★以下是英文寫(xiě)作翻譯頻道為大家整理的《名著殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風(fēng)箏的人》，供大家參考。
“I feel like a tourist in my own country,” I said, taking in a goatherd leading a half-dozen emaciated goats along the side of the road.“我回到自己的國(guó)家，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)自己像個(gè)游客?！蔽艺f(shuō)。路邊有個(gè)牧人，領(lǐng)著幾只干瘦的山羊在趕路。
Farid snickered. Tossed his cigarette. “You still think of this place as your country?”法里德冷笑，扔掉煙蒂，“你還把這個(gè)地方當(dāng)成國(guó)家？”
“I think a part of me always will,” I said, more defensively than I had intended.“我想有一部分的我永遠(yuǎn)會(huì)這么認(rèn)為。”我說(shuō)，我的戒備之心出乎自己意料之外。
“After twenty years of living in America,” he said, swerving the truck to avoid a pothole the size of a beach ball.“在美國(guó)生活了二十年之后？”他說(shuō)，打著方向盤(pán)，避開(kāi)路上一個(gè)海灘球那么大的洞。
I nodded. “I grew up in Afghanistan.” Farid snickered again.我點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭：“我在阿富汗長(zhǎng)大。”法里德又冷笑。
“Why do you do that?”“你為什么這樣？”
“Never mind,” he murmured.“沒(méi)什么。”
“No, I want to know. Why do you do that?” In his rearview mirror, I saw something flash in his eyes. “You want to know?” he sneered. “Let me imagine, Agha sahib. You probably lived in a big two- or three-story house with a nice back yard that your gardener filled with flowers and fruit trees. All gated, of course. Your father drove an American car. You had servants, probably Hazaras. Your parents hired workers to decorate the house for the fancy mehmanis they threw, so their friends would come over to drink and boast about their travels to Europe or America. And I would bet my first son’s eyes that this is the first time you’ve ever worn a pakol.” He grinned at me, revealing a mouthful of prematurely rotting teeth. “Am I close?”“不，我想知道。你干嗎這樣？”借著他那邊的觀后鏡，我見(jiàn)到他眼里有神色閃動(dòng)。“你想知道？”他嗤之以鼻，“我來(lái)想像一下，老爺。你也許生活在一座兩層或者三層的樓房，有個(gè)漂亮的后院，你的園丁給它種滿(mǎn)花草和果樹(shù)。當(dāng)然，門(mén)都鎖上了。你父親開(kāi)美國(guó)車(chē)。你有仆人，估計(jì)是哈扎拉人。你的父母請(qǐng)來(lái)工人，裝潢他們舉辦宴會(huì)的房間，好讓他們的朋友前來(lái)飲酒喝茶，吹噓他們?cè)诿绹?guó)和歐洲的游歷。而我敢拿我大兒子的眼睛打賭，這是你第一次戴氈帽。”他朝我咧嘴而笑，露出一口過(guò)早蛀蝕的牙齒，“我說(shuō)的沒(méi)錯(cuò)吧？”
“Why are you saying these things?” I said.“你為什么要說(shuō)這些呢？”我說(shuō)。
“Because you wanted to know,” he spat. He pointed to an old man dressed in ragged clothes trudging down a dirt path, a large burlap pack filled with scrub grass tied to his back. “That’s the real Afghanistan, Agha sahib. That’s the Afghanistan I know. You? You’ve always been a tourist here, you just didn’t know it.”“因?yàn)槟阆胫?，”他回嘴說(shuō)。他指著一個(gè)衣裳襤褸的老人，背著裝滿(mǎn)柴草的麻袋，在泥土路上跋涉前進(jìn)。“那才是真正的阿富汗人，老爺，那才是我認(rèn)識(shí)的阿富汗人。你？在這里，你一直無(wú)非是個(gè)過(guò)客而已，只是你自己不知道罷了?！?BR> Rahim Khan had warned me not to expect a warm welcome in Afghanistan from those who had stayed behind and fought the wars. “I’m sorry about your father,” I said. “I’m sorry about your daughters, and I’m sorry about your hand.”拉辛汗警告過(guò)我，在阿富汗，別指望那些留下來(lái)戰(zhàn)斗的人會(huì)給我好臉色看。“我為你父親感到難過(guò)，”我說(shuō)，“我為你女兒感到難過(guò)，我為你的手感到難過(guò)。 ”
“That means nothing to me,” he said. He shook his head. “Why are you coming back here anyway? Sell off your Baba’s land? Pocket the money and run back to your mother in America?”“那對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)沒(méi)有意義?！彼麚u搖頭說(shuō)，“為什么無(wú)論如何，你們總是要回到這里呢？賣(mài)掉你們父親的土地？把錢(qián)放進(jìn)口袋，跑回美國(guó)找你們的媽媽?zhuān)俊?BR> “My mother died giving birth to me,” I said. He sighed and lit another cigarette. Said nothing.“我媽媽在生我的時(shí)候死了?！蔽艺f(shuō)。他嘆氣，又點(diǎn)一根煙，一語(yǔ)不發(fā)。
“Pull over.”“停車(chē)?！?BR> “What?”“什么？”
“I feel like a tourist in my own country,” I said, taking in a goatherd leading a half-dozen emaciated goats along the side of the road.“我回到自己的國(guó)家，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)自己像個(gè)游客?！蔽艺f(shuō)。路邊有個(gè)牧人，領(lǐng)著幾只干瘦的山羊在趕路。
Farid snickered. Tossed his cigarette. “You still think of this place as your country?”法里德冷笑，扔掉煙蒂，“你還把這個(gè)地方當(dāng)成國(guó)家？”
“I think a part of me always will,” I said, more defensively than I had intended.“我想有一部分的我永遠(yuǎn)會(huì)這么認(rèn)為。”我說(shuō)，我的戒備之心出乎自己意料之外。
“After twenty years of living in America,” he said, swerving the truck to avoid a pothole the size of a beach ball.“在美國(guó)生活了二十年之后？”他說(shuō)，打著方向盤(pán)，避開(kāi)路上一個(gè)海灘球那么大的洞。
I nodded. “I grew up in Afghanistan.” Farid snickered again.我點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭：“我在阿富汗長(zhǎng)大。”法里德又冷笑。
“Why do you do that?”“你為什么這樣？”
“Never mind,” he murmured.“沒(méi)什么。”
“No, I want to know. Why do you do that?” In his rearview mirror, I saw something flash in his eyes. “You want to know?” he sneered. “Let me imagine, Agha sahib. You probably lived in a big two- or three-story house with a nice back yard that your gardener filled with flowers and fruit trees. All gated, of course. Your father drove an American car. You had servants, probably Hazaras. Your parents hired workers to decorate the house for the fancy mehmanis they threw, so their friends would come over to drink and boast about their travels to Europe or America. And I would bet my first son’s eyes that this is the first time you’ve ever worn a pakol.” He grinned at me, revealing a mouthful of prematurely rotting teeth. “Am I close?”“不，我想知道。你干嗎這樣？”借著他那邊的觀后鏡，我見(jiàn)到他眼里有神色閃動(dòng)。“你想知道？”他嗤之以鼻，“我來(lái)想像一下，老爺。你也許生活在一座兩層或者三層的樓房，有個(gè)漂亮的后院，你的園丁給它種滿(mǎn)花草和果樹(shù)。當(dāng)然，門(mén)都鎖上了。你父親開(kāi)美國(guó)車(chē)。你有仆人，估計(jì)是哈扎拉人。你的父母請(qǐng)來(lái)工人，裝潢他們舉辦宴會(huì)的房間，好讓他們的朋友前來(lái)飲酒喝茶，吹噓他們?cè)诿绹?guó)和歐洲的游歷。而我敢拿我大兒子的眼睛打賭，這是你第一次戴氈帽。”他朝我咧嘴而笑，露出一口過(guò)早蛀蝕的牙齒，“我說(shuō)的沒(méi)錯(cuò)吧？”
“Why are you saying these things?” I said.“你為什么要說(shuō)這些呢？”我說(shuō)。
“Because you wanted to know,” he spat. He pointed to an old man dressed in ragged clothes trudging down a dirt path, a large burlap pack filled with scrub grass tied to his back. “That’s the real Afghanistan, Agha sahib. That’s the Afghanistan I know. You? You’ve always been a tourist here, you just didn’t know it.”“因?yàn)槟阆胫?，”他回嘴說(shuō)。他指著一個(gè)衣裳襤褸的老人，背著裝滿(mǎn)柴草的麻袋，在泥土路上跋涉前進(jìn)。“那才是真正的阿富汗人，老爺，那才是我認(rèn)識(shí)的阿富汗人。你？在這里，你一直無(wú)非是個(gè)過(guò)客而已，只是你自己不知道罷了?！?BR> Rahim Khan had warned me not to expect a warm welcome in Afghanistan from those who had stayed behind and fought the wars. “I’m sorry about your father,” I said. “I’m sorry about your daughters, and I’m sorry about your hand.”拉辛汗警告過(guò)我，在阿富汗，別指望那些留下來(lái)戰(zhàn)斗的人會(huì)給我好臉色看。“我為你父親感到難過(guò)，”我說(shuō)，“我為你女兒感到難過(guò)，我為你的手感到難過(guò)。 ”
“That means nothing to me,” he said. He shook his head. “Why are you coming back here anyway? Sell off your Baba’s land? Pocket the money and run back to your mother in America?”“那對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)沒(méi)有意義?！彼麚u搖頭說(shuō)，“為什么無(wú)論如何，你們總是要回到這里呢？賣(mài)掉你們父親的土地？把錢(qián)放進(jìn)口袋，跑回美國(guó)找你們的媽媽?zhuān)俊?BR> “My mother died giving birth to me,” I said. He sighed and lit another cigarette. Said nothing.“我媽媽在生我的時(shí)候死了?！蔽艺f(shuō)。他嘆氣，又點(diǎn)一根煙，一語(yǔ)不發(fā)。
“Pull over.”“停車(chē)?！?BR> “What?”“什么？”