A look of disgust swept across his rain-soaked face. It was the same look he’d give me when, as a kid, I’d fall, scrape my knees, and cry. It was the crying that brought it on then, the crying that brought it on now. “You’re twenty-two years old, Amir! A grown man! You...” he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, reconsidered. Above us, rain drummed on the canvas awning. “What’s going to happen to you, you say? All those years, that’s what I was trying to teach you, how to never have to ask that question.”??

他歷經(jīng)過(guò)風(fēng)吹雨曬的臉上，顯露出厭惡的神情。和我兒時(shí)摔倒在地，擦傷膝蓋而放聲大哭時(shí)他顯露的神情一模一樣。以前是因?yàn)槲业目藓白屗麧M臉厭惡，如今也是因?yàn)榭藓白屗麧M臉厭惡?！澳阋呀?jīng)22歲了，Amir！已經(jīng)是一個(gè)大人了！你……”他張開(kāi)嘴，閉上，又張開(kāi)嘴，再次思考。在我們頭頂上，雨滴擊打在帆布雨篷上?！澳阋院髸?huì)變成什么樣子？你自己說(shuō)。這么多年來(lái)，我都在教導(dǎo)你怎樣才能讓我不像那樣質(zhì)問(wèn)你。”