Hassan’s smile wilted¹. He looked older than I’d remembered. No, not older, old. Was that possible? Lines had etched into his tanned face and creases² framed his eyes, his mouth. I might as well have taken a knife and carved those lines myself.

哈桑的笑容枯萎了。他看起来比我记得的要大，不，不是大，是老。怎么会这样呢?皱纹爬上他那张饱经风吹日晒的脸，爬过他的眼角，他的唇边。也许那些皱纹，正是我亲手拿刀刻出来的。

“What would you do?” I repeated.

“你会怎么做呢?”我重复。

The color fell from his face. Next to him, the stapled³ pages of the story I’d promised to read him fluttered in the breeze. I hurled⁴ the pomegranate at him. It struck him in the chest, exploded in a spray of red pulp⁵. Hassan’s cry was pregnant with surprise and pain.

他脸无血色。我答应要念给他听的那本故事书在他脚下，书页被微风吹得劈啪响。我朝他扔了个石榴，打中他的胸膛，爆裂出红色的果肉。哈桑又惊又痛，放声大哭。

“Hit me back!” I snapped. Hassan looked from the stain on his chest to me.

“还手啊!”我咆哮着。哈桑看看胸前的污渍，又看看我。

“Get up! Hit me!” I said. Hassan did get up, but he just stood there, looking dazed like a man dragged into the ocean by a riptide when, just a moment ago, he was enjoying a nice stroll on the beach. “起来!打我!”我说。哈桑站起来了，但他只是站在那儿，露出茫然失措的表情，好比一个男人，刚才还在海滩愉快地散步，此刻却被浪花卷到大洋中间。

I hit him with another pomegranate, in the shoulder this time. The juice splattered his face. “Hit me back!” I spat⁶. “Hit me back, goddamn you!” I wished he would. I wished he’d give me the punishment I craved⁷, so maybe I’d finally sleep at night. Maybe then things could return to how they used to be between us. But Hassan did nothing as I pelted⁸ him again and again. “You’re a coward!” I said. “Nothing but a goddamn coward!”

我又扔出一个石榴，这次打在他的肩膀上，果汁染上他的脸。“还手!”我大喊，“还手，你这个该死的家伙!”我希望他还击。我希望他满足我的愿望，好好惩罚我，这样我晚上就能睡着了。也许到时事情就会回到我们以前那个样子。但哈桑纹丝不动，任由我一次又一次扔他。“你是个懦夫!”我说，“你什么都不是，只是个该死的懦夫!”

I don’t know how many times I hit him. All I know is that, when I finally stopped, exhausted⁹ and panting, Hassan was smeared¹⁰ in red like he’d been shot by a firing squad¹¹. I fell to my knees, tired, spent, frustrated¹².

我不知道自己击中他多少次。我所知道的是，当我终于停下来，筋疲力尽，气喘吁吁，哈桑浑身血红，仿佛被一队士兵射击过那样。我双足跪倒，疲累不堪，垂头丧气。

Then Hassan did pick up a pomegranate. He walked toward me. He opened it and crushed it against his own forehead. “There,” he croaked¹³, red dripping down his face like blood. “Are you satisfied? Do you feel better?” He turned around and started down the hill.

然后哈桑捡起一个石榴。他朝我走来，将它掰开，在额头上磨碎。“那么，”他哽咽着，红色的石榴汁如同鲜血一样从他脸上滴下来。“你满意了吧?你觉得好受了吗?”他转过身，朝山下走去。

I let the tears break free, rocked back and forth¹⁴ on my knees.“What am I going to do with you, Hassan? What am I going to do with you?” But by the time the tears dried up and I trudged¹⁵ down the hill, I knew the answer to that question.

我任由泪水决堤，跪在地上，身体前后摇晃。“我该拿你怎么办，哈桑?我该拿你怎么办?”但等到泪痕风干，我脚步沉重地走回家，我找到了答案。