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And the Mountains Echoed
“走出对与错的观念/有一片田野/我将与你在那儿相会。”
这是一个关于谎言与选择、牺牲与成全的故事。战争、贫穷以及凛冽寒冬造成了一对兄妹数十载的相离。与《追风筝的人》和《灿烂千阳》中描绘的战争悲剧不同，《群山回唱》更多地讲述了那些逃离故土的移民者的失落与乡愁。故事以阿富汗为起点，跨越了美国、希腊和巴黎等地。那些远走的人，与留下的人，在时空两端遥遥相望。等到有一天终于重逢，岁月或轻轻抹去心中的模样：就像60年后他乡重逢的兄长最终再认不得站在自己面前心心念念的妹妹；或只将青丝换白发，不改旧颜：一如少时离家的少年终于归家而亲安在。中间穿插多少悲欢离合，承载多少笑颜泪水。然不管前事如何，幸而我与你最后相会。
作者卡勒德·胡赛尼（Khaled Hosseini，1965-）这样说道：“抛开了家庭这条线索，你几乎无法理解自己，无法理解周围的人，无法弄明白整个世界中自己的位置。”亲情可能是这世上最易得亦最难得的羁绊了。它深入血脉，如影随形。你知道，不管走得多远，只要回头，就还有家，还有老母亲在那儿微笑着朝你望来。她既不抱怨生活艰辛，也不多言老来病痛，她只担心离开的你在外面过得不好。她不怕什么，只怕成为你的负担。所以她原谅你在所有圆满团圆时刻的缺席，她原谅你离开。
“Is that yours， Mamá？” I point to a cane leaning against the wall behind the new armchair. I hadn’t noticed it when I had first come in.
“Oh， I hardly use it. Just for bad days. And for long walks. Even then， mostly for peace of mind，” she says too 1）dismissively， which is how I know she relies on it far more than she 2）lets on. “It’s you I worry for. The news from that awful country. 3）Thalia doesn’t want me listening to it. She says it will 4）agitate me.”
“We do have our incidents，” I say， “but mostly it’s just people 5）going about their lives. And I’m always careful， Mamá.” Of course I neglect to tell her about the shooting at the guesthouse across the street or the recent surge in attacks on foreign-aid workers， or that by careful I mean I have taken to carrying a 9mm when I am out driving around the city， which I probably shouldn’t be doing in the first place.
Mamá takes a sip of coffee， 6）winces a bit. She doesn’t push me. I am not sure whether this is a good thing. Not sure whether she has 7）drifted off， 8）descended into herself as old people do， or whether it is a 9）tactic to not 10）corner me into lying or disclosing things that would only upset her.
“We missed you at Christmas，” she says.
“I couldn’t get away， Mamá.”
She nods. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
I take a sip of my coffee.
“You know， Mamá， I worry for you too.”
“No need to. I take care of myself all right.” A flash of the old 11）defiant pride， like a dim 12）glint in the fog.
“But for how long？”
“As long as I can.”
“And when you can’t， then what？” I’m not challenging her. I ask because I don’t know. I don’t know what my own role will be or whether I will even play one.
She levels her gaze at me evenly. Then she adds a teaspoon of sugar to her cup， slowly stirs it in.“It’s a funny thing， Markos， most people have it backwards. They think they live by what they want. But really what guides them is what they’re afraid of. And what they don’t want.” “I don’t follow， Mamá.”
“Well， take you， for instance. Leaving here. The life you have made for yourself. You were afraid to be 13）confined here. With me. You were afraid I would hold you back.”
I watch her taste her coffee， pour in another spoonful of sugar. I remember how 14）out of my depth I’d always felt as a boy trying to argue with her. She spoke in a way that left no room for 15）retort， 16）steamrolling over me with truth， told right at the 17）outset， plainly， directly. I was always defeated before I’d so much as said a word. It always seemed unfair.
“What about you， Mamá？” I ask. “What are you scared of？ What don’t you want？”
“To be a burden.”
“You won’t be.”
“Oh， you’re right about that， Markos.”
18）Disquiet spreads through me at this 19）cryptic remark.
Mamá is studying my face. “You have your life and your work， Markos，” she says， more softly now， redirecting the course of the conversation， as if she has 20）peeked into my mind， spotted my worry. The 21）dentures， the diapers， the fuzzy slippers—they have made me 22）underestimate her. She still has the upper hand. She always will.
“I don’t want to 23）weigh you down.”
At last， a lie—this last thing she says—but it’s a kind lie. This isn’t me she would weigh down. She knows this as well as I do. I am absent， thousands of miles away. The unpleasantness， the work， the 24）drudgery， it would fall on Thalia. But Mamá is including me， granting me something I have not earned， nor tried to.
“It wouldn’t be like that，” I say weakly.
“那是你的吗，妈妈？”我指了指新扶手椅后、靠墙放着的一根手杖。刚进家门时我都没注意到它。
“哦，我很少用它。天气坏时才用，还有散步时间长的时候。即使那样，用它也主要是图个心安。”她说得太轻描淡写了，反而让我意识到，她对手杖的依赖程度远远大过她嘴上说的。“我担心的是你。从那个可怕的国家传来的那些新闻。萨丽娅不想让我听到。她说那会让我寝食难安。”
“我们那儿确实有些小麻烦，”我说，“但总的来说，老百姓还是照常过日子。而且我总是很小心，妈妈。”当然，我没有说马路对面酒店发生的枪击事件，以及近来对外国救援人员袭击的大幅增加，而且我所谓的小心，指的是我在城里开车出去时，一直带着一把9毫米口径手枪，也许一开始我就不该开车出去。
妈妈喝了口咖啡，瑟缩了一下。她没逼我。我弄不清这是不是好事，也不清楚她是不是在走神，像一般老年人那样想自己的心事去了，或者这只是一种策略，不想逼得我撒谎，或是说出只会让她揪心的事情。
“圣诞节的时候我们挺想你的，”她说。
“当时我走不开，妈妈。”
她点点头。“你现在回来了，这才是最重要的。”
我抿了口咖啡。
“你知道的，妈妈，我也担心你。”
“用不着。我能好好照顾自己。”她昔日那种目空一切的自负忽然闪现，如同迷雾中闪烁的一道暗光。
“可是这能持续多久？”
“我能撑多久就多久。”
“那等你办不到的时候呢，怎么办？”我不是在和她抬杠。我这么问是因为我真不知道。我不知道自己将来会在其中担任什么角色，甚至也不知道我会不会有这样一个角色。
她抬起头，和我四目相对。然后，她往杯子里加了一勺糖，慢慢地搅着。“这是个很有意思的事情，马科斯，但是大多数人都搞错了这个问题。他们认为自己活着是为了他们想要的东西，可实际上呢，支配他们的是他们害怕的东西，是他们不想要的东西。”
“我听不懂，妈妈。”
“哦，就拿你来说吧。你离开这儿，过上了自己的生活。你害怕被困在这儿，和我一起。你怕我拖你后腿。”
我看着她尝了尝咖啡，又往里面倒了满满一勺糖。我记得小时候每次想和她争辩时，总有一种无能为力的挫败感。她说起话来根本不给我还嘴的余地，一张口就用大实话把我拍扁，有什么说什么，直截了当。我总是一个字都说不上来，就被她彻底击溃。我老觉得这不公平。
“你呢，妈妈？”我问，“你怕什么？你不想要什么？”
“成为负担。”
“你不会的。”
“噢，这可让你说对了，马科斯。”
这句隐晦的话让我有些不安。
妈妈打量着我。“你有自己的生活，自己的工作，马科斯，”她说，语气变得和缓了些，她重新引导着谈话的进程，仿佛已经窥视到我的内心，发现了我的焦虑。她的假牙、尿裤和绒毛拖鞋，这些东西让我低估了她。她仍然占着先手，总是如此。
“我不想把你压垮。”
终于有了句假话——她最后说的这一句——可这是一个善意的谎言。她压垮的不会是我。这一点她知道，我也知道。我不在她身边，而在千里之外。那些不快，那些劳作，那些苦差，全都将落到萨丽娅身上。可妈妈把我也算了进去，给了我不配得到，也没想得到的肯定。
“不会那样的。”我毫无底气地说道。
“走出对与错的观念/有一片田野/我将与你在那儿相会。”
这是一个关于谎言与选择、牺牲与成全的故事。战争、贫穷以及凛冽寒冬造成了一对兄妹数十载的相离。与《追风筝的人》和《灿烂千阳》中描绘的战争悲剧不同，《群山回唱》更多地讲述了那些逃离故土的移民者的失落与乡愁。故事以阿富汗为起点，跨越了美国、希腊和巴黎等地。那些远走的人，与留下的人，在时空两端遥遥相望。等到有一天终于重逢，岁月或轻轻抹去心中的模样：就像60年后他乡重逢的兄长最终再认不得站在自己面前心心念念的妹妹；或只将青丝换白发，不改旧颜：一如少时离家的少年终于归家而亲安在。中间穿插多少悲欢离合，承载多少笑颜泪水。然不管前事如何，幸而我与你最后相会。
作者卡勒德·胡赛尼（Khaled Hosseini，1965-）这样说道：“抛开了家庭这条线索，你几乎无法理解自己，无法理解周围的人，无法弄明白整个世界中自己的位置。”亲情可能是这世上最易得亦最难得的羁绊了。它深入血脉，如影随形。你知道，不管走得多远，只要回头，就还有家，还有老母亲在那儿微笑着朝你望来。她既不抱怨生活艰辛，也不多言老来病痛，她只担心离开的你在外面过得不好。她不怕什么，只怕成为你的负担。所以她原谅你在所有圆满团圆时刻的缺席，她原谅你离开。
“Is that yours， Mamá？” I point to a cane leaning against the wall behind the new armchair. I hadn’t noticed it when I had first come in.
“Oh， I hardly use it. Just for bad days. And for long walks. Even then， mostly for peace of mind，” she says too 1）dismissively， which is how I know she relies on it far more than she 2）lets on. “It’s you I worry for. The news from that awful country. 3）Thalia doesn’t want me listening to it. She says it will 4）agitate me.”
“We do have our incidents，” I say， “but mostly it’s just people 5）going about their lives. And I’m always careful， Mamá.” Of course I neglect to tell her about the shooting at the guesthouse across the street or the recent surge in attacks on foreign-aid workers， or that by careful I mean I have taken to carrying a 9mm when I am out driving around the city， which I probably shouldn’t be doing in the first place.
Mamá takes a sip of coffee， 6）winces a bit. She doesn’t push me. I am not sure whether this is a good thing. Not sure whether she has 7）drifted off， 8）descended into herself as old people do， or whether it is a 9）tactic to not 10）corner me into lying or disclosing things that would only upset her.
“We missed you at Christmas，” she says.
“I couldn’t get away， Mamá.”
She nods. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
I take a sip of my coffee.
“You know， Mamá， I worry for you too.”
“No need to. I take care of myself all right.” A flash of the old 11）defiant pride， like a dim 12）glint in the fog.
“But for how long？”
“As long as I can.”
“And when you can’t， then what？” I’m not challenging her. I ask because I don’t know. I don’t know what my own role will be or whether I will even play one.
She levels her gaze at me evenly. Then she adds a teaspoon of sugar to her cup， slowly stirs it in.“It’s a funny thing， Markos， most people have it backwards. They think they live by what they want. But really what guides them is what they’re afraid of. And what they don’t want.” “I don’t follow， Mamá.”
“Well， take you， for instance. Leaving here. The life you have made for yourself. You were afraid to be 13）confined here. With me. You were afraid I would hold you back.”
I watch her taste her coffee， pour in another spoonful of sugar. I remember how 14）out of my depth I’d always felt as a boy trying to argue with her. She spoke in a way that left no room for 15）retort， 16）steamrolling over me with truth， told right at the 17）outset， plainly， directly. I was always defeated before I’d so much as said a word. It always seemed unfair.
“What about you， Mamá？” I ask. “What are you scared of？ What don’t you want？”
“To be a burden.”
“You won’t be.”
“Oh， you’re right about that， Markos.”
18）Disquiet spreads through me at this 19）cryptic remark.
Mamá is studying my face. “You have your life and your work， Markos，” she says， more softly now， redirecting the course of the conversation， as if she has 20）peeked into my mind， spotted my worry. The 21）dentures， the diapers， the fuzzy slippers—they have made me 22）underestimate her. She still has the upper hand. She always will.
“I don’t want to 23）weigh you down.”
At last， a lie—this last thing she says—but it’s a kind lie. This isn’t me she would weigh down. She knows this as well as I do. I am absent， thousands of miles away. The unpleasantness， the work， the 24）drudgery， it would fall on Thalia. But Mamá is including me， granting me something I have not earned， nor tried to.
“It wouldn’t be like that，” I say weakly.
“那是你的吗，妈妈？”我指了指新扶手椅后、靠墙放着的一根手杖。刚进家门时我都没注意到它。
“哦，我很少用它。天气坏时才用，还有散步时间长的时候。即使那样，用它也主要是图个心安。”她说得太轻描淡写了，反而让我意识到，她对手杖的依赖程度远远大过她嘴上说的。“我担心的是你。从那个可怕的国家传来的那些新闻。萨丽娅不想让我听到。她说那会让我寝食难安。”
“我们那儿确实有些小麻烦，”我说，“但总的来说，老百姓还是照常过日子。而且我总是很小心，妈妈。”当然，我没有说马路对面酒店发生的枪击事件，以及近来对外国救援人员袭击的大幅增加，而且我所谓的小心，指的是我在城里开车出去时，一直带着一把9毫米口径手枪，也许一开始我就不该开车出去。
妈妈喝了口咖啡，瑟缩了一下。她没逼我。我弄不清这是不是好事，也不清楚她是不是在走神，像一般老年人那样想自己的心事去了，或者这只是一种策略，不想逼得我撒谎，或是说出只会让她揪心的事情。
“圣诞节的时候我们挺想你的，”她说。
“当时我走不开，妈妈。”
她点点头。“你现在回来了，这才是最重要的。”
我抿了口咖啡。
“你知道的，妈妈，我也担心你。”
“用不着。我能好好照顾自己。”她昔日那种目空一切的自负忽然闪现，如同迷雾中闪烁的一道暗光。
“可是这能持续多久？”
“我能撑多久就多久。”
“那等你办不到的时候呢，怎么办？”我不是在和她抬杠。我这么问是因为我真不知道。我不知道自己将来会在其中担任什么角色，甚至也不知道我会不会有这样一个角色。
她抬起头，和我四目相对。然后，她往杯子里加了一勺糖，慢慢地搅着。“这是个很有意思的事情，马科斯，但是大多数人都搞错了这个问题。他们认为自己活着是为了他们想要的东西，可实际上呢，支配他们的是他们害怕的东西，是他们不想要的东西。”
“我听不懂，妈妈。”
“哦，就拿你来说吧。你离开这儿，过上了自己的生活。你害怕被困在这儿，和我一起。你怕我拖你后腿。”
我看着她尝了尝咖啡，又往里面倒了满满一勺糖。我记得小时候每次想和她争辩时，总有一种无能为力的挫败感。她说起话来根本不给我还嘴的余地，一张口就用大实话把我拍扁，有什么说什么，直截了当。我总是一个字都说不上来，就被她彻底击溃。我老觉得这不公平。
“你呢，妈妈？”我问，“你怕什么？你不想要什么？”
“成为负担。”
“你不会的。”
“噢，这可让你说对了，马科斯。”
这句隐晦的话让我有些不安。
妈妈打量着我。“你有自己的生活，自己的工作，马科斯，”她说，语气变得和缓了些，她重新引导着谈话的进程，仿佛已经窥视到我的内心，发现了我的焦虑。她的假牙、尿裤和绒毛拖鞋，这些东西让我低估了她。她仍然占着先手，总是如此。
“我不想把你压垮。”
终于有了句假话——她最后说的这一句——可这是一个善意的谎言。她压垮的不会是我。这一点她知道，我也知道。我不在她身边，而在千里之外。那些不快，那些劳作，那些苦差，全都将落到萨丽娅身上。可妈妈把我也算了进去，给了我不配得到，也没想得到的肯定。
“不会那样的。”我毫无底气地说道。