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　　2021考研英语阅读怎么训练自己才能得到提高呢？每天阅读一篇英语文章，保持语感，熟悉英文的说话方式，对大家在进行2021考研英语考试的时候非常有帮助，文都网校考研小编为大家带来今天的阅读练习资料：追风筝的人。一起来看看吧~

2021考研英语阅读练习资料：追风筝的人-81

　　SOMETIMES, I GOT BEHIND the wheel of my Ford, rolled down the windows, and drove for hours, from the East Bay to the South Bay, up the Peninsula and back. I drove through the grids of cottonwood-lined streets in our Fremont neighborhood, where people who’d never shaken hands with kings lived in shabby, flat one-story houses with barred windows, where old cars like mine dripped oil on blacktop driveways. Pencil gray chain-link fences closed off the backyards in our neighborhood. Toys, bald tires, and beer bottles with peeling labels littered unkempt front lawns. I drove past tree-shaded parks that smelled like bark, past strip malls big enough to hold five simultaneous Buzkashi tournaments. I drove the Torino up the hills of Los Altos, idling past estates with picture windows and silver lions guarding the wrought-iron gates, homes with cherub fountains lining the manicured walkways and no Ford Torinos in the drive ways. Homes that made Baba’s house in Wazir Akbar Khan look like a servant’s hut.有时，我会开着我的福特，摇下车窗，一连开几个钟头，从东湾到南湾，前往半岛区[1]东湾(EastBay)、南湾(SouthBay)和半岛区(Penisula)均为旧金山城区。[1]，然后开回来。我会驶过弗里蒙特附近那些纵横交错、棋盘似的街道，这里的人们没有和国王握过手，住在破旧的平房里面，窗户破损;这里的旧车跟我的一样，滴着油，停在柏油路上。我们附近那些院子都被铅灰色的铁丝栅栏围起来，乱糟糟的草坪上到处扔着玩具、汽车内胎、标签剥落的啤酒瓶子。我驶过散发着树皮味道的林阴公园，驶过巨大的购物广场，它们大得足可以同时举办五场马上比武竞赛。我开着这辆都灵，越过罗斯?阿托斯的山丘，滑行过一片住宅区，那儿的房子有景观窗，银色的狮子守护在锻铁大门之外，塑有天使雕像的喷泉在修葺完善的人行道排开，停车道上没有福特都灵。这里的房子使我爸爸在喀布尔的房子看起来像仆人住的。

　　I’d get up early some Saturday mornings and drive south on Highway 17, push the Ford up the winding road through the mountains to Santa Cruz. I would park by the old lighthouse and wait for sunrise, sit in my car and watch the fog rolling in from the sea. In Afghanistan, I had only seen the ocean at the cinema. Sitting in the dark next to Hassan, I had always wondered if it was true what I’d read, that sea air smelled like salt. I used to tell Hassan that someday we’d walk on a strip of seaweed-strewn beach, sink our feet in the sand, and watch the water recede from our toes. The first time I saw the Pacific, I almost cried. It was as vast and blue as the oceans on the movie screens of my childhood.有时候，在星期六我会早起，朝南开上17号高速公路，沿着蜿蜒的山路前往圣克鲁斯。我会在旧灯塔旁边停车，等待太阳升起，坐在我的轿车里面，看着雾气在海面翻滚。在阿富汗，我只在电影里面见过海洋。在黑暗中，挨哈桑坐着，我总是寻思，我在书上看到，说海水闻起来有盐的味道，那是不是真的?我常常告诉哈桑，有朝一日，我们会沿着海藻丛生的海滩散步，让我们的脚陷进沙里，看着海水从我们的脚趾退去。第一次看到太平洋时，我差点哭起来。它那么大，那么蓝，跟我孩提时在电影屏幕上看到的一模一样。

　　Sometimes in the early evening, I parked the car and walked up a freeway overpass. My face pressed against the fence, I’d try to count the blinking red taillights inching along, stretching as far as my eyestould see. BMWs. Saabs. Porsches. Cars I’d never seen in Kabul, where most people drove Russian Volgas, old Opels, or Iranian Paikans.有时候，夜幕初降，我会把车停好，爬上横跨高速公路的天桥。我的脸压着护栏，极目远望，数着那缓缓移动的闪闪发亮的汽车尾灯，宝马，绅宝，保时捷，那些我在喀布尔从来没见过的汽车，在那儿，人们开着俄国产的伏尔加，破旧的欧宝，或者伊朗出产的培康。

　　Almost two years had passed since we had arrived in the U.S., and I was still marveling at the size of this country, its vastness. Beyond every freeway lay another freeway, beyond every city another city hills beyond mountains and mountains beyond hills, and, beyond those, more cities and more people.我们来到美国几乎快两年了，我仍为这个国家辽阔的幅员惊叹不已。高速公路之外，还有高速公路，城市之外还有城市，山脉之外还有峰峦，峰峦之外还有山脉，而所有这些之外，还有更多的城市，更多的人群。

　　Long before the Roussi army marched into Afghanistan, long before villages were burned and schools destroyed, long before mines were planted like seeds of death and children buried in rock-piled graves, Kabul had become a city of ghosts for me. A city of harelipped ghosts.早在俄国佬的军队入侵阿富汗之前，早在乡村被烧焚、学校被毁坏之前，早在地雷像死亡的种子那样遍布、儿童被草草掩埋之前，对我来说，喀布尔就已成了一座鬼魂之城，一座兔唇的鬼魂萦绕之城。

　　America was different. America was a river, roaring along, unmindful of the past. I could wade into this river, let my sins drown to the bottom, let the waters carry me someplace far. Someplace with no ghosts, no memories, and no sins.美国就不同了。美国是河流，奔腾前进，往事无人提起。我可以进这条大川，让自己的罪恶沉在最 深处，让流水把我带往远方，带往没有鬼魂、没有往事、没有罪恶的远方。

　　If for nothing else, for that, I embraced America.就算不为别的，单单为了这个，我也会拥抱美国。

　　THE FOLLOWING SUMMER, the summer of 1984--the summer I turned twenty-one--Baba sold his Buick and bought a dilapidated ’71 Volkswagen bus for $550 from an old Afghan acquaintance who’d been a high-school science teacher in Kabul. The neighbors’ heads turned the afternoon the bus sputtered up the street and farted its way across our lot. Baba killed the engine and let the bus roll silently into our designated spot. We sank in our seats, laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks, and, more important, until we were sure the neighbors weren’t watching anymore. The bus was a sad carcass of rusted metal, shattered windows replaced with black garbage bags, balding tires, and upholstery shredded down to the springs. But the old teacher had reassured Baba that the engine and transmission were sound and, on that account, the man hadn’t lied.接下来那个夏天，也就是1984年夏天——那年夏天我满21岁——爸爸卖掉他的别克，花了550美元，买了一辆破旧的1971年出厂的大众巴士，车主是阿富汗的老熟人了，先前在喀布尔教高中的科学课程。那天下午，巴士轰鸣着驶进街道，“突突”前往我们的停车场，邻居都把头转过来。爸爸熄了火，让巴士安静地滑进我们的停车位。我们坐在座椅上，哈哈大笑，直到眼泪从脸颊掉下来，还有，更重要的是，直到我们确信没有任何邻居在观望，这才走出来。那辆巴士是一堆废铁的尸体，黑色的垃圾袋填补破裂的车窗，光秃秃的轮胎，弹簧从座椅下面露出来。但那位老教师一再向爸爸保证，引擎和变速器都没有问题，实际上，那个家伙没有说谎。

　　On Saturdays, Baba woke me up at dawn. As he dressed, I scanned the classifieds in the local papers and circled the garage sale ads. We mapped our route--Fremont, Union City, Newark, and Hayward first, then San Jose, Milpitas, Sunnyvale, and Campbell if time permitted. Baba drove the bus, sipping hot tea from the thermos, and I navigated. We stopped at garage sales and bought knickknacks that people no longer wanted. We haggled over old sewing machines, one-eyed Barbie dolls, wooden tennis rackets, guitars with missing strings, and old Electrolux vacuum cleaners. By midafternoon, we’d filled the back of the VW bus with used goods. Then early Sunday mornings, we drove to the San Jose flea market off Berryessa, rented a spot, and sold the junk for a small profit: a Chicago record that we’d bought for a quarter the day before might go for $1, or $4 for a set of five; a ramshackle Singer sewing machine purchased for $10 might, after some bargaining, bring in $25.每逢星期六，天一亮爸爸就喊我起来。他穿衣的时候，我浏览本地报纸的分类广告栏，圈出车库卖场的广告。我们设定线路——先到弗里蒙特、尤宁城、纽瓦克和海沃德，接着是圣荷塞、米尔皮塔斯、桑尼维尔，如果时间许可，则再去坎贝尔。爸爸开着巴士，喝着保温杯里面的热红茶，我负责引路。我们停在车库卖场，买下那些原主不再需要的二手货。我们搜罗旧缝纫机，独眼的芭比娃娃，木制的网球拍，缺弦的吉他，还有旧伊莱克斯吸尘器。下午过了一半，我们的大众巴士后面就会塞满这些旧货。然后，星期天清早，我们开车到圣荷塞巴利雅沙跳蚤市场，租个档位，加点微薄的利润把这些垃圾卖出去：我们前一天花二毛五分买来的芝加哥唱片也许可以卖到每盘一元，或者五盘四元;一台花十元买来的破旧辛格牌缝纫机经过一番讨价还价，也许可以卖出二十五元。

　　By that summer, Afghan families were working an entire section of the San Jose flea market. Afghan music played in the aisles of the Used Goods section. There was an unspoken code of behavior among Afghans at the flea market: You greeted the guy across the aisle, you invited him for a bite of potato bolani or a little qabuli, and you chatted. You offered tassali, condolences, for the death of a parent, congratulated the birth of children, and shook your head mournfully when the conversation turned to Afghanistan and the Roussis--which it inevitably did. But you avoided the topic of Saturday. Because it might turn out that the fellow across the isle was the guy you’d nearly blindsided at the freeway exit yesterday in order to beat him to a promising garage sale.到得那个夏天，阿富汗人已经在圣荷塞跳蚤市场占据了一整个区域。二手货区域的通道上播放着阿富汗音乐。在跳蚤市场的阿富汗人中间，有一套心照不宣的行为规范：你要跟通道对面的家伙打招呼，请他吃一块土豆饼或一点什锦饭，你要跟他交谈。要是他家死了父母，你就好言相劝;要是生了孩子你就道声恭喜;当话题不可避免地转到阿富汗人和俄国佬，你就悲伤地摇摇头。但是你得避免说起星期六的事情，因为对面那人很可能就是昨天在高速公路出口被你超车挡住、以致错过一桩好买卖的家伙。

　　The only thing that flowed more than tea in those aisles was Afghan gossip. The flea market was where you sipped green tea with almond kolchas, and learned whose daughter had broken off an engagement and run off with her American boyfriend, who used to be Parchami--a communist--in Kabul, and who had bought a house with under-the-table money while still on welfare. Tea, Politics, and Scandal, the ingredients of an Afghan Sunday at the flea market.在那些通道里，惟一比茶更流行的是阿富汗人的流言。跳蚤市场是这样的地方，你可以喝绿茶，吃杏仁饼，听人说谁家的女儿背弃婚约，跟美国男友私奔去了;谁在喀布尔用黑钱买了座房子，却还领救济金。茶，政治，丑闻，这些都是跳蚤市场的阿富汗星期天必备的成分。

　　I ran the stand sometimes as Baba sauntered down the aisle, hands respectfully pressed to his chest, greeting people he knew from Kabul: mechanics and tailors selling hand-me-down wool coats and scraped bicycle helmets, alongside former ambassadors, out-of-work surgeons, and university professors.有时我会看管摊位，爸爸则沿着过道闲逛。他双手庄重地放在胸前，跟那些在喀布尔认识的熟人打招呼：机械师和裁缝兜售有擦痕的自行车头盔和旧羊毛衫，过道两边是原来的外交官、找不到工作的外科医生和大学教授。

　　One early Sunday morning in July 1984, while Baba set up, I bought two cups of coffee from the concession stand and returned to find Baba talking to an older, distinguished-looking man. I put the cups on the rear bumper of the bus, next to the REAGAN/BUSH FOR ’84 sticker.1984年7月某个星期天清早，爸爸在清理摊位，我到贩卖处买了两杯咖啡，回来的时候，发现爸爸在跟一位上了年纪、相貌出众的先生说话。我把杯子放在巴士后面的保险杠上，紧邻里根和布什竞选1984年总统的宣传画。

　　“Amir,” Baba said, motioning me over, “this is General Sahib, Mr. Iqbal Taheri. He was a decorated general in Kabul. He worked for the Ministry of Defense.”“阿米尔，”爸爸说，示意我过去:“这是将军大人，伊克伯?塔赫里先生，原来住在喀布尔，得过军功勋章，在国防部上班。”

　　Taheri. Why did the name sound familiar? The general laughed like a man used to attending formal parties where he’d laughed on cue at the minor jokes of important people. He had wispy silver-gray hair combed back from his smooth, tanned forehead, and tufts of white in his bushy eye brows. He smelled like cologne and wore an iron-gray three-piece suit, shiny from too many pressings; the gold chain of a pocket watch dangled from his vest.塔赫里。这个名字怎么如此熟悉? 将军哈哈干笑，通常在宴会上，每当重要人物说了不好笑的笑话，人们就会听到这样的笑声。他一头银发整齐地梳向后面，露出平滑的黄铜色前额，浓密的眉毛中有撮撮白色。他身上闻起来有古龙水的香味，穿着铁灰色的三排扣套装，因为洗熨了太多次而泛着亮光，背心上面露出一根怀表的金链子。

　　“Such a lofty introduction,” he said, his voice deep and cultured. “_Salaam, bachem_.” Hello, my child.“这样的介绍可不敢当。”他说，他的声音低沉而有教养。“你好，我的孩子。”

　　“_Salaam_, General Sahib,” I said, shaking his hand. His thin hands belied a firm grip, as if steel hid beneath the moisturized skin.“你好，将军大人。”我说，跟他握手。他的手貌似瘦弱，但握得很有力，好像那油亮的皮肤下面藏着钢条。

　　“Amir is going to be a great writer,” Baba said. I did a double take at this. “He has finished his first year of college and earned A’s in all of his courses.”“阿米尔将会成为一个了不起的作家。”爸爸说。我愣了一下才反应过来。“他刚念完大学一年级，考试门门都得优。”

　　“Junior college,” I corrected him.“是专科学校。”我纠正他。

　　以上文都网校考研为考生整理的2021考研英语阅读练习资料：追风筝的人，英语阅读怎么训练自己才能得到提高·看名著读名著就是其中一个提高考研英语文章阅读的方法，希望准备报考2021考研学子能够好好利用！更多2021考研英语复习资讯尽在文都网校考研频道!

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