And how was I going to reconcile this new image of Baba with the one that had been imprinted¹ on my mind for so long, that of him in his old brown suit, hobbling up the Taheris’ driveway to ask for Soraya’s hand?Here is another cliché my creative writing teacher would have scoffed³ at; like father, like son. But it was true, wasn’t it? As it turned out, Baba and I were more alike than I’d ever known. We had both betrayed the people who would have given their lives for us. And with that came this realization⁴: that Rahim Khan had summoned me here to atone⁵ not just for my sins but for Baba’s too.Rahim Khan said I’d always been too hard on myself. But I wondered. True, I hadn’t made Ali step on the land mine, and I hadn’t brought the Taliban to the house to shoot Hassan. But I had driven Hassan and Ali out of the house. Was it too far-fetched to imagine that things might have turned out differently if I hadn’t? Maybe Baba would have brought them along to America. Maybe Hassan would have had a home of his own now, a job, a family, a life in a country where no one cared that he was a Hazara, where most people didn’t even know what a Hazara was. Maybe not. But maybe so.

这儿又有一句为我的创作老师所不屑的陈词滥调：有其父必有其子。但这是真的，不是吗？结果证明，我和爸爸的相似超乎原先的想像。我们两个都背叛了愿意为我们付出生命的人。我这才意识到，拉辛汗传唤我到这里来，不只是为了洗刷我的罪行，还有爸爸的。拉辛汗说我一直太过苛求自己。但我怀疑。是的，我没有让阿里的右脚踩上地雷，没有把塔利班的人带到家里，射杀哈桑。可是我把阿里和哈桑赶出家门。若非我那么做，事情也许会变得全然不同，这样的想法不算太牵强吧？也许爸爸会带着他们到美国。也许在那个没有人在意他是哈扎拉人、人们甚至不知道哈扎拉人是什么意思的国度，哈桑会拥有自己的家、工作、亲人、生活。也许不会。但也许会。

I can’t go to Kabul, I had said to Rahim Khan. I have a wife in America, a home, a career, and a family. But how could I pack up and go back home when my actions may have cost Hassan a chance at those very same things?

我不能去喀布尔。我刚才对拉辛汗说，我在美国有妻子、房子、事业，还有家庭。但也许正是我的行为断送了哈桑拥有这一切的机会，我能够这样收拾行囊、掉头回家吗？

I wished Rahim Khan hadn’t called me. I wished he had let me live on in my oblivion. But he had called me. And what Rahim Khan revealed to me changed things. Made me see how my entire life, long before the winter of 1975, dating back to when that singing Hazara woman was still nursing me, had been a cycle of lies, betrayals, and secrets.

我希望拉辛汗没有打过电话给我。我希望他没有把真相告诉我。但他打了电话，而且他所揭露的事情使一切面目全非。让我明白我的一生，早在1975年冬天之前，回溯到那个会唱歌的哈扎拉女人还在哺乳我的时候，种种谎言、背叛和秘密，就已经开始轮回。

There is a way to be good again, he’d said.

那儿有再次成为好人的路。他说。

A way to end the cycle. 一条终结轮回的路。

With a little boy. An orphan⁶. Hassan’s son. Somewhere in Kabul. 带上一个小男孩。一个孤儿。哈桑的儿子。在喀布尔的某个地方。

And how was I going to reconcile this new image of Baba with the one that had been imprinted on my mind for so long, that of him in his old brown suit, hobbling up the Taheris’ driveway to ask for Soraya’s hand?Here is another cliché my creative writing teacher would have scoffed at; like father, like son. But it was true, wasn’t it? As it turned out, Baba and I were more alike than I’d ever known. We had both betrayed the people who would have given their lives for us. And with that came this realization: that Rahim Khan had summoned me here to atone not just for my sins but for Baba’s too.Rahim Khan said I’d always been too hard on myself. But I wondered. True, I hadn’t made Ali step on the land mine, and I hadn’t brought the Taliban to the house to shoot Hassan. But I had driven Hassan and Ali out of the house. Was it too far-fetched to imagine that things might have turned out differently if I hadn’t? Maybe Baba would have brought them along to America. Maybe Hassan would have had a home of his own now, a job, a family, a life in a country where no one cared that he was a Hazara, where most people didn’t even know what a Hazara was. Maybe not. But maybe so.

这儿又有一句为我的创作老师所不屑的陈词滥调：有其父必有其子。但这是真的，不是吗？结果证明，我和爸爸的相似超乎原先的想像。我们两个都背叛了愿意为我们付出生命的人。我这才意识到，拉辛汗传唤我到这里来，不只是为了洗刷我的罪行，还有爸爸的。拉辛汗说我一直太过苛求自己。但我怀疑。是的，我没有让阿里的右脚踩上地雷，没有把塔利班的人带到家里，射杀哈桑。可是我把阿里和哈桑赶出家门。若非我那么做，事情也许会变得全然不同，这样的想法不算太牵强吧？也许爸爸会带着他们到美国。也许在那个没有人在意他是哈扎拉人、人们甚至不知道哈扎拉人是什么意思的国度，哈桑会拥有自己的家、工作、亲人、生活。也许不会。但也许会。

I can’t go to Kabul, I had said to Rahim Khan. I have a wife in America, a home, a career, and a family. But how could I pack up and go back home when my actions may have cost Hassan a chance at those very same things?

我不能去喀布尔。我刚才对拉辛汗说，我在美国有妻子、房子、事业，还有家庭。但也许正是我的行为断送了哈桑拥有这一切的机会，我能够这样收拾行囊、掉头回家吗？

I wished Rahim Khan hadn’t called me. I wished he had let me live on in my oblivion. But he had called me. And what Rahim Khan revealed to me changed things. Made me see how my entire life, long before the winter of 1975, dating back to when that singing Hazara woman was still nursing me, had been a cycle of lies, betrayals, and secrets.

我希望拉辛汗没有打过电话给我。我希望他没有把真相告诉我。但他打了电话，而且他所揭露的事情使一切面目全非。让我明白我的一生，早在1975年冬天之前，回溯到那个会唱歌的哈扎拉女人还在哺乳我的时候，种种谎言、背叛和秘密，就已经开始轮回。

There is a way to be good again, he’d said.

那儿有再次成为好人的路。他说。

A way to end the cycle.

一条终结轮回的路。

With a little boy. An orphan. Hassan’s son. Somewhere in Kabul. 带上一个小男孩。一个孤儿。哈桑的儿子。在喀布尔的某个地方。