Something roared like thunder. The earth shook a little and we heard the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. ‘‘Father!” Hassan cried. We sprung to our feet and raced out of the living room. “Father! What’s that sound?” Hassan screamed, his hands outstretched toward Ali. Ali wrapped his arms around us. A white light flashed and lit the sky in silver. It flashed again and was followed by rapid sharp sounds of gunfire. “They’re hunting ducks, ” Ali said in a hoarse voice. “They hunt ducks at night, you know. Don't be afraid.” A siren(汽笛）went off in the distance. Somewhere glass broke and someone shouted. I heard people on the street, woken up from sleep. Hassan was crying. Ali pulled him close and held him with tenderness. We stayed huddled (蜷缩）that way until the early hours of the morning. The shootings and explosions had lasted less than an hour, but they had frightened us badly, because none of us had ever heard gunshots in the streets. They were foreign sounds to us then. The generations of Afghan children whose ears would know nothing but the sounds of the bombs and gunfire were not yet born. Huddled together in the dining room and waiting for the sun to rise, none of us had any idea that a way of life had ended. The end came when Russian tanks were rolling into the very same streets where Hassan and I played, bringing the death of the Afghanistan I knew and marking the start of a still ongoing era of bloodletting. Just before the sunrise, Baba’s car pulled into the driveway. His door slammed shut and his running footsteps pounded the stairs. Then he appeared in the doorway and I saw something on his face. Something I didn’t recognize right away because I’d never seen it before: fear. “Amir! Hassan!” He cried as he ran to us, opening his arms wide. “They blocked all the roads and the telephone didn’t work. I was so worried!” We let him wrap us in his arms and, for a brief moment, I was glad about whatever had happened that night. 小题1:Who is the author of this passage?
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