“Father took me to the Blue Mosque,” Sohrab said. “I remember there were so many pigeons outside the masjid, and they weren’t afraid of people. They came right up to us. Sasa gave me little pieces of _naan_ and I fed the birds. Soon, there were pigeons cooing all around me. That was fun.”
“爸爸带我去蓝色清真寺。”索拉博说，“我记得那儿有很多鸽子，在那个回教堂外面，它们不怕人。它们朝我们走来，莎莎给我一小片馕，我喂那些鸟儿。很快，那些鸽子都围在我身边咯咯叫。真好玩。”
“You must miss your parents very much,” I said. I wondered if he’d seen the Taliban drag his parents out into the street. I hoped he hadn’t.“Do you miss your parents?” he aked, resting his cheek on his knees, looking up at me.“Do I miss my parents? Well, I never met my mother. My father died a few years ago, and, yes, I do miss him. Sometimes a lot.”
“你一定很想念你的父母。”我说。我在想他有没有看到塔利班将他的父母拖到街上。我希望他没有。“你想念你的父母吗？”他问，把脸颊放在膝盖上，抬眼看着我。“我想念我的父母吗？嗯，我从没见过我的妈妈。我爸爸几年前死了，是的，我想念他。有时很想。”
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
“你记得他长什么样子吗？”
I thought of Baba’s thick neck, his black eyes, his unruly brown hair. Sitting on his lap had been like sitting on a pair of tree trunks. “I remember what he looked like,” I said. “What he smelled like too.”
我想起爸爸粗壮的脖子，黑色的眼睛，那头不羁的棕发，坐在他大腿上跟坐在树干上一样。“我记得他长什么样子，”我说，“我还记得他身上的味道。”
“I’m starting to forget their faces,” Sohrab said. “Is that bad?”
“我开始忘记他们的面孔，”索拉博说，“这很糟吗？”
“No,” I said. “Time does that.” I thought of something. I looked in the front pocket of my coat. Found the Polaroid snap shot of Hassan and Sohrab. “Here,” I said.
“不，”我说，“是时间让你忘记的。”我想起某些东西。我翻开外套的前袋，找出那张哈桑和索拉博的宝丽莱合影，“给你。”
He brought the photo to within an inch of his face, turned it so the light from the mosque fell on it. He looked at it for a long time. I thought he might cry, but he didn’t. He just held it in both hands, traced his thumb over its surface. I thought of a line I’d read somewhere, or maybe I’d heard someone say it: There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood. He stretched his hand to give it back to me.
他将相片放在面前几英寸的地方，转了一下，以便让清真寺的灯光照在上面。他久久看着它。我想他也许会哭，但他只是双手拿着照片，拇指在它上面抚摸着。我想起一句不知道在什么地方看来的话，或者是从别人口里听来的：阿富汗有很多儿童，但没有童年。他伸出手，把它递给我。
“Keep it,” I said. “It’s yours.”
“你留着吧，”我说，“它是你的。”
“Thank you.” He looked at the photo again and stowed it in the pocket of his vest. A horse-drawn cart clip-clopped by in the parking lot. Little bells dangled from the horse’s neck and jingled with each step.
“谢谢你。”他又看了看照片，把它放在背心的口袋里面。一辆马车发着声响驶进停车场。马脖子上挂着很多小铃铛，随着马步叮当作响。
“I’ve been thinking a lot about mosques lately,” Sohrab said.
“我最近经常想起清真寺。”索拉博说。
“You have? What about them?”
“真的吗？都想些什么呢？”