“I’m sorry,” Masooma whispers.
“对不起。”马苏玛小声说。
Parwana wants to howl but she forces herself into a weak smile. It takes strenuous effort at times like this to remember, to not lose sight of, one unshakable truth: This is her own handiwork, this mess. Nothing that has befallen her is unjust or undue. This is what she deserves. She sighs, surveying the soiled linens, dreading the work that awaits her. “I’ll get you cleaned up,” she says.
帕尔瓦娜真想大声咆哮，却强迫自己挤出一丝笑容。每逢这样的时刻，她就需要拼命提醒自己，别忘了这个粪堆是她自作自受的结果。她遭受的一切既算不上不公平，也不过分。她活该如此。她打量一下弄脏的床褥，对眼前的工作心生畏惧，不免叹了口气。“我这就给你弄干净。”她说。
Parwana smells it before she pulls back the quilt and sees it. It has smeared all over Masooma’s buttocks, down her thighs, against the sheets and the mattress and the quilt too. Masooma looks up at her over her shoulder with a timid plea for forgiveness, and shame — still the shame after all this time, all these years.
帕尔瓦娜还没掀开被子看，就闻到那味儿了。马苏玛屁股上蹭得到处都是，一直到大腿。床单、床垫和被子上也有。马苏玛回过头，抬脸看着她，怯怯地，带着请求原谅的表情，还有羞耻——这些年来始终不变的羞耻。
Masooma starts to weep without a sound, without even a shift in her expression. Only tears, welling, trickling down.
马苏玛开始无声地哭泣，表情上没有丝毫变化，只有眼泪夺眶而出，簌簌落下。
Outside, in the early-morning chill, Parwana starts a fire in the cooking pit. When the flames take hold, she fills a pail with water from Shadbagh’s communal well and sets it to heat. She holds her palms to the fire. She can see the windmill from here, and the village mosque where Mullah Shekib had taught her and Masooma to read when they were little, and Mullah Shekib’s house too, set at the foot at a mild slope. Later, when the sun is up, its roof will be a perfect, strikingly red square against the dust because of the tomatoes his wife has set out to dry in the sun. Parwana gazes up at the morning stars, fading, pale, blinking at her indifferently. She gathers herself.
清晨凛冽，帕尔瓦娜来到屋外，在烧饭的泥坑里生火。等火上来了，她便提着桶去沙德巴格的公共井里打水，再回来烧水。她在火前攥紧两手。从这儿，她能看到村里的磨坊，小时候谢基卜毛拉教她和马苏玛识字的清真寺，还有毛拉建在缓坡底下的家。再过一会儿，等太阳升起，毛拉家的房顶就会在周围的土色之中，变成鲜红夺目的方块，因为他妻子在屋顶晾了西红柿。帕尔瓦娜抬头仰望，晨星暗淡，漠然地对她半睁着眼睛。她费劲地站起身。
Inside, she turns Masooma onto her stomach. She soaks a washcloth in the water and rubs clean Masooma’s buttocks, wiping the waste off her back and the flaccid flesh of her legs.
进了屋，她帮马苏玛翻过身，背朝上。她浸湿毛巾，擦净马苏玛的屁股，从她后背和肌肉麻痹的腿上清理掉粪便。
“Why the warm water?” Masooma says into the pillow. “Why the trouble? You don’t have to. I won’t know the difference.”
“为什么用热水？”马苏玛趴在枕头上说，“何必这么麻烦？你不用这样做。我分辨不出来的。”
From there, Parwana’s day unfolds as it always does, as it has for the four years since their parents’ deaths. She feeds the chickens. She chops wood and lugs buckets back and forth from the well. She makes dough and bakes the bread in the tandoor outside their mud house. She sweeps the floor. In the afternoon, she squats by the stream, alongside other village women, washing laundry against the rocks. Afterward, because it is a Friday, she visits her parents’ graves in the cemetery and says a brief prayer for each. And all day, in between these chores, she makes time to move Masooma, from side to side, tucking a pillow under one buttock, then the other.
帕尔瓦娜的一天就此开始，一如往常，一如父母过世这四年来的每一天。她喂鸡，劈柴，一趟趟、一桶桶地从井里提水。她和面，揉面，在土坯房外的泥炉里烤馕，然后擦地板。到了下午，她蹲在小河边，和村里的女人们一起，在石头上洗衣服。接下来，因为今天是礼拜五，她要去坟地，给父母上坟，挨个做一遍简短的告拜。整整一天下来，在这些家务的间隙，她还得抽空儿帮马苏玛翻身，侧过来，再侧过去，把枕头塞到这边的屁股下，过一会儿再换另一边。
“Maybe. But I will,” Parwana says, grimacing against the stench. “Now, quit your talking and let me finish this.”
“也许吧。可我就是要这样。”帕尔瓦娜说着，对着粪便做了个鬼脸。“行了，别说话了，让我收拾完。”
Parwana watches him from afar and with a longing that is nearly crippling. She tries to avert her eyes when she passes by him. And if by accident their gazes do meet, he simply nods at her, and the blood rushes to her face.
帕尔瓦娜远远地看着他，眼中满是渴望，像傻子一样。从他身边经过的时候，她努力挪开目光。如果无意中四目相交，他也只是冲她点个头，可她却热血上涌，满脸发烧。
She finds him squatting outside his small mud house, fanning a fire in the cooking pit, eyes squeezed against the smoke, with his boy, Abdullah, beside him. She finds him later, talking to other men, men who, like Saboor, have families of their own now but were once the village boys with whom Saboor feuded, flew kites, chased dogs, played hide-and-seek. There is a weight over Saboor these days, a pall of tragedy, a dead wife and two motherless children, one an infant. He speaks now in a tired, barely audible voice. He lumbers around the village a worn, shrunken version of himself.
她先瞅见萨布尔蹲在他家小土房外，对着烧饭的泥坑扇风，烟呛得他使劲眯着眼。旁边是他儿子阿卜杜拉。后来她又瞧见他了，正在跟几个男人聊天。那些男人和萨布尔一样，现在都成了家，可他们原先也都是村里的娃子，跟萨布尔打过架、一起放过风筝，追过狗，玩过捉迷藏。现在这段日子萨布尔可遭罪了，摊上了大不幸，老婆死了，丢下两个没妈的孩子，其中一个还在吃奶。现在他说起话来透着疲惫，听都听不清。他在村里拖着身子走路，倦怠，枯槁，和从前判若两人。
Twice that day, she spots Saboor.
今天她碰到了萨布尔。碰到了两次。
That night, by the time Parwana lies down to sleep, she can barely lift her arms. Her head swims with exhaustion. She lies in her cot, waiting for sleep.
当晚，帕尔瓦娜要躺下睡觉时，胳膊都快抬不起来了，真是累透了。她躺到小床上，等待入睡。
Then, in the darkness:
此时，黑暗中传来呼唤：
“Parwana?”
“帕尔瓦娜？”
“Do you remember that time, us riding the bicycle together?”
“你还记得那次吗？咱俩一块儿骑自行车。”
“Hmm.”
“嗯。”
Masooma whispers, “You deserve better than me.”
马苏玛小声说：“你应该过得比我好。”
“Can you sleep by me tonight?”
“今晚和我一起睡行吗？”
They chat idly for a while in hushed voices of small, inconsequential things, one’s breath warming the other’s face. These are relatively happy minutes for Parwana. They remind her of when they were little girls, curled up nose to nose beneath the blanket, whispering secrets and gossip, giggling soundlessly. Soon, Masooma is asleep, her tongue rolling noisily around some dream, and Parwana is staring out the window at a sky burnt black. Her mind bounces from one fragmented thought to another and eventually swims to a picture she saw in an old magazine once of a pair of grim-faced brothers from Siam joined at the torso by a thick band of flesh. Two creatures inextricably bound, blood formed in the marrow of one running in the veins of the other, their union permanent. Parwana feels a constriction, despair, like a hand tightening inside her chest. She takes a breath. She tries to direct her thoughts to Saboor once more and instead finds her mind drifting to the rumor she has heard around the village: that he is looking for a new wife. She forces his face from her head. She nips the foolish thought.
她俩轻言细语地瞎聊了一会儿，都是些琐碎的、无关紧要的事，暖暖的呼吸温暖着对方的脸。对帕尔瓦娜来说，这是相对快乐的时刻，常常让她想起她俩还是小女孩儿的时候，也曾这样脸贴着脸，蜷缩在被窝里，低声私语，说着闲话，不出声地吃吃傻笑。没过多久，马苏玛便睡着了。她在做梦，出声地嘟囔着什么。帕尔瓦娜盯着窗外黑漆漆的天空，思绪凌乱，东想一点，西想一点，终于滑落到她在一本旧杂志上见过的照片，一对面无表情的连体暹罗兄弟，共用肥厚的躯干。他们一体相连，无法分离，一个人骨髓里造出来的血，在另一个人的血管里奔流，他们的结合是永久的。帕尔瓦娜感到压抑，绝望，好像有只手死死攥住了她的心。她吸了口气，努力将心思转回到萨布尔身上，却发现思绪飘飘荡荡，坠入了她在村里听到的传言：他在找新老婆。她使劲不去想他的脸。她掐断了自己的愚念。
“Both of us screaming. And when we hit that rock…” Parwana can almost hear her sister smiling in the dark. “Mother was so angry with us. And Nabi too. We ruined his bicycle.”
“咱俩都在尖叫。然后就撞到石头上了…”帕尔瓦娜几乎可以听到姐姐在黑暗中微笑。“妈可生气了。纳比也是。咱们撞烂了他的自行车。”
“Yes.”
“在。”
“Parwana?”
“帕尔瓦娜？”
“Yes.”
“在。”
Parwana kicks off her quilt, makes her way across the hut to Masooma, and slips under the blanket beside her. Masooma rests her cheek on Parwana’s shoulder, one arm draped across her sister’s chest.
帕尔瓦娜蹬开被子，摸到小屋另一头马苏玛的床上，钻进被窝，在她身边躺下。马苏玛的脸枕着帕尔瓦娜的肩膀，一只胳膊环在妹妹胸前。
Parwana shuts her eyes.
帕尔瓦娜闭上了眼睛。
“How fast we went! Riding down the hill. The dogs chasing us.”
“骑得多快啊！大下坡。狗追着咱们。”
“I remember.”
“我记得。”
“Don’t start that again,” Parwana whispers back. She plays with Masooma’s hair in long, patient strokes, the way Masooma likes it.
“别再说这些了。”帕尔瓦娜低声答道。她抚弄马苏玛的头发，一下一下，慢慢地，马苏玛喜欢这样。
Masooma was already out, wriggling quietly in the midwife’s arms, when their mother cried out and the crown of another head parted her a second time. Masooma’s arrival was uneventful. She delivered herself, the angel, the midwife would say later. Parwana’s birth was prolonged, agonizing for the mother, treacherous for the baby. The midwife had to free her from the cord that had wrapped itself around Parwana’s neck, as if in a murderous fit of separation anxiety. In her worst moments, when she cannot help being swallowed up by a torrent of self-loathing, Parwana thinks that perhaps the cord knew best. Maybe it knew which was the better half.
马苏玛已经出来了，在接生婆怀中安静地蠕动，此时母亲却在大叫，另一个脑袋瓜从她体内露出了头顶。马苏玛的到来顺顺利利。接生婆后来说：她自己下凡来了，这个小天使。帕尔瓦娜的出生却是母亲久拖不去的痛苦，当然对婴儿也是极其危险的。接生婆费了好大的劲，才给帕尔瓦娜解开缠住脖子的脐带，它仿佛怀着与母体分离的焦虑，而变做了害命的工具。日后每逢情绪低落到谷底，帕尔瓦娜便不由自主，没顶于自厌自弃的洪水，心想，还是那根脐带最解人意。它想必知道，谁才是更好的那一半。
Parwana was a surprise.
帕尔瓦娜生得意外。
What a sensible baby, people said.
大伙都说，多懂事的宝宝啊。
Masooma fed on schedule, slept on time. She cried only if in need of food or cleaning. When awake, she was playful, good-humored, easily delighted, a swaddled bundle of giggles and happy squeaks. She liked to suck on her rattle.
马苏玛按时吃奶，准点睡觉，只在饿了的时候或拉完才哭。醒着时，她既顽皮又活泼，动不动就乐，在襁褓中咯咯傻笑，高兴起来就吱吱呀呀地叫。她喜欢吮吸自己的拨浪鼓。
Parwana was a tyrant. She exerted upon their mother the full force of her authority. Their father, bewildered by the infant’s histrionics, took the babies’ older brother, Nabi, and escaped to sleep at his own brother’s house. Nighttime was a misery of epic proportion for the girls’ mother, punctuated by only a few moments of fitful rest. She bounced Parwana and walked her all night every night. She rocked her and sang to her. She winced as Parwana ripped into her chafed, swollen breast and gummed her nipple as though she was after the milk in her very bones. But nursing was no antidote: Even with a full belly, Parwana was flailing and shrieking, immune to her mother’s supplications.
帕尔瓦娜却是个暴君。她尽情施展威权，凌驾于母亲之上。父亲被这作威作福的婴儿弄得五心烦躁，干脆带上女娃们的哥哥纳比，逃到自己兄弟家睡觉。对姐妹俩的母亲而言，夜晚充满了史诗般的苦难，只有少许间隙，可以抽空儿喘上一口气。到了晚上，她便整夜抱着帕尔瓦娜，不停地颠上颠下，走来走去。她摇着她，给她唱歌。每当帕尔瓦娜张开嘴，对她肿胀的、已被咬破的乳房发起猛攻，用牙床撕咬她的奶头，仿佛要从她骨髓深处也吸出奶水的时候，她便疼得龇牙咧嘴。但吃饱喝足也于事无补：即便肚儿圆圆，帕尔瓦娜照样连踢带打，哭闹不停，任母亲怎样求告也无动于衷。
Every baby is different.
每个宝宝都不一样。
She’s killing me, that one.
可那一个，我要被她弄死了。
It will pass, he said. The way bad weather does.
会过去的。他说。就像坏天气会过去一样。
One late-summer afternoon when the twins were ten months old, the villagers gathered in Shadbagh after a wedding. Women worked with fevered focus to pile onto platters pyramids of fluffy white rice speckled with bits of saffron. They cut bread, scraped crusty rice from the bottom of pots, passed around dishes of fried eggplant topped with yogurt and dried mint. Nabi was out playing with some boys. The girls’ mother sat with neighbors on a rug spread beneath the village’s giant oak tree. Every now and then, she glanced down at her daughters as they slept side by side in the shade.
双胞胎十个月大的时候，正值夏末的一个午后，沙德巴格的村民参加完婚礼，在一起聚餐。女人们热火朝天地忙活着，把白米饭堆进盘子，弄成一个个松软的金字塔，再撒几片番红花。她们切馕，刮掉瓮底的米饭锅巴，递上一个个菜盘，里面装着炸茄子，上面放了酸奶酪和干薄荷。纳比和别的男孩们玩去了。村里那棵大橡树下，母亲带着姐妹俩，和邻居们一起，坐在刚铺的小地毯上。她不时低下头，看一眼并排睡在树荫下的两个女儿。
After the meal, over tea, the babies woke from their nap, and almost immediately, someone snatched up Masooma. She was merrily passed around, from cousin to aunt to uncle. Bounced on this lap, balanced on that knee. Many hands tickled her soft belly. Many noses rubbed against hers. They rocked with laughter when she playfully grabbed Mullah Shekib’s beard. They marveled at her easy, sociable demeanor. They lifted her up and admired the pink flush of her cheeks, her sapphire blue eyes, the graceful curve of her brow, harbingers of the startling beauty that would mark her in a few years’ time.
吃完饭，喝完茶，姐妹俩也睡醒了。眨眼之间，就有人把马苏玛一把抱了起来，高高兴兴地递来递去，娘舅递给大姑，大姑再递给大爷，在这个腿上颠几下，再到另一个膝盖上立一会儿。一只只手挠着她软软的小肚皮，一个个鼻子蹭着她的小鼻头。她顽皮地一把揪住谢基卜毛拉的胡须，逗得大伙哈哈大笑，抱着她又是一通疯摇。她表现得如此大方，合群，真让人啧啧称奇。他们举着她，赞美她粉嘟嘟的脸蛋，宝石蓝的眼睛，线条优雅的双眉，夸她是个美人坯子，过不了几年，她便要出落得靓丽夺目。
Masooma watched from her corner of the room with a pensive, helpless expression, as though she pitied her mother this predicament.
马苏玛待在房间角落里，带着忧郁无助的表情看着这一切，仿佛对母亲的处境心怀怜悯。
Nabi was nothing like this, their mother said one day to their father.
纳比原先可不像这样。母亲有一天对父亲说。
And it did pass. Colic, perhaps, or some other innocuous ailment. But it was too late. Parwana had already made her mark.
确实过去了。也许这孩子得了疝气，也许是因为其他不太严重的小毛病。可是太晚了。帕尔瓦娜留给人的印象已经难以消泯。
When the girls were nine years old, the family gathered at Saboor’s family home for an early-evening iftar to break the fast after Ramadan. The adults sat on cushions around the perimeter of the room, and the chatter was noisy. Tea, good wishes, and gossip were passed around in equal measure. Old men fingered their prayer beads. Parwana sat quietly, happy to be breathing the same air as Saboor, to be in the vicinity of his owlish dark eyes. In the course of the evening, she chanced glances his way. She caught him in the midst of biting into a sugar cube, or rubbing the smooth slope of his forehead, or laughing spiritedly at something an elderly uncle had said. And if he caught her looking at him, as he did once or twice, she quickly looked away, rigid with embarrassment. Her knees began to shake. Her mouth went so dry she could hardly speak.
姐妹俩九岁的时候，全家人去了萨布尔家，吃黄昏前的开斋饭，庆贺斋月的结束。屋子里沿墙摆放了一圈坐垫，大人们围坐着，高声聊天。你来我往，传来递去的，总也少不了茶、祝福和闲话。老头们捻着念珠。帕尔瓦娜安静地坐着，为能与萨布尔呼吸同样的空气，为他那双猫头鹰般的眼睛就在近旁而暗自欢喜。整个晚上，她时不时就瞥他一眼，看他在嚼方糖，在摸自己光溜溜的大脑门，或是被某位老大爷的话逗得哈哈大笑。如果他注意到她在看他，确有那么一两次他注意到了，她便赶快把目光挪开，因为难为情而不免动作生硬。她的腿开始发抖，嘴发干，几乎讲不出话来。
Parwana was left in her mother’s lap. As Masooma performed, Parwana watched quietly as though slightly bewildered, the one member of an otherwise adoring audience who didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Every now and then, her mother looked down at her, and reached to squeeze her tiny foot softly, almost apologetically. When someone remarked that Masooma had two new teeth coming in, Parwana’s mother said, feebly, that Parwana had three. But no one took notice.
帕尔瓦娜留在母亲的膝头。马苏玛表演的时候，帕尔瓦娜安静地看着，带着一丝困惑。在一群如醉如痴的观众当中，只有这一位不明白，眼前的满堂喝彩到底是为了啥。母亲不时低头看看她，伸出手，轻轻捏一捏她的小脚丫，仿佛在以此致歉。听到人家议论马苏玛出了两颗牙，孩子她妈便用蚊子般的声音说道，帕尔瓦娜都出三颗了。可是谁也没有理她。
Parwana thought then of the notebook hidden under a pile of her things at home. Saboor was always coming up with stories, tales packed with jinns and fairies and demons and divs; often, village kids gathered around him and listened in absolute quiet as he made up fables for them. And about six months earlier, Parwana had overheard Saboor telling Nabi that one day he hoped to write his stories down. It was shortly after that that Parwana, with her mother, had found herself at a bazaar in another town, and there, at a stall that sold used books, she had spotted a beautiful notebook with crisp lined pages and a thick dark brown leather binding embossed along the edges. Holding it in her hand, she knew her mother couldn’t afford to buy it for her. So Parwana had picked a moment when the shopkeeper was not looking and quickly slipped the notebook under her sweater.
此时，帕尔瓦娜想起了那个笔记本，它就藏在家里，压在她一堆东西下。萨布尔老有故事讲，讲精灵，讲仙女，讲妖怪和魔王。村里的小孩经常围着他，屏息凝神，听他给大伙编故事。大概半年前，帕尔瓦娜听到萨布尔告诉纳比，他希望有朝一日自己也能写小说。此前不久，帕尔瓦娜和母亲去了一趟邻镇的巴扎，在一个卖旧书的摊子上，她相中了一个漂亮的笔记本，干干净净的纸上印着一道道的横线，本子皮是厚厚的深棕色皮革，四边压花。帕尔瓦娜把笔记本拿在手上，知道妈妈付不起钱，便趁卖货的不注意，飞快地把它塞进了自己的毛衣。
But in the six months that had since passed, Parwana still hadn’t found the courage to give the notebook to Saboor. She was terrified that he might laugh or that he would see it for what it was and give it back. Instead, every night she lay in her cot, the notebook secretly clutched in her hands under the blanket, fingertips brushing the engravings on the leather. Tomorrow, she promised herself every night. Tomorrow I will walk up to him with it.
可是，半年过去了，帕尔瓦娜依然无法鼓起勇气，把笔记本送给萨布尔。她害怕他笑话她，也怕他看明白其中的含意，再把它退还。于是，她只能每天夜里躺在小床上，手偷偷伸在毯子下，抓着那笔记本，用指尖摩挲封皮上的压花。明天。她每晚都暗自发誓。明天我一定要拿上它，去见他。
When the swing slowed to a near stop, Parwana turned to tell Saboor to keep pushing but the words died in her throat. Saboor and Masooma were smiling at each other, and in Saboor’s hand Parwana saw the notebook. Her notebook.
秋千慢下来，眼看就要停了，帕尔瓦娜扭过头，想叫萨布尔接着推她，可是话到嘴边又咽了回去。萨布尔正与马苏玛含笑对视。帕尔瓦娜看见，萨布尔手里拿着那个笔记本。她的笔记本。
I found it in the house, Masooma said later. Was it yours? I’ll pay you back for it somehow, I promise. You don’t mind, do you? I just thought it was perfect for him. For his stories. Did you see the look on him? Did you, Parwana?
我在咱家发现的。马苏玛后来说。是你的吗？我一定想办法还你。我保证。你不会往心里去吧，会吗？我只是觉得那本子特配他。让他写小说。你看见他的表情了吗？看见了吗，帕尔瓦娜？
Later that evening, after iftar dinner, all the kids rushed outside to play. Parwana, Masooma, and Saboor took turns on the swing that Saboor’s father had suspended from a sturdy branch of the giant oak tree. Parwana took her turn, but Saboor kept forgetting to push her because he was busy telling another story. This time it was about the giant oak tree, which he said had magic powers. If you had a wish, he said, you had to kneel before the tree and whisper it. And if the tree agreed to grant it, it would shed exactly ten leaves upon your head.
那天晚上很晚的时候，吃过开斋饭，所有小孩都跑到外面去玩。帕尔瓦娜、马苏玛和萨布尔轮流荡起了秋千，那是萨布尔的父亲做的，吊挂在大橡树一根结实的树枝下。轮到帕尔瓦娜了，萨布尔却老是忘记推她，因为他正忙着讲新故事呢。这一回他讲的是大橡树。他说这是棵魔树，如果你想许愿，就得跪在树下，悄悄把愿望告诉它。如果树答应帮你实现这个愿望，它就会在你头顶落下树叶，不多不少，正好十片。
Parwana said no, she didn’t mind, but inside she was crumpling. Over and over she pictured how her sister and Saboor had smiled at each other, the look they shared between them. Parwana might as well have winked out into thin air like a genie from one of Saboor’s stories, so unaware had they been of her presence. It cut her to the bone. That night, on her cot, she cried very quietly.
帕尔瓦娜嘴上说不，她不会往心里去，可她的心都要碎了。她姐姐和萨布尔含笑对视的画面，他俩会心会意的表情，一遍又一遍地在她眼前重现。帕尔瓦娜倒不如一下子消失得无影无踪，像萨布尔故事里的妖怪一样，省得在他俩面前当电灯泡。她为此痛至骨髓。那天夜里，她在小床上无声地哭泣。
By the time she and her sister were eleven, Parwana had developed a precocious understanding of the strange behavior of boys around girls they privately liked. She saw this especially as she and Masooma walked home from school. School was really the back room of the village mosque where, in addition to teaching Koran recitation, Mullah Shekib had taught every child in the village to read and write, to memorize poetry. Shadbagh was fortunate to have such a wise man for a malik, the girls’ father told them. On the way home from these lessons, the twins often came across a group of boys sitting on a wall. As the girls passed, the boys sometimes heckled, sometimes threw pebbles. Parwana usually shouted back and answered their pebbles with rocks, while Masooma always pulled her elbow and told her in a sensible voice to walk faster, to not let them anger her. But she misunderstood. Parwana was angry not because they threw pebbles but because they threw them only at Masooma. Parwana knew: They made a show of the ribbing, and the bigger the show, the deeper their desire. She noticed the way their eyes ricocheted off her and trained themselves on Masooma, forlorn with wonder, helpless to pull away. She knew that behind their crass jokes and lascivious grins, they were terrified of Masooma.
等姐妹俩长到十一岁，帕尔瓦娜已经心智早熟，懂得男孩子们为什么在暗恋的女孩面前，会做出种种古怪的举动。尤其是她和马苏玛从学校走路回家的时候，她更是看得明明白白。所谓学校，其实只是本村清真寺的里屋，谢基卜毛拉除了在这儿教人背诵古兰经，还教村里的所有孩子读书写字，背诵诗歌。姐妹俩的父亲说过，沙德巴格有这样一位智者做头人，真是幸运。在放学回家的路上，姐妹俩经常碰见一群男孩子坐在墙头。小姑娘一路过，男孩们便要么起哄，要么扔石子。通常情况下，帕尔瓦娜会骂他们，用砖头回敬他们的石子，可马苏玛总是拉住她的胳膊，用一种识大体、顾大局的腔调催她快走，不让他们把她惹毛。可是她不明白，帕尔瓦娜之所以生气，不是因为他们扔石子，而是因为他们只朝马苏玛扔。帕尔瓦娜知道：他们只是在扮坏，扮得越起劲，就表明欲望也越强。她留意到了，他们的目光一碰到她就弹开，统统飞向了马苏玛，由绝望转为惊艳，再也无力旁顾。她知道，在他们粗俗的戏谑和猥亵的坏笑背后，是马苏玛带给他们的惊悸。
Then, one day, one of them hurled not a pebble but a rock. It rolled to the sisters’ feet. When Masooma picked it up, the boys snickered and elbowed one another. An elastic band held a sheet of paper wrapped around the rock. When they were at a safe distance, Masooma unrolled it. They both read the note.
后来有一天，有人扔出的便不是石子，而是一块石头。它滚到姐妹俩脚下。马苏玛把它捡起来，男孩子们窃笑不已，互相用胳膊肘顶来顶去。石头上用橡皮筋绑着一张纸。等她俩走到没人的地方，马苏玛才把纸展开，两个人一起读了那张纸条。
The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom.
花园也困惑，不知道什么是叶，什么是花。
Cretins, Parwana agreed.
大白痴。帕尔瓦娜表示同意。
I swear, since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy.
我发誓，自从看到你的脸，世界就变得伪善与虚幻。
The distracted birds can’t distinguish the birdseed from the snare.
鸟儿心烦意乱，分不清哪是食物，哪是诱饵。
A Rumi poem, one from Mullah Shekib’s teachings.
这是鲁米的诗，谢基卜毛拉教过的。
They’re getting more sophisticated, Masooma said with a chuckle.
他们越来越老练了。马苏玛说，咯咯一笑。
Below the poem, the boy had written I want to marry you. And, below that, he had scribbled this addendum: I’ve got a cousin for your sister. He’s a perfect match. They can graze my uncle’s field together.
在这首诗的下面，那男孩写道：我想娶你。再下面，还有如下歪七竖八的附言：我有个表弟给她。绝对配得上。他俩可以到我舅的地里放羊。
Masooma tore the note in half. Don’t mind them, Parwana, she said. They’re imbeciles.
马苏玛把纸条撕成两半。别放在心上，帕尔瓦娜。她说，这帮蠢货。
Such effort it took to plaster a grin on her face. The note was bad enough, but what really stung was Masooma’s response. The boy hadn’t explicitly addressed his note to either one of them, but Masooma had casually assumed that he’d intended the poem for her and the cousin for Parwana. For the first time, Parwana saw herself through her sister’s eyes. She saw how her sister viewed her. Which was the same as how the rest of them did. It left her gutted, what Masooma said. It flattened her.
她费力挤出笑容。纸条实在差劲，然而真正刺痛她的是马苏玛的反应。那男孩并没有明确表明纸条是写给谁的，可马苏玛上来就以为那首诗给她，表弟给帕尔瓦娜。这是第一次，帕尔瓦娜通过姐姐的眼睛看到自己。她看到了姐姐如何看她。和别人看她的方式一样。马苏玛的话让她内心翻江倒海，仿佛遭到了没顶之灾。
Besides, Masooma added with a shrug and a grin, I’m already taken.
再说了，马苏玛耸耸肩，笑着说道，我心里已经有人了。
The three of them are inside the hut having tea and almonds. Nabi is very handsome, Parwana thinks, with his fine chiseled cheekbones, his hazel eyes, his sideburns, and the thick wall of black hair swept back from his forehead. He is dressed in his customary olive-colored suit that looks a size or so too big on him. Nabi is proud of the suit, Parwana knows, always tugging at the sleeves, straightening the lapel, pinching the crease of his pants, though he has never quite managed to eradicate its lingering whiff of burnt onions.
他们仨坐在小屋里喝茶，吃着杏仁。帕尔瓦娜想，纳比蛮帅的，他有刀削般的颧骨，淡褐色的眼睛，大鬓角，还有一头浓密的黑发，从脑门往后，梳得像墙一样。他穿着那身常穿的橄榄绿西装，衣服看上去太大了，差不多大了整整一号。帕尔瓦娜知道，纳比以这身西装为荣，他不停地抻袖子，抚平翻领，扯直裤线，可他身上有股子挥之不去的烧洋葱味儿，总也没办法清理干净。
“How are things?” he asks.
“过得怎么样？”他问。
Nabi has come for his monthly visit. He is the family’s success story, perhaps the entire village’s too, on account of his working in Kabul, his driving into Shadbagh in his employer’s big shiny blue car with the gleaming eagle’s-head hood ornament, everyone gathering to watch his arrival, the village kids hollering and running alongside the car.
纳比回来了。他每个月回来一次。他是家里光宗耀祖的门面，或许也是全村的门面，因为他在喀布尔做事，因为他开着车回沙德巴格。车是老板的，一辆大大的、亮闪闪的蓝色小汽车，车头上立着发光的老鹰脑袋。所有人都围拢过来，看他驾到。村里的小孩们又喊又叫，跟着车跑。
“Well, we had Queen Homaira over for tea and cookies yesterday,” Masooma says. “She complimented our exquisite choice of décor.” She smiles amiably at her brother, revealing her yellowing teeth, and Nabi laughs, looking down at his cup. Before he found work in Kabul, Nabi had helped Parwana care for their sister. Or he had tried for a while. But he couldn’t do it. It was too much for him. Kabul was Nabi’s escape. Parwana envies her brother, but she does not entirely begrudge him even if he does — she knows that there is more than an element of penance in the monthly cash that he brings her.
“嗯，昨天霍梅拉王后来喝茶，还吃了点心呢。”马苏玛说，“看到咱家的装修这么优雅，她赞不绝口。”她乐呵呵地看着哥哥，露出一口黄牙，纳比低下头，瞅着茶杯哈哈大笑。在喀布尔找到工作之前，纳比帮帕尔瓦娜照顾过马苏玛，或者说，照顾过一阵子。可他做不来。对他来说那太难了。喀布尔就像纳比的逃亡地。帕尔瓦娜羡慕哥哥，可也说不上打心眼里妒忌他，即使他确实让人妒忌——她知道，他每月拿钱给她，并不只是出于愧疚。
“What about you? Have you found yourself a wife yet?” Masooma asks playfully.
“你怎么样？找到老婆了吗？”马苏玛顽皮地问。
Masooma has brushed her hair and rimmed her eyes with a dash of kohl as she always does when Nabi visits. Parwana knows that she does it only partially for his benefit and more for the fact that he is her tie to Kabul. In Masooma’s mind, he connects her to glamour and luxury, to a city of cars and lights and fancy restaurants and royal palaces, regardless of how remote this link might be. Parwana remembers how, long ago, Masooma used to say to her that she was a city girl trapped in a village.
马苏玛梳过头发，又抹了点眼影，纳比每次回来她都这样。帕尔瓦娜知道，她这样做只有部分原因是考虑到他，更多的是因为喀布尔，纳比是她与喀布尔之间的纽带。在马苏玛心里，正是纳比，让她与魅力和奢华有了联系，与城市的车水马龙和灯光璀璨，与那里的高档餐馆和王宫有了联系，不管这种联系是多么遥远。帕尔瓦娜还记得很久以前，马苏玛说过，她本来是个城里姑娘，却不幸落难到了农村。
Nabi waves a hand and laughs her off, as he used to when their parents asked him the same question.
纳比摆摆手，笑而不答，就像父母以前问他同样的问题时一样。
Nabi had taken them to Kabul once, the year before. He had picked them up from Shadbagh and driven them to Kabul, up and down the streets of the city. He had shown them all the mosques, the shopping districts, the cinemas, the restaurants. He had pointed out to Masooma the domed Bagh-e-Bala Palace sitting on a hill overlooking the city. At the gardens of Babur, he had lifted Masooma from the front seat of the car and carried her in his arms to the site of the Mughal emperor’s tomb. They had prayed there, the three of them, at the Shah Jahan Mosque, and then, at the edge of a blue-tiled pool, they had eaten the meal Nabi had packed for them. It had been perhaps the happiest day of Masooma’s life since the accident, and for that Parwana was grateful to her older brother.
纳比带她俩去过一次喀布尔，前一年去的。他来沙德巴格接上她们，开车去了喀布尔，在城里的马路上到处转，带她们看清真寺、商业区、电影院和餐馆。他指给马苏玛看圆顶的巴格巴拉宫，它坐落在俯瞰城市的山上。到了莫卧儿皇帝巴布尔的花园，他把马苏玛从汽车前座上抬出，抱她去看巴布尔的大墓。他们三个人在沙贾汉清真寺做了礼拜，然后在一个蓝色泳池边上，吃了纳比给他们带的饭。这也许是出事以来，马苏玛过得最快乐的一天，帕尔瓦娜因此对哥哥心存感激。
“So when are you going to show me around Kabul again, brother?” Masooma says.
“哥，你什么时候再带我去喀布尔转转？”马苏玛问。
“Maybe one day,” Nabi says.
“也许有一天吧。”纳比说。
“Like I said, I didn’t ask. Saboor was the one who brought it up. He pulled me aside. He pulled me aside and told me.”
“我告诉你了，我没问，是萨布尔主动提的。他把我拉到边上。他把我拉到边上告诉我的。”
“I saw Saboor earlier,” he says, picking at his finger. “Terrible thing. He told me the baby’s name. I forget now.”
“我刚才看见萨布尔了。”他搓弄着指头说，“真是可怕。他跟我说了宝宝的名字。可这会儿我又忘了。”
“No,” he stammers, “I meant…” and then he grins when Masooma bursts out laughing.
“不。”他结结巴巴地说，“我的意思是…”马苏玛大笑起来，纳比也咧开嘴笑了。
Outside, Nabi passes Parwana the cash. He leans one shoulder against the wall and lights a cigarette. Masooma is inside, taking her afternoon nap.
到了门外，纳比把钱递给帕尔瓦娜。他侧倚着墙，点了支香烟。马苏玛在屋里午睡。
“Pari,” Parwana says.
“帕丽。”帕尔瓦娜说。
“Would you mind adjusting this cushion under my knees, Nabi? Ah, that’s much better. Thank you.” Masooma sighs. “I loved Kabul. If I could, I’d march all the way there first thing tomorrow.”
“纳比，你能帮我挪挪腿下面的垫子吗？哦，这样就好多了。谢谢你。”马苏玛叹了口气，“我爱上喀布尔了。如果可能的话，明天一大早我就会跑过去。”
He nods. “I didn’t ask, but he told me he’s looking to marry again.”
他点点头。“我没问他，可他跟我说，他想再娶一个。”
Parwana suspects that Nabi knows what she has carried with her for Saboor all these years. Masooma is her twin, but it is Nabi who has always understood her. But Parwana doesn’t see why her brother is telling her this news. What good does it do? What Saboor needs is a woman unanchored, a woman who won’t be held down, who is free to devote herself to him, to his boy, his newborn daughter. Parwana’s time is already consumed. Accounted for. Her whole life is.
帕尔瓦娜怀疑纳比知道，她这么多年来一直对萨布尔有意思。别看马苏玛是她孪生的姐姐，可最了解她的还是纳比。但是帕尔瓦娜又不明白，为什么他操这份心，告诉她这样一个消息。有什么用？萨布尔需要的是个没被拴住的女人，没有拖累的女人，能把全部身心奉献给他，给他儿子，给他新生的女儿。帕尔瓦娜的时间已经耗尽了。被占用了。她整个人生都搭在里面了。
“What, me walking?”
“有一天什么？真让我跑着过去？”
Parwana looks away, trying to pretend she doesn’t care, but her heart is thumping in her ears. She feels a film of sweat blooming on her skin.
帕尔瓦娜扭头看着别处，假装不在意，却听到自己的心在怦怦直跳，身上冒出了一层冷汗。
“Soon, Inshallah,” Nabi says, tapping a finger against the cup.
“很快了，托靠安拉。”纳比说，一根指头轻轻敲着茶杯。
Nabi nods. “I’ll be by again next month.” He crushes his cigarette underfoot and takes his leave.
纳比点点头。“下个月我再过来。”他把烟头踩碎，和她道别。
“I’m sure he’ll find someone,” Parwana says.
“我肯定他能找到。”帕尔瓦娜说。
Masooma drags her gaze to the window, blinking slowly, tiredly.
马苏玛慢慢地、疲倦地眨了眨眼，将目光移向窗外。
When Parwana enters the hut, she is surprised to see Masooma awake. “I thought you were napping.”
帕尔瓦娜走进小屋，惊讶地看到马苏玛醒着。“我以为你还在睡觉。”
When the girls were thirteen, they sometimes went to the crowded bazaars of nearby towns for their mother. The smell of freshly sprayed water rose from the unpaved street. The two of them strolled down the lanes, past stalls that sold hookahs, silk shawls, copper pots, old watches. Slaughtered chickens hung by their feet, tracing slow circles over hunks of lamb and beef.
姐妹俩十三岁的时候，有时会替母亲去一趟邻镇拥挤的巴扎。街道是没有铺过的，升腾着新洒过的水的味道。她俩在巷道里闲逛，两边的摊位在卖水烟筒、丝披巾、铜壶或旧表。被杀掉的鸡倒挂着，在大块的牛羊肉上方慢慢地打着转。
In every corridor Parwana would see men’s eyes snapping to attention when Masooma passed by. She saw their efforts to behave matter-of-factly, but their gazes lingered, helpless to tear away. If Masooma glanced in their direction, they looked idiotically privileged. They imagined they had shared a moment with her. She interrupted conversations midsentence, smokers mid-drag. She was the trembler of knees, the spiller of teacups.
在每一条回廊里，帕尔瓦娜都能看到，只要马苏玛一出现，男人们便两眼发直。她看到这帮人努力想表现得无动于衷，可他们的眼神流连不去，根本无力挪开。要是马苏玛朝他们那个方向瞟上一眼，他们便像白痴一样喜不自胜，想像着和她共有了一时之乐。她让谈话的只说半句，吸烟的只吸半口，便戛然而止。她让一个个膝盖抖颤，让一只只茶杯泼溅。
Some days it was all too much for Masooma, as if she was almost ashamed, and she told Parwana she wanted to stay inside all day, wanted not to be looked at. On those days, Parwana thought it was as though, somewhere deep inside, her sister understood dimly that her beauty was a weapon. A loaded gun, with the barrel pointed at her own head. Most days, however, the attention seemed to please her. Most days, she relished her power to derail a man’s thoughts with a single fleeting but strategic smile, to make tongues falter over words.
有时候马苏玛无力应对，好像羞怯难当，便告诉帕尔瓦娜，她想整天待在家里，不愿意被人看来看去。在那些日子里，帕尔瓦娜觉得，也许在内心深处，她姐姐隐隐约约地懂得了，她的美是一件武器，一支上了膛的枪，枪口却对着她自己的头。不过，大多数情况下，受人注目还是让她喜在心里。大多数情况下，她乐于小试牛刀，演练一下自己的力量，只用一个转瞬即逝却工于心计的微笑，便足以让男人方寸大乱，瞠目结舌。
It blistered the eyes, beauty like hers.
看了她这样的美貌，眼睛会长水疱的。
And then there was Parwana, shuffling next to her, with her flat chest and sallow complexion. Her frizzy hair, her heavy, mournful face, and her thick wrists and masculine shoulders. A pathetic shadow, torn between her envy and the thrill of being seen with Masooma, sharing in the attention as a weed would, lapping up water meant for the lily upstream.
别忘了还有帕尔瓦娜。她胸部扁平，面色灰黄，在马苏玛身边躲躲闪闪。她头发卷曲，脸糙皮厚，神情沮丧，还有那粗壮的腰身和男人般的肩膀。一个可悲的影子，受着双重的折磨，一边是妒忌，另一边是兴奋，因为她在和马苏玛一起被人观看，分享他人的目光，就像低处的一株草，吸吮着灌溉过百合花的水流。
All her life, Parwana had made sure to avoid standing in front of a mirror with her sister. It robbed her of hope to see her face beside Masooma’s, to see so plainly what she had been denied. But in public, every stranger’s eye was a mirror. There was no escape.
从出生到现在，帕尔瓦娜坚决不肯和姐姐一起站到镜前。在马苏玛的脸旁边看见自己的脸，如此直接地看到自己始终遭到拒斥的原因，必会使她的希望灭绝。可是出了门，每一只陌生的眼睛都是一面镜子。她无处可逃。
Parwana fills the hookah’s vase with water. She takes two matchhead-sized portions of opium flakes with a pinch of tobacco and drops the mix into the hookah’s bowl. She lights the coal on the metal screen and hands the hookah to her sister. Masooma takes a deep puff from the hose, reclines against the cushions, and asks if she can rest her legs on Parwana’s lap. Parwana reaches down and lifts the limp legs to rest across her own.
帕尔瓦娜把水灌进水烟壶的烟瓶，取两块火柴头大小的鸦片膏，再捏一撮烟丝，混起来揉一揉，放进水烟壶的烟碗。她把炭放到金属的烟盘上点燃，然后把水烟壶递给姐姐。马苏玛叼住烟管，深吸一口，斜躺到靠垫上，还问能不能把脚搁在帕尔瓦娜的大腿上。帕尔瓦娜伸手搬起那两条软绵绵的腿，放到自己的膝头。
When she smokes, Masooma’s face slackens. Her lids droop. Her head tilts unsteadily to the side and her voice takes on a sluggish, distant quality. A whisper of a smile forms on the corners of her mouth, whimsical, indolent, complacent rather than content. They say little to each other when Masooma is like this. Parwana listens to the breeze, to the water gurgling in the hookah. She watches the stars and the smoke drifting over her. The silence is pleasant, and neither she nor Masooma feel an urge to fill it with needless words.
马苏玛吸着烟，脸渐渐松弛了，眼皮耷拉着，脑袋摇摇晃晃，歪到了一边，声音也变得慵懒，漠然。一缕笑意在她的嘴角浮现，古怪，倦怠，与其说是满足，倒不如说是沾沾自喜。每当她这个样子的时候，她俩便不再讲话。帕尔瓦娜听着微风在吹，水在烟壶里咕嘟作响。她仰望群星，头顶烟雾缭绕。沉默是愉快的，无论是她，还是马苏玛，都不急着用多余的话，来打破这沉默。
She carries Masooma outside. The two of them sit on the charpoy Parwana has set up. She makes sure to stack cushions so Masooma can comfortably lean her back against the wall. The night is quiet but for the chirping crickets, and dark too, lit only by a few lanterns still shimmering in windows and by the papery white light of the three-quarter moon.
她把马苏玛搬到外面。两人坐在帕尔瓦娜挂起的吊床上。她检查了一下，看是否摞好了垫子，好让马苏玛舒舒服服地背靠着墙。夜晚是宁静的，只有蟋蟀吱吱的叫声，夜晚也是黑暗的，只有几扇窗透出微弱的灯光，而月亮缺失了一角，铺洒下纸一样的白光。
“It’s a two-day walk at least. Probably three.”
“至少要走两天。也许三天。”
Parwana leans forward to decipher Masooma’s expression. She searches for a hint of playfulness, but in the moonlight she catches only the calm, unblinking glitter of her sister’s eyes.
帕尔瓦娜凑近了，观察马苏玛的表情。她想找出顽皮的迹象，可是在月色下，她从姐姐眼中看到的，只有平静和坚定的目光。
“We don’t even know where he lives.”
“都不知道他住在哪儿。”
“I want you to take me to Kabul.” Masooma exhales slowly, the smoke twirling, curling, morphing into shapes with each blink of the eye.
“我想让你带我去趟喀布尔。”马苏玛慢慢吐出一口气，烟打着转，绕着圈，眨眼之间就变换了形状。
Masooma pulls the hookah hose from her lips. “When you were out working today, Mullah Shekib came by, and I spoke to him a long time. I told him we were going to Kabul for a few days. Just you and I. He gave me his blessing in the end. Also his mule. So you see, it’s all arranged.”
马苏玛从嘴里扯下水烟壶的烟管。“你今天到外面干活的时候，谢基卜毛拉来了，我跟他说了好长时间的话。我告诉他，咱们要去喀布尔待几天。就你和我。最后他给了我祝福，还有他的骡子。所以你看，都安排好了。”
“Imagine Nabi’s face when we surprise him at his door.”
“想像一下纳比脸上的表情嘛。咱们站到他门口，给他来个惊喜。”
“Are you serious?”
“你当真吗？”
“I want to see Darulaman Palace. We didn’t get a chance to last time. Maybe go visit Babur’s tomb again.”
“我想看看达鲁阿曼宫。上次咱们没有机会去。也许可以再去一趟巴布尔墓。”
“How would we get there, Masooma, in your condition?”
“那咱们怎么去？马苏玛，你现在这个样子。”
Until Masooma says, “Will you do something for me?”
后来是马苏玛开了口。“帮我做件事行吗？”
Parwana looks at her.
帕尔瓦娜看看她。
Masooma listlessly sweeps her hand. “He already told us which neighborhood. We’ll knock on some doors and ask. It’s not that difficult.”
马苏玛无精打采地甩了甩手。“他说过他住哪一片。咱们敲敲街坊的门，问一问就行了。又不难。”
“You are insane,” Parwana says.
“你疯了。”帕尔瓦娜说。
“I’m so bored I’m dying, Parwana.”
“我等死等得好无聊，帕尔瓦娜。”
Saboor’s going to ask me! Masooma had said this in a high-pitched whisper.
萨布尔要来提那事了！马苏玛尖声细语地说道。
Parwana sits back against the wall, shaking her head. Her gaze drifts upward into the cloud-mottled darkness.
帕尔瓦娜摇摇头，回身靠墙坐好。她的目光飘飘荡荡，升入了暗云斑驳的夜空。
“Well, it’s what I want. It’s my wish.”
“好了，我就想要这个。我的愿望就是这个。”
Ask you? Parwana said, not understanding, at least not immediately.
提哪事？帕尔瓦娜问。她没听明白，至少没有一下子听明白。
One early morning, when the sisters were seventeen, they sat on a branch high up the oak tree, their feet dangling.
十七岁时的一个清晨，姐妹俩并排坐在大橡树的高枝上，脚在空中摆荡。
Masooma brings the hose to her lips. “Please. Don’t deny me.”
马苏玛把烟管拿到嘴边。“求你了。别拒绝我。”
Well, not him, of course. Masooma laughed into her palm. Of course not. His father will be doing the asking.
好吧，不是他，当然不是。马苏玛用一只手捂住嘴，笑着说。当然不是。是他父亲要来提亲了。
Parwana empties her chest of a sigh and looks at her sister.
帕尔瓦娜一声长叹，看着姐姐。
Now Parwana understood. Her heart sank to her feet. How do you know? she said through numb lips.
现在帕尔瓦娜明白了。她的心跌进了冰窖。你怎么知道？她张开麻木的双唇问道。
Masooma began to speak, words pouring from her mouth at a frenzied pace, but Parwana hardly heard any of it. She was picturing instead her sister’s wedding to Saboor. Children in new clothes, carrying henna baskets overflowing with flowers, trailed by shahnai and dohol players. Saboor, opening Masooma’s fist, placing the henna in her palm, tying it with a white ribbon. The saying of prayers, the blessing of the union. The offering of gifts. The two of them gazing at each other beneath a veil embroidered with gold thread, feeding each other a spoonful of sweet sherbet and malida.
马苏玛打开了话匣子，字字句句从口中狂涌而出，可帕尔瓦娜什么也没听到。她眼前全是姐姐与萨布尔结婚的画面。孩子们穿着新衣裳，提着装满指甲花的花篮，后面跟着吹唢呐的，打多霍勒鼓的。萨布尔掰开马苏玛的拳头，把指甲花膏抹在她掌心，再用白丝带把手包好。祷告的话语，对结合的祝福。贺喜的礼物。透过绣着金线的面纱，这对新人相互凝望，然后再给对方喂一勺甜甜的果子露和马利达甜糕。
A wind swept through the tree, made the branches around them shake and the leaves rattle. Parwana had to steady herself.
一阵风刮过橡树，摇动着她们周围的树枝，叶子也簌簌作响。帕尔瓦娜赶快扶稳。
And she, Parwana, would be there among the guests to watch this unfold. She would be expected to smile, to clap, to be happy, even as her heart splintered and cracked.
可是她呢？帕尔瓦娜呢？她将待在宾客们中间，眼睁睁地看着这一切。人们会希望她露出笑脸，拍手称快，哪怕她的心都裂了，碎了。
And then the part that Masooma knew nothing about. While her sister was facing away, searching her pocket, Parwana planted the heels of her hands on the branch, lifted her bottom, and let it drop. The branch shook. Masooma gasped and lost her balance. Her arms flailed wildly. She tipped forward. Parwana watched her own hands move. What they did was not really push, but there was contact between Masooma’s back and the pads of Parwana’s fingertips and there was a brief moment of subtle shoving. But it lasted barely an instant before Parwana was reaching for her sister, for the hem of her shirt, before Masooma was calling her name in panic and Parwana hers. Parwana grabbed the shirt, and it looked for just a moment as though she might have saved Masooma. But then the cloth ripped as it slipped from her grip.
接下来发生的事，马苏玛一无所知。就在姐姐扭过脸，在衣袋里取东西的时候，帕尔瓦娜两手撑住树枝，抬起屁股，再往下一坐。树枝晃了一下。马苏玛闷叫一声，失去了平衡。她狂乱地摆动着胳膊，身子朝前摇摇欲坠。帕尔瓦娜看到自己的手在移动。这两只手所做的，倒也算不上真的推了一把，可是在马苏玛的背和帕尔瓦娜指端的肉之间，确实发生了接触，瞬间产生了难以察觉的推力。可它持续的时间比一眨眼的工夫还要短暂。帕尔瓦娜马上伸手去够姐姐，去抓她衬衣的下摆，此时马苏玛在叫她的名字，她也叫着姐姐的名字。帕尔瓦娜抓住了衬衣，好像这一瞬间，她已经可以救起马苏玛了。可是紧接着，那衬衣便撕破了，从她紧握的手中滑脱了。
She turned from Parwana and reached into her pocket.
她扭过头，背对着帕尔瓦娜，手伸进了衣服口袋。
Masooma had stopped talking. She was grinning, biting her lower lip. You asked how I know that he’s going to ask. I’ll tell you. No. I’ll show you.
马苏玛已经不说话了，而是咬着下嘴唇在笑。你刚才问我怎么知道他要来提亲。我这就告诉你。不，我给你看。
A few minutes later, a circle had formed around her. Nabi and the girls’ father crying over Masooma, trying to shake her awake. Faces peering down. Someone took her hand. It was still closed into a tight fist. When they uncurled the fingers, they found exactly ten crumbled little leaves in her palm.
几分钟后，人群围拢到她身边。纳比和姐妹俩的父亲伏在马苏玛身上不停地叫喊，试图把她摇醒。许多脸俯看着她。有人拿起她的手。那只手仍然紧紧地团握着。他们掰开她的指头，发现掌心里是已经破碎的树叶。叶子不多不少，正好十片。
All around them, beyond the dim glow of the fire Parwana has stoked from shrubs and brittle-looking weeds, is the desolate, endless expanse of sand and mountains swallowed up by the dark. For nearly two days they have traveled through the scrubby terrain, heading toward Kabul, Parwana walking alongside the mule, Masooma strapped to the saddle, Parwana holding her hand. They have trudged along steep paths that curved and dipped and wound back and forth across rocky ridges, the ground at their feet dotted with ocher- and rust-colored weeds, etched with long spidery cracks creeping every which way.
在她们周围，越过帕尔瓦娜用灌木和枯草引燃的暗淡火光，是荒凉的、广阔无垠的沙海和被黑暗吞没的群山。她们已经在这灌木丛生的野地里走了将近两天，往喀布尔的方向走。帕尔瓦娜把马苏玛绑到骡子背上，她自己步行，牵着马苏玛的手。她们沿着陡峭的小路艰难行进，山路起伏弯曲，在嶙峋的山岭中忽进忽退，脚步所及，土黄色和石灰色的野草斑驳其间，长长的、蛛网一般的裂纹侵蚀了地面，向四面八方爬行延展。
Masooma fell from the tree. It seemed to take forever, the fall. Her torso slamming into branches on the way down, startling birds and shaking leaves free, her body spinning, bouncing, snapping smaller branches, until a low, thick branch, the one from which the swing was suspended, caught her lower back with a sick, audible crunch. She folded backward, nearly in half.
马苏玛从树上掉了下去。似乎永不停止，这长久的坠落。在下坠的过程中，她的躯干不断重击着枝杈，惊飞了鸟儿，撼落了树叶。她的身体旋转着，弹跳着，一路将小枝条折断，直到下方一根粗大的树枝中止了她的摆荡，伴随着令人毛骨悚然、清脆可闻的玉碎之声，扛住了她的后腰。她向后弯卷过去，几乎是对折。
Masooma says, her voice shaking a bit, “You have to do it now. If you wait until morning, you’ll lose heart.”
马苏玛的声音有些颤抖。她说：“你必须现在就做。如果等到天亮，你就狠不下心来了。”
Parwana says, “You can’t ask me to do this.”
帕尔瓦娜说：“你不能让我做这种事。”
“What about Kabul?” Parwana says.
“那喀布尔怎么办？”帕尔瓦娜问。
“You’re not.” Masooma is crying now. “I’m letting you go. I am releasing you.”
“不是我走。”马苏玛哭了，“是我在让你走。我放你走。”
Parwana stands near the fire now, looking at Masooma, who is a horizontal blanketed mound on the other side of the flames.
帕尔瓦娜此时站在火边，看着马苏玛。她在篝火对面平躺着，像一个蒙着毯子的土堆。
“Oh, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”
“哦，你应该比我聪明才对。”
“I’m tired, Parwana. It’s not a life, what I have. My existence is a punishment to us both.”
“我累了，帕尔瓦娜。这不是生活，我过的不是生活。我的存在对咱俩都是一种折磨。”
Parwana thinks of a long-ago night, Masooma up on the swing, she pushing her. She had watched as Masooma had straightened her legs and tipped her head all the way back at the peak of each upward swing, the long trails of her hair flapping like sheets on a clothesline. She remembers all the little dolls they had coaxed out of corn husks together, dressing them in wedding gowns made of shreds of old cloth.
帕尔瓦娜想起很久以前的一个夜晚，马苏玛坐在秋千上，她推她。她看到马苏玛每次荡回到最高处之前，总是伸直双腿，脑袋后仰，长发披散，像晾衣绳上的床单一样振翅欲飞。她记得她们一起用玉米皮做假娃娃，给它们穿上旧布头做成的嫁衣。
“Let’s just go back,” Parwana says, her throat beginning to close. “I can’t do this. I can’t let you go.”
“咱们回去好了。”帕尔瓦娜说，她开始哽咽起来，“我不能这样做。我不能让你走。”
Parwana blinks back the tears that are blurring her vision now and wipes her nose with the back of her hand.
泪水已经模糊了帕尔瓦娜的视线，可她强忍住了。她用手背擦了擦鼻子。
“Tell me something, sister.”
“跟我说点什么，姐。”
“Masooma.”
“马苏玛。”
“He will, given time.”
“他会的。给他时间。”
“This is all my doing,” Parwana says. “My fault. All of it.”
“都怪我。”帕尔瓦娜说，“我的错。都是我的错。”
“Good. Then marry Saboor. Look after his children. Have your own.”
“那就好。那就嫁给萨布尔。照顾他的孩子。你自己也要生。”
Parwana feels herself standing on the brink of telling her everything, telling Masooma how wrong she is, how little she knows the sister with whom she shared the womb, how for years now Parwana’s life has been one long unspoken apology. But to what end? Her own relief once again at Masooma’s expense? She bites down the words. She has inflicted enough pain on her sister.
帕尔瓦娜几乎脱口而出，告诉她一切，告诉马苏玛她大错特错，别看曾经同住一个子宫，可她对自己的妹妹了解得多么少，而帕尔瓦娜这些年来的生活，又是一个多么漫长的、没有说出的抱歉。可这样做的目的又是什么？她自己的解脱岂不是又一次让马苏玛受罪？她咽下了这些话。她已经让姐姐遭受了太多的痛苦。
“I could try,” Parwana says.
“我会尽力。”帕尔瓦娜说。
“I don’t know what that means and I don’t want to. At this point, this is the only thing I want. People will understand, Parwana. Mullah Shekib will have told them. He’ll tell them that he gave me his blessing for this.”
“我不知道你在说什么，我也不想知道。此时此地，这就是我惟一的愿望。人们会理解的。帕尔瓦娜。谢基卜毛拉一定会告诉他们。他一定会告诉他们。为了这件事，他给过我祝福。”
“Could you?”
“能吗？”
“He loved you. He doesn’t love me.”
“他原来爱的是你。他不爱我。”
“Be happy, Parwana, please be happy. Do it for me.”
“高兴起来，帕尔瓦娜。求你高兴起来。为了我。”
“His boy, Abdullah. And the baby girl. Pari. You think you could love them as your own?”
“他儿子阿卜杜拉，还有他小女儿帕丽。你觉得自己能像亲妈一样爱他们吗？”
Parwana raises her face to the darkened sky.
帕尔瓦娜仰起脸，望着黑下来的天。
From the bag slung around the saddle’s tip, Parwana fetches the hookah. With trembling hands, she begins to prepare the usual mixture in the hookah’s bowl.
帕尔瓦娜从挂在鞍头的口袋里取出水烟壶，双手颤抖着，开始往烟碗里加烟丝和鸦片。
“I want to smoke now,” Masooma says.
“我想抽烟。”马苏玛说。
Parwana begins to protest, but Masooma cuts her off. “It’s time,” she says, harder now, with finality.
帕尔瓦娜刚开口反对，马苏玛便打断了她的话头。“到时间了。”她说，语气中更加不容辩驳，说得斩钉截铁。
“Now,” Masooma says, the orange glow of the flames shimmering on her cheeks, in her eyes, “if you ever loved me, Parwana, if you were ever my true sister, then leave. No kisses. No good-byes. Don’t make me beg.”
“现在，”马苏玛说，橘红色的火光照亮了她的脸颊，她的双眼，“如果你曾经爱过我，帕尔瓦娜，如果你曾经是我的亲妹妹，那就走吧。不要吻我。不要说再见。别让我求你。”
Parwana begins to say something, but Masooma makes a pained, choking sound and rolls her head away.
帕尔瓦娜张开嘴要说什么，可是马苏玛痛苦而哽咽地叫了一声，背过了头。
Sniffling, her cheeks wet, Parwana adds another pinch, then another, and yet more again. She lights the coal and places the hookah next to her sister.
帕尔瓦娜开始抽噎，脸上湿乎乎的一片。她又加了一撮，又一撮，还在不停地加。她点燃烟炭，把水烟壶放到姐姐身边。
Parwana slowly rises to her feet. She walks to the mule and tightens the saddle. She grabs the reins to the animal. She suddenly realizes that she may not know how to live without Masooma. She doesn’t know if she can. How will she bear the days when Masooma’s absence feels like a far heavier burden than her presence ever had? How will she learn to tread around the edges of the big gaping hole where Masooma had once been?
帕尔瓦娜慢吞吞地起身。她走向骡子，收紧鞍具。她抓住那牲口的缰绳。她突然意识到了，如果没有了马苏玛，她可能不知道该怎样活下去。她不知道还能不能活下去。她该怎样忍受马苏玛不在的日子？她将要扛起的担子，会远远重于有她在的时候。马苏玛离去后将留下一个巨大的黑洞，而她又该如何学会在这洞口的边缘独行？
“More,” Masooma says. “Put in a lot more.”
“多放点儿。”马苏玛说，“往多了放。”
Parwana pulls the reins, turns the mule around, and begins to walk.
帕尔瓦娜拉起缰绳，牵着骡子转身，迈开脚步。
Have heart, she almost hears Masooma saying.
用心。她仿佛听到马苏玛这样说。
Parwana makes herself wheel around and resume walking once more.
帕尔瓦娜原地转了一圈，继续向远处走去。
Don’t leave me, sister. Come back.
别丢下我，妹妹啊。快回来。
She walks, slicing the dark, as a cool night wind rips across her face. She keeps her head down. She turns around once only, later. Through the moisture in her eyes, the campfire is a distant, dim, tiny blur of yellow. She pictures her twin sister lying by the fire, alone in the dark. Soon, the fire will die, and Masooma will be cold. Her instinct is to go back, to cover her sister with a blanket and slip in next to her.
她走入黑暗，如破浪前行，一缕冰冷的夜风吹在脸上，如刀割。她一直低垂着脑袋。后来也只回过一次头。泪眼朦胧，篝火已化作一颗遥远、暗淡、细小的黄斑。她仿佛看见姐姐躺在火边，一个人置身于黑暗。用不了多久，火就会熄灭，马苏玛也将冷去。一种本能叫她往回走，去用毯子盖上姐姐，再钻进去，躺到她身边。
And that is when she hears something. A faraway, muffled sound, like wailing. Parwana stops in her tracks. She tilts her head and hears it again. Her heart begins to ram in her chest. She wonders, with dread, if it’s Masooma calling her back, having had a change of heart. Or maybe it is nothing but a jackal or a desert fox howling somewhere in the dark. Parwana can’t be sure. She thinks it might be the wind.
就在此时，她听见了什么。一个遥远而沉闷的声音。帕尔瓦娜停住脚步，侧耳细听。她的心开始狂跳。她害怕起来，不知道是不是马苏玛改了主意，在叫她回去。也许只是胡狼，或是沙漠里的狐狸在黑暗中嗥叫。帕尔瓦娜吃不准。她想，也许是风吧。
The only way to know for sure is to go back the way she had come and Parwana begins to do just that; she turns around and takes a few steps in Masooma’s direction. Then she stops. Masooma was right. If she goes back now, she will not have the courage to do it when the sun rises. She will lose heart and end up staying. She will stay forever. This is her only chance.
要想弄清楚，惟一的办法就是原路返回，帕尔瓦娜也正要这样做。她转过身，朝马苏玛的方向走了几步，却又停下了。马苏玛说得对，如果她现在回去，那么等到太阳升起，她就再也无法鼓起行动的勇气。她一定会心软，会接着熬下去。她会熬一辈子。现在是她惟一的机会。
She hears the wailing again in the distance.
她又一次听到了那远远的悲号。
No one has to know. No one would. It would be her secret, one she would share with the mountains only. The question is whether it is a secret she can live with, and Parwana thinks she knows the answer. She has lived with secrets all her life.
不会有人知道的。谁也不会。这将成为她的秘密，一个只有她和群山知道的秘密。问题是，她能不能守着这份秘密活下去？帕尔瓦娜认为自己知道答案。她已经守着许多秘密活到了今天。
Everyone loved you, Masooma.
人人都爱你，马苏玛。
Parwana shuts her eyes. The wind makes the scarf flap against her face.
帕尔瓦娜闭上眼。风吹起她的头巾，抽打着她的脸。
No one me.
不是我一个。
Parwana stands motionless in the dark for a long time.
在黑暗中，帕尔瓦娜一动不动地站着，站了很久。
And why, sister? What had I done?
那又为什么，姐姐？那我为什么做出了那样的事？
At last, she makes her choice. She turns around, drops her head, and walks toward a horizon she cannot see. After that, she does not look back anymore. She knows that if she does, she will weaken. She will lose what resolve she has because she will see an old bicycle speeding down a hill, bouncing on rocks and gravel, the metal pounding both their rears, clouds of dust kicked up with each sudden skid. She sits on the frame, and Masooma is the one on the saddle, she is the one who takes the hairpin turns at full speed, dropping the bike into a deep lean. But Parwana is not afraid. She knows that her sister will not send her flying over the handlebars, that she will not hurt her. The world melts into a whirligig blur of excitement, and the wind whooshes in their ears, and Parwana looks over her shoulder at her sister and her sister looks back, and they laugh together as stray dogs give chase.
最后，她做出了选择。她转过身，垂下头，走向看不见的地平线。此后她再也没有回望。她知道，如果她回了头，就会心软。她一定会失去现在的决心，因为她将看到一辆旧自行车从山上飞驰而下，在石子路上颠簸，铁车架撞击着她俩的屁股，每次出脚，急急地减速，都会搓起大团的尘土。她坐在车梁上，马苏玛骑着车座。她在全速时拐了个急弯，弄得自行车歪斜欲翻。可是帕尔瓦娜不怕。她知道姐姐不会让她从车把上飞出去，也知道姐姐永远不会伤害她。天旋地转，幻化成兴奋的光影，耳边都是呼呼的风声。帕尔瓦娜回头看着姐姐，姐姐也看她，两人放声大笑。野狗追逐着两姐妹。
Parwana keeps marching toward her new life. She keeps walking, the darkness around her like a mother’s womb, and when it lifts, when she looks up in the dawn haze and catches a band of pale light from the east striking the side of a boulder, it feels like being born.
帕尔瓦娜迈步向前，走向自己的新生活。她不停地走着，黑暗仿佛母亲的子宫，包裹着她。当夜幕拉升，当她抬头望向黎明的晨雾，只见东方展露一缕微光，洒落在巨石一侧。这种感觉就像即将出生。
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