“You know all those years I lived in your father’s house after you left?”
“你们离开之后，那些年我一直住在你家，你知道吧？”
“Yes.”
“是的。”
“I wasn’t alone for all of them. Hassan lived there with me.”
“那些年我并非都是一人度过，哈桑跟我住在一起。”
“Hassan,” I said. When was the last time I had spoken his name? Those thorny old barbs of guilt bore into me once more, as if speaking his name had broken a spell, set them free to torment me anew. Suddenly the air in Rahim Khan’s little flat was too thick, too hot, too rich with the smell of the street.
“哈桑？”我说。我上次说出这个名字是什么时候？那些久远的负疚和罪恶感再次剌痛了我，似乎说出他的名字就解除了一个魔咒，将它们释放出来，重新折磨我。刹那间，拉辛汗房间里面的空气变得太厚重、太热，带着太多街道上传来的气味。
“I thought about writing you and telling you before, but I wasn’t sure you wanted to know. Was I wrong?”
“之前我有想过写信给你，或者打电话告诉你，但我不知道你想不想听。我错了吗？”
The truth was no. The lie was yes. I settled for something in between. “I don’t know.”He coughed another patch of blood into the handkerchief. When he bent his head to spit, I saw honey-crusted sores on his scalp. “I brought you here because I am going to ask something of you. I’m going to ask you to do something for me. But before I do, I want to tell you about Hassan. Do you understand?”
而真相是，他没有错。说他错了则是谎言。我选择了模糊其词：“我不知道。”他又在手帕里面咳出一口血。他弯腰吐痰的时候，我看见他头皮上有结痂的疮口。“我要你到这里来，是因为有些事情想求你。我想求你替我做些事情。但在我求你之前，我会先告诉你哈桑的事情，你懂吗？”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“我懂。”我低声说。
“I want to tell you about him. I want to tell you everything. You will listen?”I nodded.Then Rahim Khan sipped some more tea. Rested his head against the wall and spoke.
“我想告诉你关于他的事，我想告诉你一切。你会听吗？”我点点头。然后拉辛汗又喝了几口茶，把头靠在墙上，开始说起来。