“I thought you said the truck broke down last week.” “我记得你说过那辆卡车是上星期坏的。”

Karim rubbed his throat. “It might have been the week before,” he croaked¹. 卡林揉揉脖子，“应该是再上一个星期的事情。”

“How long?” “多久?”

“What?” “什么?”

“How long for the parts?” Baba roared. Karim flinched² but said nothing. I was glad for the darkness. I didn’t want to see the murderous look on Baba’s face. “要过多久零件才会到?”爸爸咆哮了。卡林身子一缩，但哑口无言。我很高兴身边漆黑一片，我可不想看到爸爸杀气腾腾的凶相。

THE STENCH OF SOMETHING DANK, like mildew³, bludgeoned my nostrils⁴ the moment Karim opened the door that led down the creaky steps to the basement. We descended⁵ in single file. The steps groaned⁶ under Baba’s weight. Standing⁷ in the cold basement, I felt watched by eyes blinking in the dark. I saw shapes huddled⁸ around the room, their silhouettes⁹ thrown on the walls by the dim light of a pair of kerosene¹⁰ lamps. A low murmur¹¹ buzzed through the basement, beneath it the sound of water drops trickling¹² somewhere, and, something else, a scratching sound. 卡林打开门，门后是通往地下室的破楼梯，一股像霉菌的潮湿臭味扑鼻而来。我们一个个下去，楼梯被爸爸压得吱嘎作响。站在寒冷的地下室里面，我感到黑暗中有很多双一眨一眨的眼睛在看着我们。我看见房间到处有人蜷缩着，两盏昏暗的煤油灯将他们的身影投射在墙上。地下室的人窃窃私语，除此之外，不知道从什么地方传来滴水的声音，还有刮擦声。

Baba sighed behind me and dropped the bags. 爸爸在我身后叹了口气，把行李包扔下。

Karim told us it should be a matter of a couple of short days before the truck was fixed¹³. Then we’d be on our way to Peshawar. On to freedom. On to safety. 卡林告诉我们，应该再过几天，卡车就可以修好了。那时我们便可前往白沙瓦，奔上那通往自由和安全的旅途。

The basement was our home for the next week and, by the third night, I discovered the source of the scratching sounds. Rats. 接下来那个星期，地下室就是我们的家；到了第三晚，我发现了刮擦声的来源：老鼠。

ONCE MY EYES ADJUSTED to the dark, I counted about thirty refugees in that basement. We sat shoulder to shoulder along the walls, ate crackers¹⁴, bread with dates, apples. That first night, all the men prayed together. One of the refugees asked Baba why he wasn’t joining them. “God is going to save us all. Why don’t you pray to him?” 待得眼睛适应了黑暗，我数出地下室里面约莫有三十个难民。我们肩挨着肩，倚墙而坐，吃着饼干、面包，配以椰枣和苹果。第一天夜里，所有的男人在一起祷告，当中有个问爸爸为什么不加入,“真主会拯救我们所有人，你怎么不向他祷告呢?”

Baba snorted a pinch of his snuff. Stretched his legs. “What’ll save us is eight cylinders¹⁵ and a good carburetor.” That silenced the rest of them for good about the matter of God. 爸爸重重哼了一声，伸伸他的双腿。“能够救我们的是八个气缸和一个好的化油器。”这句话让其他人说不出话来，再也不提真主的事。

It was later that first night when I discovered that two of the people hiding with us were Kamal and his father. That was shocking enough, seeing Kamal sitting in the basement just a few feet away from me. But when he and his father came over to our side of the room and I saw Kamal’s face, really saw it... 第一天夜里稍晚的时候，我发现卡莫和他父亲藏身在我们这群人之间。看到卡莫坐在地下室里面，距我只有数尺之遥，这太让我吃惊了。但当他和他的父亲走到我们这边来的时候，我看见了卡莫的脸，真的看见了……

He had withered--there was simply no other word for it. His eyes gave me a hollow look and no recognition at all registered in them. His shoulders hunched¹⁶ and his cheeks sagged¹⁷ like they were too tired to cling to the bone beneath. His father, who’d owned a movie theater in Kabul, was telling Baba how, three months before, a stray bullet had struck his wife in the temple and killed her. Then he told Baba about Kamal. I caught only snippets of it: Should have never let him go alone... always so handsome, you know... four of them... tried to fight... God... took him... bleeding down there... his pants... doesn’t talk any more... just stares... 他枯萎了——显然没有其他词可以代替这个。他双眼空洞地看着我，丝毫没有认出我。他耷拉着肩膀，脸颊凹陷，似乎已经厌倦了附在下面的骨头上。他的父亲在喀布尔有座电影院，正在跟爸爸诉苦，三个月前，他的妻子在庙里，被一颗流弹击中，当场毙命。然后他跟爸爸说起卡莫，我零星听到一点：不该让他一个人去的……你知道，他那么俊美……他们有四个人……他试图反抗……真主……血从那儿流下来……他的裤子……不再说话……目光痴呆……