He shrugged. “Just thinking about them.” He lifted his face, looked straight at me. Now he was crying, softly, silently. “Can I ask you something, Amir agha?” “Of course.” “Will God...” he began, and choked a little. “Will God put me in hell for what I did to that man?” I reached for him and he flinched. I pulled back. “Nay. Of course not,” I said. I wanted to pull him close, hold him, tell him the world had been unkind to him, not the other way face twisted and strained to stay composed. “Father used to say it’s wrong to hurt even bad people. Because they don’t know any better, and because bad people sometimes become good.” “Not always, Sohrab.” He looked at me questioningly. “The man who hurt you, I knew him from many years ago,” I said. “I guess you figured that out that from the conversation he and I had. He... he tried to hurt me once when I was your age, but your father saved me. Your father was very brave and he was always rescuing me from trouble, standing up for me. So one day the bad man hurt your father instead. He hurt him in a very bad way, and I... I couldn’t save your father the way he had saved me.” “Why did people want to hurt my father?” Sohrab said in a wheezy little voice. “He was never mean to anyone.” “You’re right. Your father was a good man. But that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Sohrab jan. That there are bad people in this world, and sometimes bad people stay bad. Sometimes you have to stand up to them. What you did to that man is what I should have done to him all those years ago. You gave him what he deserved, and he deserved even more.” “Do you think Father is disappointed in me?” “I know he’s not,” I said. “You saved my life in Kabul. I know he is very proud of you for that.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. It burst a bubble of spittle that had formed on his lips. He buried his face in his hands and wept a long time before he spoke again. “I miss Father, and Mother too,” he croaked. “And I miss Sasa and Rahim Khan sahib. But sometimes I’m glad they’re not ... they’re not here anymore.” “Why?” I touched his arm. He drew back. “Because--” he said, gasping and hitching between sobs, “because I don’t want them to see me... I’m so dirty.” He sucked in his breath and let it out in a long, wheezy cry. “I’m so dirty and full of sin.” “You’re not dirty, Sohrab,” I said. “Those men--”padding-bottom: 75%;"> 他聳聳肩，“就是想想而已。”他仰起臉，看着我的眼睛。這時，他哭了起來，輕柔地，默默地。“我能問你一些問題嗎，阿米爾老爺？” “當然。” “真主會不會……”他開始說，語聲有點哽咽，“真主會不會因爲我對那個人做的事情讓我下地獄？” 我伸手去碰他，他身子退縮。我收回手。“不會，當然不會。”我說。我想把他拉近，抱着他，告訴他世界曾經對他不仁，他別無選擇。他的臉扭曲繃緊，試圖保持平靜：“爸爸常說，甚至連傷害壞人也是不對的。因爲他們不知道什麼是好的，還因爲壞人有時也會變好。” “不一定的，索拉博。” 他疑惑地看着我。 “那個傷害你的人，我認識他很多年。”我說，“我想這個你從我和他的對話中聽出來了。我像你這樣大的時候，他……他有一次想傷害我，但你父親救了我。你父親非常勇敢，他總是替我解決麻煩，爲我挺身而出。所以有一天那個壞人傷害了你父親，他傷得你父親很重，而我……我不能像你父親救過我那樣救他。” “爲什麼人們總是傷害我父親？”索拉博有點喘着氣說，“他從不針對任何人。” “你說得對。你父親是個好人。但我想告訴你的是，親愛的索拉博，這個世界有壞人，有時壞人壞得很徹底，有時你不得不反抗他們。你對那個人所做的，我很多年前就應該對他做的。他是罪有應得，甚至還應該得到更多的報應。” “你覺得爸爸會對我失望嗎？” “我知道他不會。”我說，“你在喀布爾救了我的命。我知道他會爲你感到非常驕傲。” 他用衣袖擦臉，弄破了他嘴脣上掛着的唾液泡泡。他把臉埋在手裏，哭了很久才重新說話。“我想念爸爸，也想念媽媽，”他哽咽說，“我想念莎莎和拉辛汗。但有時我很高興他們不……他們不在了。” “爲什麼？”我碰碰他的手臂，他抽開。 “因爲……”他抽泣着說，“因爲我不想讓他們看到我……我這麼髒。”他深吸一口氣，然後抽泣着慢慢呼出，“我很髒，渾身是罪。” “你不髒，索拉博。”我說。 “那些男人……”
