★以下是英文寫(xiě)作翻譯頻道為大家整理的《名著《追風(fēng)箏的人》雙語(yǔ)閱讀》，供大家參考。更多內(nèi)容請(qǐng)看本站寫(xiě)作翻譯頻道。
12歲的阿富汗富家少爺阿米爾與仆人哈桑情同手足。然而，在一場(chǎng)風(fēng)箏比賽后，發(fā)生了一件悲慘不堪的事，阿米爾為自己的懦弱感到自責(zé)和痛苦，逼走了哈桑，不久，自己也跟隨父親逃往美國(guó)。
成年后的阿米爾始終無(wú)法原諒自己當(dāng)年對(duì)哈桑的背叛。為了贖罪，阿米爾再度踏上暌違二十多年的故鄉(xiāng)，希望能為不幸的好友盡最后一點(diǎn)心力，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)一個(gè)驚天謊言，兒時(shí)的噩夢(mèng)再度重演，阿米爾該如何抉擇?小說(shuō)如此殘忍而又美麗，作者以溫暖細(xì)膩的筆法勾勒人性的本質(zhì)與救贖，讀來(lái)令人蕩氣回腸。
CHAPTER ONE
I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
One day last summer, my friend Rahim Khan called from Pakistan. He asked me to come see him. Standing in the kitchen with the receiver to my ear, I knew it wasn't just Rahim Khan on the line. It was my past of unatoned sins. After I hung up, I went for a walk along Spreckels Lake on the northern edge of Golden Gate Park. The early-afternoon sun sparkled on the water where dozens of miniature boats sailed, propelled by a crisp breeze. Then I glanced up and saw a pair of kites, red with long blue tails, soaring in the sky. They danced high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills, floating side by side like a pair of eyes looking down on San Francisco, the city I now call Home. And suddenly Hassan's voice whispered in my head: "For you, a thousand times over". Hassan the harelipped kite runner.
I sat on a park bench near a willow tree. I thought about something Rahim Khan said just before he hung up, almost as an after thought. "There is a way to be good again". I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came and changed everything. And made me what I am today.
第一章
我成為今天的我，是在1975年某個(gè)陰云密布的寒冷冬日，那年我十二歲。我清楚地記得當(dāng)時(shí)自己趴在一堵坍塌的泥墻后面，窺視著那條小巷，旁邊是結(jié)冰的小溪。許多年過(guò)去了，人們說(shuō)陳年舊事可以被埋葬，然而我終于明白這是錯(cuò)的，因?yàn)橥聲?huì)自行爬上來(lái)?；厥浊皦m，我意識(shí)到在過(guò)去二十六年里，自己始終在窺視著那荒蕪的小徑。
今年夏季的某天，朋友拉辛汗從巴基斯坦打來(lái)電話，要我回去探望他。我站在廚房里，聽(tīng)筒貼在耳朵上，我知道電話線連著的，并不只是拉辛汗，還有我過(guò)去那些未曾贖還的罪行。掛了電話，我離開(kāi)家門(mén)，到金門(mén)公園北邊的斯普瑞柯湖邊散步。晌午的驕陽(yáng)照在波光粼粼的水面上，數(shù)十艘輕舟在和風(fēng)的吹拂中漂行。我抬起頭，望見(jiàn)兩只紅色的風(fēng)箏，帶著長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)的藍(lán)色尾巴，在天空中冉冉升起。它們舞動(dòng)著，飛越公園西邊的樹(shù)林，飛越風(fēng)車(chē)，并排飄浮著，如同一雙眼睛俯視著舊金山，這個(gè)我現(xiàn)在當(dāng)成家園的城市。突然間，哈桑的聲音在我腦中響起：為你，千千萬(wàn)萬(wàn)遍。哈桑，那個(gè)兔唇的哈桑，那個(gè)追風(fēng)箏的人。
我在公園里柳樹(shù)下的長(zhǎng)凳坐下，想著拉辛汗在電話中說(shuō)的那些事情，再三思量。那兒有再次成為好人的路。我抬眼看看那比翼齊飛的風(fēng)箏。我憶起哈桑。我緬懷爸爸。我想到阿里。我思念喀布爾。我想起曾經(jīng)的生活，想起1975年那個(gè)改變了一切的冬天。那造就了今天的我。
CHAPTER TWO
When we were children, Hassan and I used to climb the poplar trees in the driveway of my father's house and annoy our neighbors by reflecting sunlight into their Homes with a shard of mirror. We would sit across from each other on a pair of high branches, our naked feet dangling, our trouser pockets filled with dried mulberries and walnuts. We took turns with the mirror as we ate mulberries, pelted each other with them, giggling, laughing; I can still see Hassan up on that tree, sunlight flickering through the leaves on his almost perfectly round face, a face like a Chinese doll chiseled from hardwood: his flat, broad nose and slanting, narrow eyes like bamboo leaves, eyes that looked, depending on the light, gold, green, even sapphire. I can still see his tiny low-set ears and that pointed stub of a chin, a meaty appendage that looked like it was added as a mere afterthought. And the cleft lip, just left of midline, where the Chinese doll maker's instrument may have slipped; or perhaps he had simply grown tired and careless.
Sometimes, up in those trees, I talked Hassan into firing walnuts with his slingshot at the neighbor's one-eyed German shepherd. Hassan never wanted to, but if I asked, "really"asked, he wouldn't deny me. Hassan never denied me anything. And he was deadly with his slingshot. Hassan's father, Ali, used to catch us and get mad, or as mad as someone as gentle as Ali could ever get. He would wag his finger and wave us down from the tree. He would take the mirror and tell us what his mother had told him, that the devil shone mirrors too, shone them to distractMuslims during prayer. "And he laughs while he does it,?he always added, scowling at his son.
"Yes, Father,"Hassan would mumble, looking down at his feet. But he never told on me. Never told that the mirror, like shooting walnuts at the neighbor's dog, was always my idea.
The poplar trees lined the redbrick driveway, which led to a pair of wrought-iron gates. They in turn opened into an extension of the driveway into my father's estate. The house sat on the left side of the brick path, the backyard at the end of it.
Everyone agreed that my father, my Baba, had built the most beautiful house in the Wazir Akbar Khan district, a new and affluent neighborhood in the northern part of Kabul. Some thought it was the prettiest house in all of Kabul. A broad entryway flanked by rosebushes led to thesprawling house of marble floors and wide windows. Intricate mosaic tiles, handpicked by Baba in Isfahan, covered the floors of the four bathrooms. Gold-stitched tapestries, which Baba had bought in Calcutta, lined the walls; a crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling.
第二章
小時(shí)候，爸爸的房子有條車(chē)道，邊上種著白楊樹(shù)，哈桑和我經(jīng)常爬上去，用一塊鏡子的碎片把陽(yáng)光反照進(jìn)鄰居家里，惹得他們很惱火。在那高高的枝椏上，我們相對(duì)而坐，沒(méi)穿鞋子的腳丫晃來(lái)蕩去，褲兜里滿是桑椹干和胡桃。我們換著玩那破鏡子，邊吃桑椹干，邊用它們?nèi)訉?duì)方，忽而吃吃逗樂(lè)，忽而開(kāi)懷大笑。我依然能記得哈桑坐在樹(shù)上的樣子，陽(yáng)光穿過(guò)葉子，照著他那渾圓的臉龐。他的臉很像木頭刻成的中國(guó)娃娃，鼻子大而扁平，雙眼瞇斜如同竹葉，在不同光線下會(huì)顯現(xiàn)出金色、綠色，甚至是寶石藍(lán)。我依然能看到他長(zhǎng)得較低的小耳朵，還有突出的下巴，肉乎乎的，看起來(lái)像是一團(tuán)后來(lái)才加上去的附屬物。他的嘴唇從中間裂開(kāi)，這興許是那個(gè)制作中國(guó)娃娃的工匠手中的工具不慎滑落，又或者只是由于他的疲倦和心不在焉。
有時(shí)在樹(shù)上我還會(huì)慫恿哈桑，讓他用彈弓將胡桃射向鄰家那獨(dú)眼的德國(guó)牧羊犬。哈桑從無(wú)此想法，但若是我要求他，真的要求他，他不會(huì)拒絕。哈桑從未拒絕我任何事情。彈弓在他手中可是致命的武器。哈桑的父親阿里常常逮到我們，像他那樣和藹的人，也被我們氣得要瘋了。他會(huì)張開(kāi)手指，將我們從樹(shù)上搖下來(lái)。他會(huì)將鏡子拿走，并告訴我們，他的媽媽說(shuō)魔鬼也用鏡子，用它們照那些穆斯林信徒，讓他們分心。“他這么做的時(shí)候會(huì)哈哈大笑?！彼偸羌由线@么一句，并對(duì)他的兒子怒目相向。
“是的，爸爸?！惫?huì)咕噥著，低頭看自己的雙腳。但他從不告發(fā)我，從來(lái)不提鏡子、用胡桃射狗其實(shí)都是我的鬼主意。
那條通向兩扇鍛鐵大門(mén)的紅磚車(chē)道兩旁植滿白楊。車(chē)道延伸進(jìn)敞開(kāi)的雙扉，再進(jìn)去就是我父親的地盤(pán)了。磚路的左邊是房子，盡頭則是后院。
人人都說(shuō)我父親的房子是瓦茲爾·阿克巴·汗區(qū)最華麗的屋宇，甚至有人認(rèn)為它是全喀布爾最美觀的建筑。它坐落于喀布爾北部繁華的新興城區(qū)，入口通道甚為寬廣，兩旁種著薔薇;房子開(kāi)間不少，鋪著大理石地板，還有很大的窗戶。爸爸親手在伊斯法罕(Isfaham，伊朗中部城市)選購(gòu)了精美的馬賽克瓷磚，鋪滿四個(gè)浴室的地面，還從加爾各答(Calcutta，印度城市)買(mǎi)來(lái)金絲織成的掛毯，用于裝飾墻壁，拱形的天花板上掛著水晶吊燈。
12歲的阿富汗富家少爺阿米爾與仆人哈桑情同手足。然而，在一場(chǎng)風(fēng)箏比賽后，發(fā)生了一件悲慘不堪的事，阿米爾為自己的懦弱感到自責(zé)和痛苦，逼走了哈桑，不久，自己也跟隨父親逃往美國(guó)。
成年后的阿米爾始終無(wú)法原諒自己當(dāng)年對(duì)哈桑的背叛。為了贖罪，阿米爾再度踏上暌違二十多年的故鄉(xiāng)，希望能為不幸的好友盡最后一點(diǎn)心力，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)一個(gè)驚天謊言，兒時(shí)的噩夢(mèng)再度重演，阿米爾該如何抉擇?小說(shuō)如此殘忍而又美麗，作者以溫暖細(xì)膩的筆法勾勒人性的本質(zhì)與救贖，讀來(lái)令人蕩氣回腸。
CHAPTER ONE
I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
One day last summer, my friend Rahim Khan called from Pakistan. He asked me to come see him. Standing in the kitchen with the receiver to my ear, I knew it wasn't just Rahim Khan on the line. It was my past of unatoned sins. After I hung up, I went for a walk along Spreckels Lake on the northern edge of Golden Gate Park. The early-afternoon sun sparkled on the water where dozens of miniature boats sailed, propelled by a crisp breeze. Then I glanced up and saw a pair of kites, red with long blue tails, soaring in the sky. They danced high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills, floating side by side like a pair of eyes looking down on San Francisco, the city I now call Home. And suddenly Hassan's voice whispered in my head: "For you, a thousand times over". Hassan the harelipped kite runner.
I sat on a park bench near a willow tree. I thought about something Rahim Khan said just before he hung up, almost as an after thought. "There is a way to be good again". I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came and changed everything. And made me what I am today.
第一章
我成為今天的我，是在1975年某個(gè)陰云密布的寒冷冬日，那年我十二歲。我清楚地記得當(dāng)時(shí)自己趴在一堵坍塌的泥墻后面，窺視著那條小巷，旁邊是結(jié)冰的小溪。許多年過(guò)去了，人們說(shuō)陳年舊事可以被埋葬，然而我終于明白這是錯(cuò)的，因?yàn)橥聲?huì)自行爬上來(lái)?；厥浊皦m，我意識(shí)到在過(guò)去二十六年里，自己始終在窺視著那荒蕪的小徑。
今年夏季的某天，朋友拉辛汗從巴基斯坦打來(lái)電話，要我回去探望他。我站在廚房里，聽(tīng)筒貼在耳朵上，我知道電話線連著的，并不只是拉辛汗，還有我過(guò)去那些未曾贖還的罪行。掛了電話，我離開(kāi)家門(mén)，到金門(mén)公園北邊的斯普瑞柯湖邊散步。晌午的驕陽(yáng)照在波光粼粼的水面上，數(shù)十艘輕舟在和風(fēng)的吹拂中漂行。我抬起頭，望見(jiàn)兩只紅色的風(fēng)箏，帶著長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)的藍(lán)色尾巴，在天空中冉冉升起。它們舞動(dòng)著，飛越公園西邊的樹(shù)林，飛越風(fēng)車(chē)，并排飄浮著，如同一雙眼睛俯視著舊金山，這個(gè)我現(xiàn)在當(dāng)成家園的城市。突然間，哈桑的聲音在我腦中響起：為你，千千萬(wàn)萬(wàn)遍。哈桑，那個(gè)兔唇的哈桑，那個(gè)追風(fēng)箏的人。
我在公園里柳樹(shù)下的長(zhǎng)凳坐下，想著拉辛汗在電話中說(shuō)的那些事情，再三思量。那兒有再次成為好人的路。我抬眼看看那比翼齊飛的風(fēng)箏。我憶起哈桑。我緬懷爸爸。我想到阿里。我思念喀布爾。我想起曾經(jīng)的生活，想起1975年那個(gè)改變了一切的冬天。那造就了今天的我。
CHAPTER TWO
When we were children, Hassan and I used to climb the poplar trees in the driveway of my father's house and annoy our neighbors by reflecting sunlight into their Homes with a shard of mirror. We would sit across from each other on a pair of high branches, our naked feet dangling, our trouser pockets filled with dried mulberries and walnuts. We took turns with the mirror as we ate mulberries, pelted each other with them, giggling, laughing; I can still see Hassan up on that tree, sunlight flickering through the leaves on his almost perfectly round face, a face like a Chinese doll chiseled from hardwood: his flat, broad nose and slanting, narrow eyes like bamboo leaves, eyes that looked, depending on the light, gold, green, even sapphire. I can still see his tiny low-set ears and that pointed stub of a chin, a meaty appendage that looked like it was added as a mere afterthought. And the cleft lip, just left of midline, where the Chinese doll maker's instrument may have slipped; or perhaps he had simply grown tired and careless.
Sometimes, up in those trees, I talked Hassan into firing walnuts with his slingshot at the neighbor's one-eyed German shepherd. Hassan never wanted to, but if I asked, "really"asked, he wouldn't deny me. Hassan never denied me anything. And he was deadly with his slingshot. Hassan's father, Ali, used to catch us and get mad, or as mad as someone as gentle as Ali could ever get. He would wag his finger and wave us down from the tree. He would take the mirror and tell us what his mother had told him, that the devil shone mirrors too, shone them to distractMuslims during prayer. "And he laughs while he does it,?he always added, scowling at his son.
"Yes, Father,"Hassan would mumble, looking down at his feet. But he never told on me. Never told that the mirror, like shooting walnuts at the neighbor's dog, was always my idea.
The poplar trees lined the redbrick driveway, which led to a pair of wrought-iron gates. They in turn opened into an extension of the driveway into my father's estate. The house sat on the left side of the brick path, the backyard at the end of it.
Everyone agreed that my father, my Baba, had built the most beautiful house in the Wazir Akbar Khan district, a new and affluent neighborhood in the northern part of Kabul. Some thought it was the prettiest house in all of Kabul. A broad entryway flanked by rosebushes led to thesprawling house of marble floors and wide windows. Intricate mosaic tiles, handpicked by Baba in Isfahan, covered the floors of the four bathrooms. Gold-stitched tapestries, which Baba had bought in Calcutta, lined the walls; a crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling.
第二章
小時(shí)候，爸爸的房子有條車(chē)道，邊上種著白楊樹(shù)，哈桑和我經(jīng)常爬上去，用一塊鏡子的碎片把陽(yáng)光反照進(jìn)鄰居家里，惹得他們很惱火。在那高高的枝椏上，我們相對(duì)而坐，沒(méi)穿鞋子的腳丫晃來(lái)蕩去，褲兜里滿是桑椹干和胡桃。我們換著玩那破鏡子，邊吃桑椹干，邊用它們?nèi)訉?duì)方，忽而吃吃逗樂(lè)，忽而開(kāi)懷大笑。我依然能記得哈桑坐在樹(shù)上的樣子，陽(yáng)光穿過(guò)葉子，照著他那渾圓的臉龐。他的臉很像木頭刻成的中國(guó)娃娃，鼻子大而扁平，雙眼瞇斜如同竹葉，在不同光線下會(huì)顯現(xiàn)出金色、綠色，甚至是寶石藍(lán)。我依然能看到他長(zhǎng)得較低的小耳朵，還有突出的下巴，肉乎乎的，看起來(lái)像是一團(tuán)后來(lái)才加上去的附屬物。他的嘴唇從中間裂開(kāi)，這興許是那個(gè)制作中國(guó)娃娃的工匠手中的工具不慎滑落，又或者只是由于他的疲倦和心不在焉。
有時(shí)在樹(shù)上我還會(huì)慫恿哈桑，讓他用彈弓將胡桃射向鄰家那獨(dú)眼的德國(guó)牧羊犬。哈桑從無(wú)此想法，但若是我要求他，真的要求他，他不會(huì)拒絕。哈桑從未拒絕我任何事情。彈弓在他手中可是致命的武器。哈桑的父親阿里常常逮到我們，像他那樣和藹的人，也被我們氣得要瘋了。他會(huì)張開(kāi)手指，將我們從樹(shù)上搖下來(lái)。他會(huì)將鏡子拿走，并告訴我們，他的媽媽說(shuō)魔鬼也用鏡子，用它們照那些穆斯林信徒，讓他們分心。“他這么做的時(shí)候會(huì)哈哈大笑?！彼偸羌由线@么一句，并對(duì)他的兒子怒目相向。
“是的，爸爸?！惫?huì)咕噥著，低頭看自己的雙腳。但他從不告發(fā)我，從來(lái)不提鏡子、用胡桃射狗其實(shí)都是我的鬼主意。
那條通向兩扇鍛鐵大門(mén)的紅磚車(chē)道兩旁植滿白楊。車(chē)道延伸進(jìn)敞開(kāi)的雙扉，再進(jìn)去就是我父親的地盤(pán)了。磚路的左邊是房子，盡頭則是后院。
人人都說(shuō)我父親的房子是瓦茲爾·阿克巴·汗區(qū)最華麗的屋宇，甚至有人認(rèn)為它是全喀布爾最美觀的建筑。它坐落于喀布爾北部繁華的新興城區(qū)，入口通道甚為寬廣，兩旁種著薔薇;房子開(kāi)間不少，鋪著大理石地板，還有很大的窗戶。爸爸親手在伊斯法罕(Isfaham，伊朗中部城市)選購(gòu)了精美的馬賽克瓷磚，鋪滿四個(gè)浴室的地面，還從加爾各答(Calcutta，印度城市)買(mǎi)來(lái)金絲織成的掛毯，用于裝飾墻壁，拱形的天花板上掛著水晶吊燈。