“Yes, Agha sahib,” the younger of the guards replied. “How could I forget?”I had read about the Hazara massacre¹ in Mazar-i-Sharif in the papers. It had happened just after the Taliban took over Mazar, one of the last cities to fall. I remembered Soraya handing me the article over breakfast, her face bloodless.

“记得，老爷。”年轻那个卫兵回答说，“我怎么会忘记呢？”我在报纸上看过有关马扎里沙里夫的哈扎拉人遭到屠杀的新闻。那在塔利班攻陷马扎之后就发生了。马扎是几个最后沦陷的城市之一。我记得早餐后，索拉雅给我看那篇报道，她面无血色。

“Door-to-door. We only rested for food and prayer,” the Talib said. He said it fondly, like a man telling of a great party he’d attended. “We left the bodies in the streets, and if their families tried to sneak² out to drag them back into their homes, we’d shoot them too. We left them in the streets for days. We left them for the dogs. Dog meat for dogs.” He crushed his cigarette. Rubbed his eyes with tremulous hands. “You come from America?”

“挨家过户。我们只有吃饭和祷告的时候才停手。”塔利班说。他说的时候神情愉悦，好像一个男人在描绘他参加过的盛宴。“我们将尸体扔在街道上，如果他们的家人试图偷偷将他拉回家，我们就连他们一块干掉。我们将他们扔在街道上好多天，把他们留给狗吃，狗肉应该留给狗。”他吸了一口烟，用颤抖的手揉揉眼睛。“你从美国来？”

“How is that whore these days?”I had a sudden urge to urinate. I prayed it would pass. “I’m looking for a boy.”“Isn’t everyone?” he said. The men with the Kalashnikovs laughed. Their teeth were stained green with naswar.“I understand he is here, with you,” I said. “His name is Sohrab.”“I’ll ask you something: What are you doing with that whore? Why aren’t you here, with your Muslim brothers, serving your country?”“I’ve been away a long time,” was all I could think of saying. My head felt so hot. I pressed my knees together, held my bladder.The Talib turned to the two men standing³ by the door. “That’s an answer?” he asked them.“Nay⁴, Agha sahib,” they said in unison⁵, smiling.He turned his eyes to me. Shrugged⁶. “Not an answer, they say.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “There are those in my circle who believe that abandoning watan when it needs you the most is the same as treason. I could have you arrested for treason, have you shot for it even. Does that frighten you?” “那个婊子近来如何？”我突然想尿尿，祈祷尿意会消失。“我在找一个男孩。”“谁不是呢？”他说。持枪那两个人哈哈大笑，露出被鼻烟熏成绿色的牙齿。“我知道他在这里，跟你在一起。”我说，“他的名字叫索拉博。”“我要问你，你投奔那个婊子干什么呢？你为什么不留在这里，跟你的穆斯林兄弟在一起，保卫你的国家？”“我离开很久了。”我只想得出这么一句话。我头脑发胀，紧紧压住膝盖，忍住尿意。塔利班转向那两个站在门口的男子，“这算是答案吗？”他问。“不算，老爷。”他们笑着齐声说。他把眼光转向我，耸耸肩，“这不算答案，他们说。”他吸一口烟，“在我生活的圈子里面，人们认为，在祖国需要的时候离开，跟叛国一样可恶。我可以用叛国的罪名逮捕你，甚至将你干掉，你害怕吗？”

“I’m only here for the boy.”

“我来这里只是要找那个男孩。”

“Does that frighten you?”

“你害怕了吗？”

“Yes.”

“是的。”