MY MEMORY OF THE REST of that winter of 1975 is pretty hazy¹. I remember I was fairly happy when Baba was home. We’d eat together, go to see a film, visit Kaka Homayoun or Kaka Faruq. Sometimes Rahim Khan came over and Baba let me sit in his study and sip² tea with them. He’d even have me read him some of my stories. It was good and I even believed it would last. And Baba believed it too, I think. We both should have known better. For at least a few months after the kite tournament, Baba and I immersed ourselves in a sweet illusion, saw each other in a way that we never had before. We’d actually deceived ourselves into thinking that a toy made of tissue paper, glue, and bamboo could somehow close the chasm³ between us.

1975年冬天剩下的那些日子在我记忆里面十分模糊。我记得每当爸爸在家，我就十分高兴。我们会一起吃饭，一起看电影，一起拜访霍玛勇叔叔或者法拉克叔叔。有时拉辛汗来访，爸爸也会让我在书房里喝茶。他甚至还让我念些自己写的故事给他听。一切都很美好，我甚至相信这会永恒不变。爸爸也这么想，我认为。我们彼此更加了解。至少，在风筝大赛之后的几个月里，爸爸和我相互抱有甜蜜的幻想，以某种我们过去从未有过的方式相处。我们其实在欺骗自己，居然认为一个用棉纸、胶水和竹子做的玩具，能弥合两人之间的鸿沟。

But when Baba was out--and he was out a lot--I closed myself in my room. I read a book every couple of days, wrote sto ries, learned to draw horses. I’d hear Hassan shuffling⁴ around the kitchen in the morning, hear the clinking of silverware, the whistle of the teapot. I’d wait to hear the door shut and only then I would walk down to eat. On my calendar, I circled the date of the first day of school and began a countdown.

可是，每当爸爸不在——他经常不在家——我便将自己锁在房间里面。我几天就看完一本书，写故事，学着画马匹。每天早晨，我会听见哈桑在厨房忙上忙下，听见银器碰撞的叮当声，还有茶壶烧水的嘶嘶声。我会等着，直到他把房门关上，我才会下楼吃饭。我在日历上圈出开学那天，开始倒数上课的日子。

To my dismay, Hassan kept trying to rekindle⁵ things between us. I remember the last time. I was in my room, reading an abbreviated⁶ Farsi translation of Ivanhoe, when he knocked on my door.

让我难堪的是，哈桑尽一切努力，想恢复我们的关系。我记得最后一次，我在自己的房间里，看着法尔西语节译本的《劫后英雄传》［1］Ivanhoe，苏格兰作家瓦尔特?司各特（SirWalterScott，1771～1832）著，讲述中世纪英格兰的骑士故事。［1］，他来敲我的门。

“What is it?”

“谁?”

“I’m going to the baker⁷ to buy _naan_,” he said from the other side. “I was wondering if you... if you wanted to come along.” “我要去烘焙房买馕饼，”他在门外说，“我来……问问要不要一起去。”

“I think I’m just going to read,” I said, rubbing my temples. Lately, every time Hassan was around, I was getting a headache.

“我觉得我只想看书，”我说，用手揉揉太阳穴。后来，每次哈桑在我身边，我就头痛。

“It’s a sunny day,” he said.

“今天阳光很好。”他说。

“I can see that.”

“我知道。”

“Might be fun to go for a walk.”

“也许出去走走会很好玩。”

“You go.”

“你去吧。”

“I wish you’d come along,” he said. Paused. Something thumped⁸ against the door, maybe his forehead. “I don’t know what I’ve done, Amir agha. I

“我希望你也去。”他说。停了一会儿，不知道什么东西又在撞着门，也许是他的额头。“我不知道自己做错了什么，阿米尔少爷。你希望你告诉我。我不知道为什么我们不再一起玩了。”

“You haven’t done anything, Hassan. Just go.”

“你没有做错任何事情，哈桑，你走开。”

“You can tell me, I’ll stop doing it.”

“你可以告诉我，我会改的。”

I buried my head in my lap, squeezed my temples with my knees, like a vice⁹. “I’ll tell you what I want you to stop doing,” I said, eyes pressed shut.

我将头埋在双腿间，用膝盖挤着太阳穴。“我会告诉你我希望你别做什么。”我说，双眼紧紧闭上。

“Anything.”

“你说吧。”