| “You COULD HAVE TOLD ME,” Farid saidlater. The two ofus were lying next to each other on the straw mats Wahid’s wife had spread for us.“Told you what?”“Why you’ve come to Afghanistan.” His voice had lost the rough edge I’d heard in it since the moment I had met him. | “你本来可以告诉我。”法里德后来说。瓦希德的妻子替我们铺好草席，我们两个躺在一起。“告诉你什么？”“你到阿富汗的原因。”他的声音没有了那种自遇到他以来一直听到的锋芒。 |
| “You didn’t ask,” I said.“You should have told me.”“You didn’t ask.”He rolled to face me. Curled his arm under his head. “Maybe I will help you find this boy.”“Thank you, Farid,” I said.“It was wrong of me to assume.” | “你没问。”我说。“你应该告诉我。”他翻过身，脸朝着我，屈手垫在头下。“也许我会帮你找到这个男孩。”“谢谢你，法里德。”我说。“我错了，不该瞎猜。” |
| I sighed. “Don’t worry. You were more right than you know.”HIS HANDS ARE TIED BEHIND HIM with roughly woven rope cutting through the flesh of his wrists. He is blindfolded with black cloth. He is kneeling on the street, on the edge of a gutter filled with still water, his head drooping between his shoulders. His knees roll on the hard ground and bleed through his pants as he rocks in prayer. It is late afternoon and his long shadow sways back and forth on the gravel. He is muttering something under his breath. I step closer. A thousand times over, he mutters. For you a thousand times over. Back and forth he rocks. He lifts his face. I see a faint scar above his upper lip.We are not alone.I see the barrel first. Then the man standing behind him. He is tall, dressed in a herringbone vest and a black turban. He looks down at the blindfolded man before him with eyes that show nothing but a vast, cavernous emptiness. He takes a step back and raises the barrel. Places it on the back of the kneeling man’s head.For a moment, fading sunlight catches in the metal and twinkles. | 我叹气：“别烦了。你是对的，只是你不知道而已。”他双手被绑在身后，粗粗的绳索勒进他的手腕，黑布蒙住他的眼睛。他跪在街头，跪在一沟死水边上，他的头耷拉在两肩之间。他跪在坚硬的地面上，他祷告，身子摇晃，鲜血浸透了裤子。天色已近黄昏，他长长的身影在沙砾上来回晃动。他低声说着什么。我踏上前。千千万万遍，他低声说，为你，千千万万遍。他来回摇晃。他扬起脸，我看到上唇有道细微的疤痕。并非只有我们两个。我先是看到枪管，接着看到站在他身后那个人。他很高，穿着人字型背心和黑色长袍。他低头看着身前这个被蒙住眼睛的男人，眼中只有无尽的空虚。他退后一步，举起枪管，放在那个跪着的男人脑后。那时，黯淡的阳光照在那金属上，闪耀着。 |
| The rifle roars with a deafening crack.I follow the barrel on its upward arc. I see the face behind the plume of smoke swirling from the muzzle. I am the man in the herringbone vest.I woke up with a scream trapped in my throat. | 来复枪发出震耳欲聋的响声。我顺着枪管向上的弧形，看见枪口冒着袅袅烟雾，看见它后面那张脸。我就是那个穿着人字型背心的人。我惊醒，尖叫卡在喉咙中。 |
“You COULD HAVE TOLD ME,” Farid saidlater. The two ofus were lying next to each other on the straw mats Wahid’s wife had spread for us.“Told you what?”“Why you’ve come to Afghanistan.” His voice had lost the rough edge I’d heard in it since the moment I had met him.
“You didn’t ask,” I said.“You should have told me.”“You didn’t ask.”He rolled to face me. Curled his arm under his head. “Maybe I will help you find this boy.”“Thank you, Farid,” I said.“It was wrong of me to assume.”
I sighed. “Don’t worry. You were more right than you know.”HIS HANDS ARE TIED BEHIND HIM with roughly woven rope cutting through the flesh of his wrists. He is blindfolded with black cloth. He is kneeling on the street, on the edge of a gutter filled with still water, his head drooping between his shoulders. His knees roll on the hard ground and bleed through his pants as he rocks in prayer. It is late afternoon and his long shadow sways back and forth on the gravel. He is muttering something under his breath. I step closer. A thousand times over, he mutters. For you a thousand times over. Back and forth he rocks. He lifts his face. I see a faint scar above his upper lip.We are not alone.I see the barrel first. Then the man standing behind him. He is tall, dressed in a herringbone vest and a black turban. He looks down at the blindfolded man before him with eyes that show nothing but a vast, cavernous emptiness. He takes a step back and raises the barrel. Places it on the back of the kneeling man’s head.For a moment, fading sunlight catches in the metal and twinkles.
The rifle roars with a deafening crack.I follow the barrel on its upward arc. I see the face behind the plume of smoke swirling from the muzzle. I am the man in the herringbone vest.I woke up with a scream trapped in my throat.
“你本来可以告诉我。”法里德后来说。瓦希德的妻子替我们铺好草席，我们两个躺在一起。“告诉你什么？”“你到阿富汗的原因。”他的声音没有了那种自遇到他以来一直听到的锋芒。
“你没问。”我说。“你应该告诉我。”他翻过身，脸朝着我，屈手垫在头下。“也许我会帮你找到这个男孩。”“谢谢你，法里德。”我说。“我错了，不该瞎猜。”
我叹气：“别烦了。你是对的，只是你不知道而已。”他双手被绑在身后，粗粗的绳索勒进他的手腕，黑布蒙住他的眼睛。他跪在街头，跪在一沟死水边上，他的头耷拉在两肩之间。他跪在坚硬的地面上，他祷告，身子摇晃，鲜血浸透了裤子。天色已近黄昏，他长长的身影在沙砾上来回晃动。他低声说着什么。我踏上前。千千万万遍，他低声说，为你，千千万万遍。他来回摇晃。他扬起脸，我看到上唇有道细微的疤痕。并非只有我们两个。我先是看到枪管，接着看到站在他身后那个人。他很高，穿着人字型背心和黑色长袍。他低头看着身前这个被蒙住眼睛的男人，眼中只有无尽的空虚。他退后一步，举起枪管，放在那个跪着的男人脑后。那时，黯淡的阳光照在那金属上，闪耀着。
来复枪发出震耳欲聋的响声。我顺着枪管向上的弧形，看见枪口冒着袅袅烟雾，看见它后面那张脸。我就是那个穿着人字型背心的人。我惊醒，尖叫卡在喉咙中。
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