Boot heels clicked on asphalt. Someone flung open the tarpaulin¹ hanging over the back of the truck, and three faces peered in. One was Karim, the other two were soldiers, one Afghan, the other a grinning Russian, face like a bulldog’s, cigarette dangling² from the side of his mouth. Behind them, a bone-colored moon hung in the sky. Karim and the Afghan soldier had a brief exchange in Pashtu. I caught a little of it--something about Toor and his bad luck. The Russian soldier thrust his face into the rear of the truck. He was humming the wedding song and drumming his finger on the edge of the tailgate. Even in the dim light of the moon, I saw the glazed³ look in his eyes as they skipped from passenger to passenger. Despite the cold, sweat streamed from his brow. His eyes settled on the young woman wearing the black shawl. He spoke⁴ in Russian to Karim without taking his eyes off her. Karim gave a curt⁵ reply in Russian, which the soldier returned with an even curter retort. The Afghan soldier said some thing too,in a low, reasoning voice. But the Russian soldier shouted something that made the other two flinch⁶. I could feel Baba tightening⁷ up next to me. Karim cleared his throat, dropped his head. Said the soldier wanted a half hour with the lady in the back of the truck. 鞋子踏上柏油路。有人掀开悬挂在卡车后面的帆布，探进三张脸。一张是卡林，其他是两个士兵，一个阿富汗人，另外的是一个咧嘴而笑的俄国佬，脸庞像牛头犬，嘴巴叼着香烟。在他们身后，一轮明月高悬在空中。卡林和那个阿富汗士兵用普什图语谈了几句。我听到一点——有关图尔和他的霉运。俄国士兵把头伸进卡车的后斗，他哼着那首婚礼歌谣，手指敲打着卡车的后挡板。虽然月色昏暗，我还是能看到他的炯炯目光，扫视过一个又一个的乘客。尽管天气寒冷，他的额头仍有汗珠渗出。他的眼光落在那个戴着黑色披肩的妇女身上，他眼睛死死盯着她，朝卡林说了几句俄语。卡林用俄语简略地回答。那士兵听了之后转过身，更简略地咆哮了一下。阿富汗士兵也开口说话，声音低沉，晓之以理。但俄国士兵高声说了几句，他们两个畏缩了。我能感到身旁的爸爸变得紧张起来。卡林假咳几声，低下脑袋，他说俄国士兵想与那位女士单独在卡车后面相处半个钟头。

The young woman pulled the shawl down over her face. Burst into tears. The toddler sitting in her husband’s lap started crying too. The husband’s face had become as pale as the moon hovering⁸ above. He told Karim to ask “Mister Soldier Sahib” to show a little mercy, maybe he had a sister or a mother, maybe he had a wife too. The Russian listened to Karim and barked a series of words. 那年轻的妇女拉下披肩，盖住脸，泪如泉涌。她丈夫膝盖上那个婴孩也哭喊起来。那个丈夫的脸色变得跟天上的月亮一样苍白，他跟卡林说，求求那个“士兵老爷”发发善心，也许他也有姐妹，也有母亲，也许他还有妻子。俄国佬听卡林说完，连珠炮般叫嚣了几句。

“It’s his price for letting us pass,” Karim said. He couldn’t bring himself to look the husband in the eye. “这是他放我们通过的代价，”卡林说，他不敢正视那丈夫的眼光。

“But we’ve paid a fair price already. He’s getting paid good money,” the husband said. “但我们已经付出可观的报酬，他得到了一大笔钱。”丈夫说。

Karim and the Russian soldier spoke. “He says... he says every price has a tax.” 卡林跟俄国士兵交谈。“他说……他说任何代价都有一点附加税费。”

That was when Baba stood up. It was my turn to clamp a hand on his thigh⁹, but Baba pried¹⁰ it loose, snatched his leg away. When he stood, he eclipsed the moonlight. “I want you to ask this man something,” Baba said. He said it to Karim, but looked directly at the Russian officer. “Ask him where his shame is.” 那当头，爸爸站起身。这回轮到我用手按住他的大腿了，可是爸爸将其抹开，拔起腿来，他站立的身影挡住了月光。“我要你跟这个家伙说几句，”爸爸说，他在跟卡林说话，但眼睛直望着那个俄国兵，“你问他的羞耻到哪里去了。”

They spoke. “He says this is war. There is no shame in war.” 他们交谈。“他说这是战争。战争无所谓羞耻。”

“Tell him he’s wrong. War doesn’t negate¹¹ decency¹². It demands it, even more than in times of peace.” “跟他说他错了。战争不会使高尚的情操消失，人们甚至比和平时期更需要它。”

Do you have to always be the hero? I thought, my heart fluttering. Can’t you just let it go for once? But I knew he couldn’t--it wasn’t in his nature. The problem was, his nature was going to get us all killed. 你每次都得充好汉不可吗?我想，心怦怦跳。你就不能忍哪怕一次吗?但我知道他不会——忍气吞声不是他的本性。问题是，他的本性正要送我们上西天。

The Russian soldier said something to Karim, a smile creasing¹³ his lips. “Agha sahib,” Karim said, “these Roussi are not like us. They understand nothing about respect, honor.” 俄国兵对卡林说了什么，嘴角露出一丝邪笑。“老爷，”卡林说，“这些俄国佬跟我们不同，他们不懂得尊重、荣誉是什么。”

“What did he say?” “他说什么?”

“He says he’ll enjoy putting a bullet in you almost as much as...” Karim trailed off, but nodded his head toward the young woman who had caught the guard’s eye. The soldier flicked¹⁴ his unfinished cigarette and unholstered his handgun. So this is where Baba dies, I thought. This is how it’s going to happen. In my head, I said a prayer I had learned in school. “他说在你脑袋射颗子弹一定很爽，就像……”卡林说不下去，但朝那个被士兵看中的女人努努嘴。那士兵弹掉手里还没吸完的香烟，取下他的手枪。看来爸爸要死在这里了，我想，事情就会这么发生。在我的脑海里，我念了一段从课堂上学来的祈祷。

“Tell him I’ll take a thousand of his bullets before I let this indecency take place,” Baba said. My mind flashed to that winter day six years ago. Me, peering around the corner in the alley¹⁵. Kamal and Wali holding Hassan down. Assef’s buttock muscles clenching¹⁶ and unclenching, his hips¹⁷ thrusting back and forth¹⁸. Some hero I had been, fretting¹⁹ about the kite. Sometimes, I too wondered if I was really Baba’s son. “告诉他，我就算中了一千颗子弹，也不会让这龌龊下流的事情发生。”爸爸说。我的心思一闪，回到六年前那个冬天。我，在小巷的拐角处窥视。卡莫和瓦里把哈桑按在地上，阿塞夫臀部的肌肉收紧放松，他的屁股前后晃动。我算哪门子英雄?只担心风筝。有时我也怀疑自己究竟是不是爸爸的亲生儿子。

The bulldog-faced Russian raised his gun. 脸庞像牛头犬的俄国兵举起他的枪。