston at Cinema Aryana. “Do you want to ask Hassan to come along to Jalalabad?” “当然可以!”他说。最近，爸爸对我有求必应。不止这些，两个晚上之前，他还问我要不要去亚雅纳电影院看查尔顿?赫斯顿主演的《万世英雄》。“你想让哈桑跟着去贾拉拉巴德吗?”

Why did Baba have to spoil it like that? “He’s mazreez,” I said. Not feeling well. 为什么爸爸总是如此扫兴呢?“他不舒服。”我说。

“Really?” Baba stopped rocking in his chair. “What’s wrong with him?” “真的?”爸爸仍坐在椅子上，“他怎么啦?”

I gave a shrug¹ and sank in the sofa by the fireplace. “He’s got a cold or something. Ali says he’s sleeping it off.” 我耸耸肩，在火炉边的沙发坐下来。“他可能感冒了或者什么吧。阿里说他每天总是在睡觉。”

“I haven’t seen much of Hassan the last few days,” Baba said. “That’s all it is, then, a cold?” I couldn’t help hating the way his brow furrowed² with worry. “这几天我很少见到哈桑。”爸爸说，“仅仅是这样吗?感冒?”看到他双眉紧蹙，忧虑溢于言表，我十分不满。

“Just a cold. So are we going Friday, Baba?” “只是感冒而已啦，我们星期五去，是吗，爸爸?”

“Yes, yes,” Baba said, pushing away from the desk. “Too bad about Hassan. I thought you might have had more fun if he came.” “是，是，”爸爸说，推着书桌站起来，“哈桑不能去，太糟糕了。我想他要是能去，你会更加开心的。”

“Well, the two of us can have fun together,” I said. Baba smiled. Winked³. “Dress warm,” he said. “好吧，我们两个也可以很开心啊。”我说。爸爸笑着，眨眨眼，“穿暖和些。”

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN just the two of us--that was the way, I wanted it--but by Wednesday night, Baba had managed to invite another two dozen people. He called his cousin Homayoun--he was actually Baba’s second cousin--and mentioned he was going to Jalalabad on Friday, and Homayoun, who had studied engineering in France and had a house in Jalalabad, said he’d love to have everyone over, he’d bring the kids, his two wives, and, while he was at it, cousin Shafiqa and her family were visiting from Herat, maybe she’d like to tag along, and since she was staying with cousin Nader in Kabul, his family would have to be invited as well even though Homayoun and Nader had a bit of a feud⁴ going, and if Nader was invited, surely his brother Faruq had to be asked too or his feelings would be hurt and he might not invite them to his daughter’s wedding next month and... 本来就应该只有我们两个——我就希望这样——但星期三那夜，爸爸设法邀请了另外二十来个人。他打电话给他堂弟霍玛勇——实际上他是爸爸第二个堂弟——说星期五会到贾拉拉巴德去。霍玛勇曾在法国进修机械工程，如今在贾拉拉巴德有座房子，他说欢迎大家都去，他会带上他的孩子和两个老婆。还有，雪菲嘉表姐和家人从赫拉特到访，目前还在，或许她也想一起去。而这次雪菲嘉来喀布尔住在表哥纳德家，所以也得邀请他们一家，虽然霍玛勇跟纳德向来不和。倘使邀请了纳德，自然也得请他的哥哥法拉克，要不就伤害到他的感情了，并且下个月他们的女儿结婚，可能会因此不邀请霍玛勇……

We filled three vans. I rode with Baba, Rahim Khan, Kaka Homayoun--Baba had taught me at a young age to call any older male Kaka, or Uncle, and any older female, Khala, or Aunt. Kaka Homayoun’s two wives rode with us too--the pinch-faced older one with the warts⁵ on her hands and the younger one who always smelled of perfume and danced with her eyes close--as did Kaka Homayoun’s twin girls. I sat in the back row, carsick and dizzy, sandwiched between the seven-year-old twins who kept reaching over my lap to slap at each other. The road to Jalalabad is a two-hour trek⁶ through mountain roads winding⁷ along a steep drop, and my stomach lurched with each hairpin⁸ turn. Everyone in the van was talking, talking loudly and at the same time, nearly shrieking⁹, which is how Afghans talk. I asked one of the twins--Fazila or Karima, I could never tell which was which--if she’d trade her window seat with me so I could get fresh air on account of my car sickness. She stuck her tongue out and said no. I told her that was fine, but I couldn’t be held accountable for vomiting¹⁰ on her new dress. A minute later, I was leaning out the window. I watched the cratered¹¹ road rise and fall, whirl its tail around the mountainside, counted the multicolored trucks packed with squatting¹² men lumbering¹³ past. I tried closing my eyes, letting the wind slap at my cheeks, opened my mouth to swallow the clean air. I still didn’t feel better. A finger poked¹⁴ me in the side. It was Fazila/Karima. 我们坐满了三辆旅行车。我跟爸爸、拉辛汗、霍玛勇“卡卡”搭一辆车——小时候爸爸教我管男性长辈叫“卡卡”，也就是叔叔伯伯，管女性长辈叫“卡哈拉”，也就是姑姑阿姨。霍玛勇叔叔的两个老婆也跟我们一起——较老那个满脸皱纹，手上长着肉瘤；较年轻那个则浑身散发着香水的味道，跳舞的时候老闭着眼睛——还有霍玛勇叔叔那对双胞胎女儿。我坐在最后一排，晕车并且头昏眼花，被那对双胞胎夹在中间，她们不停地越过我的膝盖，相互拍打。通往贾拉拉巴德的是条盘旋的山路，要两个小时的颠簸才能走完，车每次急转都会让我的胃翻江倒海。车里每个人都在说话，同时大声说话，近乎叫喊，这是阿富汗人交谈的方式。我问了双胞胎中的一个——法茜拉或者卡丽玛，我总是分不清她们谁是谁——问她愿不愿意让我换到窗边的位置去，因为我晕车，需要呼吸一点新鲜空气。她伸了伸舌头，说不。我告诉她无所谓，不过我也许会呕吐，弄脏她的新衣服。隔了一会儿，我把头伸出车窗外面。我看见路面坑坑洼洼，高低起伏，盘旋着消失在山那边；数着从我们车边经过的货车，它们五颜六色，载满喧哗的乘客，蹒跚前进。我试图合上双眼，让风扑打我的脸颊；我张开嘴巴，大口大口吸着干净的空气，但仍没有觉得好一些。有人用手指戳了我一下，是法茜拉或者卡丽玛。

“What?” I said. “干吗?”我说。

“I was just telling everyone about the tournament,” Baba said from behind the wheel. Kaka Homayoun and his wives were smiling at me from the middle row of seats. “我刚把风筝比赛的事情跟大家说了!”爸爸坐在驾驶座上说。霍玛勇叔叔和他两个老婆坐在中间那排，朝我微笑。