這本書擱置在床頭已有數日，遲遲未能讀完。有了心情卻沒有時間，有了時間卻沒有精力，有了精力卻沒有心情，如此反覆，終在五月末六月初的端午佳節看完。
哈桑，阿米爾，爸爸，阿里，索拉博……
為你，千千萬萬遍。曾經哈桑為了好朋友不顧一切追風箏，而今阿米爾為了侄子勇往直前追風箏。時間是貪婪的，它總是獨自吞噬著那些細節。好的壞的，難忘的想忘的，它都沒有放過。小時候，阿米爾覺得哈桑呼之即來揮之即去，從未珍惜，甚至害怕爸爸的愛會漸漸流向哈桑而深深地傷害了哈桑。但，有時傷害別人的人才是最痛苦的，如果那個人是善良的人，那麼這份痛苦將如毒蛇猛獸般侵蝕著它的內心。因為，心存惡念的人是不會痛苦的。阿米爾欺騙了爸爸，傷害了哈桑，自己也不好過。
哈桑和阿米爾都是爸爸的孩子，一個在明處一個在暗處，一個是受社會認可一個是不被人所知，一個是活在罪惡深淵中一個活在明媚陽光下。正如爸爸的兩個身份，一個是穿著軍大衣的被人愛戴擁護的行善軍官，一個是與摯友阿里的老婆有著齷齪之事的背叛者。爸爸給了阿米爾身份，但卻給不了愛；給了哈桑愛，卻給不了身份。好在活在背後的哈桑心裡充滿了愛與陽光。相較之下，活在人前的阿米爾光鮮亮麗，卻因得不到爸爸完整的獨一無二的愛而變得虛偽，不安，恐懼。
真相比不見得都是那麼美好。不知道真相的阿里，把自己僅有的愛毫無保留的給了哈桑。
哈桑是幸福的。
在有了索拉博後，阿米爾也是幸福的。因為惡行之後的善行是最好的救贖。阿米爾為當初的罪行獲得了最好的救贖，他的心裡變得透亮，他不再害怕失去，不再厭惡自己，不再欺騙他人，他可以像哈桑那樣活在陽光下。作為索拉博的伯伯，阿米爾變得像英雄一樣的勇敢，他不再是小時候那個躲在爸爸與哈桑身後的懦弱的十二歲少年，二十多年過去，他可以冒死前往險境救出索拉博。這是血緣的力量，更是渴望勇敢，渴望自由，渴望贖罪的力量。對於視自己為親兄弟的哈桑的愧疚，阿米爾想擺脫這種愧疚，可以坦然地活在妻子和家人面前，為此他只能選擇前行，選擇勇敢。
一個人的成長可能就是這樣，從狹隘，幼稚，漸漸走向完整，成熟。
書中從一個小孩的“邪惡”開始，圍繞背叛與救贖講述。讓我想到了那一個經典的辯題，人之初性本善還是性本惡？小孩都是天真的善良的，他們渴望爸爸媽媽的愛，他們會炫耀會嫉妒，無可厚非，我們也會把這叫做幼稚。隨著年齡的增大，他們看到的事情更多，見過的人也越來越多，他們知道自己不再是這個世界的焦點，沒了自己世界依舊還是會照常轉動。他們也會遇到苦難，遇到選擇，遇到危險，然而這些就是成長的調味劑，必需品。漸漸，他們面對自己，認識自己，正視自己，改變自己，走向成熟。
有的人成長的代價擁有著是身邊人的關愛，有的人則是敢於將心裡的陰暗面的暴露，但無論如何，最後都是走向勇敢與正直，善良……
摘錄喜歡的句子：
1.
That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
許多年過去了，人們說陳年舊事可以被埋葬，然而我終於明白這是錯的，因為往事會自行爬上來。回首前塵，我意識到在過去二十六年裡，自己始終在窺視著那荒蕪的小徑。
2.
"For you, a thousand times over."
"為你，千千萬萬遍。"
3.
"There is a way to be good again". I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came and changed everything. And made me what I am today.
"那兒有再次成為好人的路。"我抬眼看看那比翼齊飛的風箏。我憶起哈桑。我緬懷爸爸。我想到阿里。我思念喀布爾。我想起曾經的生活，想起1975年那個改變了一切的冬天。那造就了今天的我。
4.
After the movie had started, I heard Hassan next to me, croaking. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. I reached across my seat, slung my arm around him, pulled him close. He rested his head on my shoulder. "He took you for someone else,”I whispered. "He took you for someone else.”
我在黑暗中聽到坐在身邊的哈桑低聲啜泣，看到眼淚從他臉頰掉下來。
我從座位上探過身去，用手臂環住他，把他拉近。他把臉埋在我的肩膀上。
“他認錯人了，”我低語，“他認錯人了。”
5.
With me as the glaring exception, my father molded the world around him to his liking. The problem, of course, was that Baba saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little.
父親隨心所欲地打造他身邊的世界，除了我這個明顯的例外。當然，問題在於，爸爸眼裡的世界只有黑和白。
至於什麼是黑，什麼是白，全然由他說了算。他就是這麼一個人，你若愛他，也必定會怕他，甚或對他有些恨意。
6.
"When you kill a man, you steal a life,“Baba said. "You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. ”
“當你殺害一個人，你偷走一條性命，”爸爸說，“你偷走他妻子身為人婦的權利，奪走他子女的父親。當你說謊，你偷走別人知道真相的權利。當你詐騙，你偷走公平的權利。”
7.
Rahim Khan laughed. "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors.”
拉辛汗笑起來。“孩子又不是圖畫練習冊，你不能光顧著要塗上自己喜歡的色彩。”
8.
I heard the leather of Baba's seat creaking as he shifted on it. I closed my eyes, pressed my ear even harder against the door, wanting to hear, not wanting to hear.
我聽到爸爸挪動身子，皮椅吱吱作響。我合上雙眼，耳朵更加緊貼著門板，又想聽，又不想聽。
9.
"So he's not violent,"Rahim Khan said.
"That's not what I mean, Rahim, and you know it,"Baba shot back. "There is something missing in that boy."
"Yes, a mean streak."
"Self-defense has nothing to do with meanness. You know what always happens when the neighborhood boys tease him? Hassan steps in and fends them off. I've seen it with my own eyes. And when they come Home, I say to him, ‘How did Hassan get that scrape on his face?"And he says, ‘He fell down.‘I'm telling you, Rahim, there is something missing in that boy."
"You just need to let him find his way,"Rahim Khan said.
"And where is he headed??"Baba said. "A boy who won't stand up for himself becomes a man who can't stand up to anything.
"As usual you're oversimplifying."
"I don't think so."
“這說明他並不暴戾。”拉辛汗說。
“我不是這個意思，拉辛，你知道的。”爸爸朝他嚷著,“這孩子身上缺了某些東西。”
“是的，缺了卑劣的性格。”
“自我防衛跟卑劣毫不搭邊。你知道事情總是怎麼樣的嗎?每當那些鄰居的孩子欺負他，總是哈桑挺身而出，將他們擋回去。這是我親眼見到的。他們回家之後，我問他,‘哈桑臉上的傷痕是怎麼回事?’他說:‘他摔了一跤。’我跟你說，拉辛，這孩子身上缺了某些東西。”
“你只消讓他找到自己的路。”拉辛汗說。
“可是他要走去哪裡呢?”爸爸說，“一個不能保護自己的男孩，長大之後什麼東西都保護不了。”
“你總是將問題過度簡化了。”
“我認為不是的。”
10.
The curious thing was, I never thought of Hassan and me as friends either. Not in the usual sense, anyhow. Never mind that we taught each other to ride a bicycle with no hands, or to build a fully functional Homemade camera out of a cardboard box. Never mind that we spent entire winters flying kites, running kites. Never mind that to me, the face of Afghanistan is that of a boy with a thin-boned frame, a shaved head, and low-set ears, a boy with a Chinese doll face perpetually lit by a harelipped smile.
Never mind any of those things. Because history isn't easy to overcome. Neither is religion. In the end, I was a Pashtun and he was a Hazara, I was Sunni and he was Shi'a, and nothing was ever going to change that. Nothing.
But we were kids who had learned to crawl together, and no history, ethnicity, society, or religion was going to change that either. I spent most of the first twelve years of my life playing with Hassan. Sometimes, my entire childhood seems like one long lazy summer day with Hassan.
奇怪的是，我也從來沒有認為我與哈桑是朋友。無論如何，不是一般意義上的朋友。雖然我們彼此學習如何在騎自行車的時候放開雙手，或是用硬紙箱製成功能齊備的相機。雖然我們整個冬天一起放風箏、追風箏。雖然於我而言，阿富汗人的面孔就是那個男孩的容貌：骨架瘦小，理著平頭，耳朵長得較低，那中國娃娃似的臉，那永遠燃著微笑的兔唇。
無關乎這些事情，因為歷史不會輕易改變，宗教也是。最終，我是普什圖人，他是哈扎拉人，我是遜尼派，他是什葉派，這些沒有什麼能改變得了。沒有。
但我們是一起蹣跚學步的孩子，這點也沒有任何歷史、種族、社會或者宗教能改變得了。十二歲以前，我大部分時間都在跟哈桑玩耍。有時候回想起來，我的整個童年，似乎就是和哈桑一起度過的某個懶洋洋的悠長夏日。
11.
But despite his illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Hassan was drawn to the mystery of words, seduced by a secret world forbidden to him.
We sat for hours under that tree, sat there until the sun faded in the west, and still Hassan insisted we had enough daylight for one more story, one more chapter.
但儘管他目不識丁，興許正因為如此，哈桑對那些謎一樣的文字十分入迷，那個他無法接觸的世界深深吸引了他。
我們在樹下一坐就是幾個鐘頭，直到太陽在西邊黯淡下去，哈桑還會說，日光還足
夠亮堂，我們可以多念一個故事、多讀一章。
12.
I would always feel guilty about it later. So I'd try to make up for it by giving him one of my old shirts or a broken toy. I would tell myself that was amends enough for a harmless prank.
後來我總是對此心懷愧疚。所以我試著彌補，把舊襯衣或者破玩具送給他。我會告訴自己，對於一個無關緊要的玩笑來說，這樣的補償就足夠了。
13.
To him, the words on the page were a scramble of codes, indecipherable, mysterious. Words were secret doorways and I held all the keys.
對他而言，書頁上的文字無非是一些線條，神秘而不知所云。文字是扇秘密的門，鑰匙在我手裡。
14.
I probably stood there for under a minute, but, to this day, it was one of the longest minutes of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. Air grew heavy damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Baba went on staring me down, and didn't offer to read.
也許我在那兒站了不到一分鐘，但時至今日，那依舊是我生命中最漫長的一分鐘。時間一秒一秒過去，而一秒與一秒之間，似乎隔著永恆。空氣變得沉悶，潮溼，甚至凝固，我呼吸艱難。爸爸繼續盯著我，絲毫沒有要看一看的意思。
15.
"if I may ask, why did the man kill his wife? In fact, why did he ever have to feel sad to shed tears? Couldn't he have just smelled an onion??
I was stunned. That particular point, so obvious it was utterly stupid, hadn't even occurred to me. I moved my lips soundlessly. It appeared that on the same night I had learned about one of writing's objectives, irony, I would also be introduced to one of its pitfalls: the Plot Hole. Taught by Hassan, of all people. Hassan who couldn't read and had never written a single word in his entire life. A voice, cold and dark, suddenly whispered in my ear, ——What does he know, that illiterate Hazara? He'll never be anything but a cook. How dare he criticize you?——
"Well,?I began. But I never got to finish that sentence.
Because suddenly Afghanistan changed forever.
“如果讓我來問，那男人幹嗎殺了自己的老婆呢?實際上，為什麼他必須感到悲傷才能掉眼淚呢?他不可以只是聞聞洋蔥嗎?”
我目瞪口呆。這個特別的問題，雖說它顯然太蠢了，但我從來沒有想到過，我無言地動動嘴唇。就在同一個夜晚，我學到了寫作的目標之一：諷刺；我還學到了寫作的陷阱之一：情節破綻。芸芸眾生中，惟獨哈桑教給我。這個目不識丁、不會寫字的哈桑。有個冰冷而陰暗的聲音在我耳邊響起：他懂得什麼，這個哈扎拉文盲?他一輩子只配在廚房裡打雜。他膽敢批評我?
“很好..”我開口說，卻無法說完那句話。
因為突然之間，阿富汗一切都變了。
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