“Someone on the street said why don’t you put the bag on the donkey? And he said, “That would be cruel, I’m heavy enough already for the poor thing.” We exchanged Mullah Nasruddin jokes until we ran out of them and we fell silent again. “有个路人问，你为什么不把袋子放在驴背上呢？他说：”那太残忍了，我已经压得这可怜的东西不堪重负。一‘我们轮流说着纳斯鲁丁毛拉的笑话，全都讲完之后，我们再次陷入了沉默。

“Amir agha?” Farid said, startling me from near sleep.

“阿米尔老爷？”法里德说，惊醒睡意蒙咙的我。

“Yes?”

“怎么？”

“Why are you here? I mean, why are you really here?”

“你为什么到这里来呢？我是说，你为什么真的到这里来呢？”

“I told you.”

“我告诉过你。”

“For the boy?”

“为了那个男孩？”

“For the boy.”Farid shifted on the ground. “It’s hard to believe.”

“为了那个男孩。”法里德在地上翻身，“真叫人难以相信。”

“Sometimes I myself can hardly believe I’m here.”

“有时候，我也无法相信自己竟然来到这里。”

“No... What I mean to ask is why that boy? You come all the way from America for... a Shi’a?”

“不……我想问的是，为什么是那个男孩？你从美国漂洋过海，就为了……一个什叶派信徒？”

That killed all the laughter in me. And the sleep. “I am tired,” I said. “Let’s just get some sleep.”

这句话让我再也笑不出来，睡意全消。

“我累了。”我说，“我们睡觉吧。”法里德的鼾声很

Farid’s snoring soon echoed through the empty room. I stayed awake, hands crossed on my chest, staring into the starlit night through the broken window, and thinking that maybe what people said about Afghanistan was true. Maybe it was a hopeless place.

快在空荡荡的房间响起。我睡不着，双手交叉放在胸前，透过那扇破窗，望着星光闪闪的夜空，想起人们对阿富汗的评论，也许那是对的。也许它是一个没有希望的地方。

A BUSTLING¹ CROWD was filling Ghazi Stadium when we walked through the entrance tunnels. Thousands of people milled about the tightly packed concrete terraces. Children played in the aisles² and chased each other up and down the steps. The scent³ of garbanzo beans in spicy⁴ sauce hung in the air, mixed with the smell of dung and sweat. Farid and I walked past street peddlers selling cigarettes, pine nuts, and biscuits.

我们走进伽兹体育馆入口通道的时候，喧哗的人群正在纷纷入座。阶梯状的水泥看台上挤满了几千人。儿童在过道嬉闹，上下追逐。空气中散发着辣酱鹰嘴豆的味道，还有动物粪便和汗水的臭味。法里德和我走过那些兜售香烟、松子和饼干的小贩。

A scrawny boy in a tweed jacket grabbed my elbow and spoke⁵ into my ear. Asked me if I wanted to buy some “sexy pictures.”

有个骨瘦如柴的男孩身穿斜纹呢夹克，抓住我的胳膊，在我耳边低语。他问我要不要买些“性感的图片 ”。

“Very sexy, Agha,” he said, his alert eyes darting⁶ side to side-- reminding me of a girl who, a few years earlier, had tried to sell me crack in the Tenderloin district in San Francisco. The kid peeled one side of his jacket open and gave me a fleeting⁷ glance of his sexy pictures: postcards of Hindi movies showing doe-eyed sultry actresses, fully dressed, in the arms of their leading men. “So sexy,” he repeated.

“非常诱人，老爷。”他说，机警的眼睛四下扫视——让我想起一个女孩，早几年的时候，在旧金山田德龙区街头，她竭力劝我买毒品。那男孩拉开夹克的一边，让我匆匆看一眼他的性感图片：印度电影的明信片，上面是媚眼如丝的女演员，穿着全套衣服，躺在男人怀里。 “多么性感。”他重复说。

“Nay⁸, thanks,” I said, pushing past him.

“不了，谢谢。”我说，把他推开，继续走。