(1898–1966)
Born Shu Qingchun to an impoverished Manchu family in Peking, Lao She had a difficult childhood marked by violence, poverty, and exclusion. In 1900, his father was killed by the foreign soldiers who rampaged through the capital, and one-year-old Lao She survived by sleeping soundly under an overturned chest. Determined and diligent, Lao She eventually worked his way up and became a successful teacher and then administrator in the young republic, living a life of luxury and indulgence until he converted to Christianity and soon resigned from the government post. In 1924, through connections with British missionaries, he was offered a lectureship at the University of London, where for five years he taught Chinese and wrote fiction. Returning to China in 1929, he taught for a few years until he resigned and devoted himself exclusively to writing. In 1936 he published his magnum opus Luotuo Xiangzi (variously translated as Camel Xiangzi, Rickshaw Boy, or Rickshaw), followed by the novel Four Generations Under One Roof (1944). During the first seventeen years in new China, he was much admired as a writer, appointed to important government positions, and continuing to be productive, until the outbreak of the Cultural Revolution brought him down along with other literary giants of his generation. In 1966 he was said to have drowned himself in a lake, although his death remains a mystery.
[In the first three chapters of the novel, Hsiang Tzu, a rickshaw puller in Peking, saved up enough money to buy a rickshaw and became his own man. But he was soon kidnapped by the army and lost his rickshaw. He managed to get away and stole three camels, which he sold for thirty-five dollars; hence his nickname “Camel Hsiang Tzu.” With the money in his pocket, he now made it back to Peking hoping to restart his rickshaw career.]
Chapter Four
Hsiang Tzu lay for three days in a small inn in Hai Tien, his body shaking with chills and fever. He was delirious at times and had great purple blisters on his gums. Water was all he wanted, not food. Three days of fasting brought his temperature down and left his body flaccid as soft taffy. It was probably during these three days that, either by talking in his sleep or babbling deliriously, he let others find out about the camels. He was Camel Hsiang Tzu even before he recovered.
He had been simply Hsiang Tzu, as if he had no family name, ever since he came to the city. Now that Camel was put before Hsiang Tzu, no one would care what his family name was. Having or not having a family name didn’t bother him, but to have sold three animals for only thirty-five dollars and then been stuck with a nickname to boot was nothing to brag about.
He decided to take a look around once he struggled to his feet, but he never expected his legs to be so weak. He collapsed feebly onto the ground when he got to the front door of the inn. He sat there, dizzily, for a long time, his forehead covered with cold sweat. He put up with it and then opened his eyes. His stomach rumbled; he felt a little hungry. He stood up very slowly and went over to a wonton peddler. Then, with a bowl of wonton soup, he sat down on the ground again. He took a mouthful and felt nauseated, but held the soup in his mouth awhile and forced it down. He didn’t want any more. After a short wait it finally went straight down to his belly and he belched loudly twice. He knew he still had life in him.
He looked himself over after getting a little food in his stomach. He had lost a lot of weight and his ragged trousers couldn’t have been dirtier. He was too tired to move but he had to get himself cleaned up immediately; he refused to enter the city looking like a wreck. Only he’d have to spend money to make himself clean and neat. It would take money to get his head shaved and buy a change of clothes and shoes and socks. He ought not to disturb the thirty-five dollars he had in hand. But after all, even if he didn’t, wasn’t it still a long way from enough to buy a rickshaw? He took pity on himself.
Although it wasn’t so long ago that he had been captured by the soldiers, it was all like a nightmare when he thought about it now. This nightmare had aged him considerably; it was as if he’d taken on many years in a single breath. When he looked at his big hands and feet it was obvious they were his, but they looked like they might have been picked up any old place. He didn’t dare think of all the hardship and danger he’d just gone through, but it was still there even though he didn’t think about it. It was like knowing the sky is overcast during a succession of dark days, even though you do not go out to look at it. He knew his body was especially precious; he should not make himself suffer. He stood up, aware that he was still very weak, intending to go get properly dressed without another minute’s delay—as if all he needed was to get his head shaved and his clothes changed to be strong again instantly.
It took a total of two dollars and twenty cents to get properly turned out. A jacket and trousers of fine-looking unbleached rough cloth cost one dollar, black cloth shoes were eighty cents, cotton socks were fifteen cents, and a straw hat cost twenty-five cents. He gave the tattered things he took off to a ragpicker in exchange for the usual two boxes of matches.
He headed down the highway with his two boxes of matches, his goal the Hsi Chih Gate. He had not gone very far before he felt unsteady and exhausted. But he gritted his teeth; he could not ride in a rickshaw. No matter how he looked at it he could not take a rickshaw. Couldn’t any peasant make the trip? And besides, he was a rickshaw puller! What a joke to let his energy be drained by such a piddling sickness. He absolutely would not give in to weakness. Why, even if he had an accident and couldn’t crawl, then he’d roll and roll all the way to the city. If he did not reach the city today it was all up with him; his body was the only thing he had confidence in, never mind being sick!
Wobbly and shaky, he lengthened his stride, but gold stars appeared before his eyes not far from Hai Tien. He leaned against a willow tree and pulled himself together. The turning earth and reeling sky made him dizzy for a while, but still he refused to sit down. The whirling earth and sky eventually slowed down and his heart seemed to come rolling back to its place again from somewhere far away. He wiped the sweat off his head and set out once more. He’d had his head shaved and gotten his clothes changed. Surely, he reasoned, this was enough to compensate for his weakness. Well, then, his legs had better do their duty and walk! He got almost to the northwest gate in one stretch.
When he saw the bustle of people and horses, heard the ear-piercing racket, smelled the dry stink of the road, and trod on the powdery, churned-up gray dirt, Hsiang Tzu wanted to kiss it, kiss that gray stinking dirt, adorable dirt, dirt that grew silver dollars! He had no father or mother, brother or sister, and no relatives. The only friend he had was this ancient city. This city gave him everything. Even starving here was better than starving in the country. There were things to look at, sounds to listen to, color and voices everywhere. All you needed was to be willing to sell your strength. There was so much money here it couldn’t be counted. There were ten thousand kinds of grand things here that would never be eaten up or worn out. Here, if you begged for food, you could even get things like meat and vegetable soup. All they had in the village was cornmeal cakes. When he reached the west side of the Kao Liang Bridge he sat down next to the canal and dropped quite a few hot tears!
The sun was setting; the old willow branches bending above the canal had tiny glints of gold on their tips. There wasn’t much water in the canal but there was a lot of trailing waterweed like an oily belt, narrow, long, and deep green, which gave off a slight rank smell of damp. The wheat on the north bank had already spit out its shoots. They were stunted and dry, with a layer of dust on their leaves. The pads of the water lilies along the southern embankment of the canal floated limply on the surface. Little bubbles were released around them at intervals. People were coming and going on the east side of the bridge. They all looked hurried in the light of the setting sun, as if they felt a kind of uneasiness as evening approached. It was all very enjoyable and precious to Hsiang Tzu. Only a little canal like this one could be considered a canal. These trees, the wheat, the water lily pads, the bridge, were the only real trees, wheat, water lilies, and bridge, because they were all part of Peking.
He was in no hurry sitting there. Everything he saw was familiar and dear. If he were to die while sitting there, he’d be content. He rested for some time and then crossed the bridge and bought a bowl of bean curd from a street vendor. Warmed by the scalding hot snow-white bean curd, the vinegar, soy sauce, chili pepper oil, and scallion tips gave off an absolutely wonderful smell that made Hsiang Tzu want to hold his breath. His hands couldn’t stop trembling while he held the bowl and gazed at the dark green scallion tips. He took a mouthful. The bean curd opened a path in his body. He added two more spoonfuls of chili pepper oil. When he’d finished, sweat soaked his waistband. With his eyes half shut he held out the bowl. “Give me another bowlful!”
He felt like a man again when he stood up. The sun had sunk to its lowest point in the west. The evening clouds reflected in the canal made the water slightly red. His elation made him want to shout. He forgot all about being sick, forgot everything, as he rubbed the slick scar on his face, rubbed the coins in his pocket, and looked at the sunlight on the watchtower. Then, as if he had a conviction to act upon, he went determinedly into the city.
The gateway tunnel was jammed with every kind of cart and all sorts of people. Everyone wanted to get through it quickly but no one dared hurry. The cracking of whips, shouts, curses, honking of horns, ringing of bells, and laughter were blended into a continuous roaring by the megaphonelike tunnel, making a “weng weng.” Hsiang Tzu’s big feet cut forward and jumped backward while his hands fended off people to left and right. He pushed his way into the city like a great skinny fish which follows the waves and jumps for joy. He caught sight of Hsin Street; it was so broad and straight it made his eyes sparkle when they saw it just as brightly as the sunlight reflected off the roofs above him. He nodded his head.
His bedroll was still at the Jen Ho Rickshaw Agency; naturally he intended to hurry there. Although he did not always rent one of their rickshaws, he stayed at this agency because he had no home of his own. Liu, the owner, was a man who would soon be sixty-nine. He was old but not dignified. In his younger days he had served as a guard in the Imperial Treasury, operated a gambling house, trafficked in women, and practiced loan sharking. Liu had all the qualifications and abilities needed to carry on these enterprises: audacity, tact, skill, social contacts, reputation, and so forth. During the last days of the Qing Dynasty he had fought in mob wars, abducted women of good family, and “knelt on iron chains.” Kneeling before the magistrate on iron chains, Liu never wrinkled his brow, never confessed, never once said, “Spare my life.” The magistrate admired his unflinching fortitude under torture. This is called making a name for yourself.
As it happened, Liu came out into the new republic when he got out of jail. Liu could see that the police were becoming more and more powerful and the role of local bravo had already become a thing of the past. Even if those great old heroes Li K’uei and Wu Sung had still been alive, they wouldn’t have been able to carry on either.
Liu opened a rickshaw agency. He had started out as a local bravo, or neighborhood bully, so he knew how to treat poor people: when to squeeze them and when to let up a little. He excelled in his genius for fast footwork. None of the rickshaw pullers dared try to outsmart him. One stare or guffaw from Liu would leave them completely stymied, as if they had one foot in heaven and one foot in hell. All they could do was let him persecute them.
Liu now had over sixty rickshaws. He did not rent out worn rickshaws—the very worst of his was almost new. He charged a somewhat higher rental fee but allowed two more rent-free days during the three yearly festivals than the other rickshaw agencies did. The Jen Ho Agency also had sleeping rooms, so unmarried men who pulled its rickshaws could stay there free, but they had to pay promptly for using the rickshaws. Anyone who couldn’t pay up and tried to beg off would be thrown out the door like a broken teapot and have his bedroll confiscated. But if any of them had a serious problem or was ill, all he had to do was tell Liu about it. Liu would not sit idly by. He’d even go through fire and flood to help. This is called making a name for yourself.
Liu had the physiognomy of a tiger. He was nearly seventy but his back was still straight and he could still walk ten or twenty li. He had big round eyes, a big nose, a square chin, and a pair of tigerish canine teeth. His open mouth looked just like a tiger’s. He was almost as tall as Hsiang Tzu. His head was shaved so it glistened and he had not grown a beard. He claimed to be a tiger, but alas he had no son, only a thirty-seven-or-so-year-old tiger daughter. Anyone who knew about old Liu also knew about Hu Niu, Tiger Girl. She, too, had grown up with the head and brains of a tiger and so she frightened men off. She was skillful at helping her father manage the business but no one dared ask for her as his wife. She was the same as a man in everything; she had a man’s bluntness when swearing at someone and even added a few embellishments all her own. Under the rule of the Lius, the Jen Ho Agency was like a length of steel tubing: nothing out of place. This agency had a great deal of prestige and influence in the world of rickshaws. The methods of the Lius were often on the lips of rickshaw owners and pullers, the way scholars quote from the Confucian classics.
Until he bought his own rickshaw, Hsiang Tzu had pulled one of theirs. He had deposited his profits with Liu at interest, and when he finally had saved enough, he withdrew it all and bought his rickshaw. “Mister Liu,” he’d said, “look at my new rickshaw!” He had taken his new rickshaw back to the Jen Ho Agency.
The old man had looked at it and nodded. “Not bad!”
“I’ll still have to stay here. But whenever I work for a family, I’ll go live there,” added Hsiang Tzu rather proudly.
“Very well.” Liu had nodded again.
And so, when Hsiang Tzu had a private job, he lived there. He lived at the agency when he was out of a private job and had to work the streets.
In the opinion of the other rickshaw men, it was unheard-of to have someone who no longer pulled a Jen Ho rickshaw go on living there. They wondered about it. The most far-fetched guess was that Hsiang Tzu was related to old Liu. Many others said old Liu probably had a high opinion of Hsiang Tzu and planned to fix Hu Niu up with a husband who would live there. Speculations like these were colored by a little envy, but perhaps things really would turn out like that. The Jen Ho Agency would certainly be left to Hsiang Tzu when old Liu died, that was what mattered. All they did was make foolish guesses about the situation. Naturally none of them dared be so rude as to say anything to Hsiang Tzu himself.
In fact, old Liu’s good treatment of Hsiang Tzu was on quite another account. Hsiang Tzu was the sort of man who held fast to his old habits in a new environment. Suppose he joined the army; he certainly would not start right in pretending to be ignorant of what he was doing and cheat and swindle people the way most soldiers did as soon as he had put on his uniform. At the agency he started looking for something to do as soon as he came back each day and had wiped the sweat off his brow. He was never idle. He dusted off rickshaws, pumped up tires, spread the rain covers out to dry in the sun, and greased wheels. No one had to tell him to do these things; he did them voluntarily. Working made him very happy, as if it were the best of all amusements.
Ordinarily, there were about twenty men living at the agency. They either sat around talking or were dead asleep after putting away their rickshaws. Only Hsiang Tzu’s hands were never idle. When he first came there everyone thought he was putting on a show for old Liu, trying to get himself in good like a stray dog. After a while they realized he was not putting up a false front in any way. He really was that forthright and natural, so there was simply nothing more to be said. Old Liu never praised him, never gave a sign he had noticed Hsiang Tzu; he simply made a mental note. He knew Hsiang Tzu was a good worker, so he was glad to have him around even if he wasn’t pulling a Liu rickshaw. The courtyard and doorway, not to mention anything else, were always kept clean when Hsiang Tzu was there.
Hu Niu liked the big oaf even more. Hsiang Tzu always listened attentively when she spoke and never argued with her. The other rickshaw pullers were contrary because of all their miseries. She wasn’t afraid of them in the least but preferred not to have much to do with them, so she saved all her comments for Hsiang Tzu. It was as if the Lius had lost a friend when Hsiang Tzu had a private job and was living out. And when he was there, even the old man’s swearing seemed more to the point and a little kinder.
Hsiang Tzu entered the Jen Ho Agency carrying his two boxes of matches. It wasn’t dark yet and the Lius were still eating dinner. Hu Niu put down her chopsticks when she saw him come in.
“Hsiang Tzu! Did you let a wolf catch you or did you go to Africa to dig in the gold mines?”
Hsiang Tzu said nothing; he grunted.
Liu’s big round eyes gave Hsiang Tzu the once-over. He didn’t say anything either.
Hsiang Tzu sat down facing them, his new straw hat still on his head.
“In case you haven’t eaten, here’s some.” Hu Niu behaved as if she were taking care of a good friend.
Hsiang Tzu didn’t move. His heart was suddenly full of a feeling of warm friendship he couldn’t put into words. He had always regarded the Jen Ho Agency as his home. For private jobs his masters changed frequently, and when working the streets his passengers changed with every trip. This was the only place he was allowed to stay and there was always someone to chat with. He had just escaped with his life and come back to his friends and here they were, inviting him to have something to eat. While he wondered if they could be mocking him, he almost wept too.
“Just had two bowls of bean curd.” He showed a little courtesy.
“What did you go away for? Where’s your rickshaw?” Old Liu’s eyes were still fastened on him.
“Rickshaw?” Hsiang Tzu spat.
“Come have a bowl of rice first. It won’t kill you. What are two bowls of bean curd?” Hu Niu pulled at his sleeve like a wife fussing over a younger brother-in-law.
Hsiang Tzu did not take the rice bowl. He took out his money instead. “Sir, keep this for me. It’s thirty dollars.” He put the change back in his pocket.
Liu inquired with his eyebrows. Where did it come from?
Hsiang Tzu ate and told how he had been captured by the soldiers.
“Humph! You idiot!” Liu shook his head. “If you’d brought them to the city and sold them for the soup pot, they’d have been worth more than ten dollars a head. If it had been winter and they’d had their heavy coats, three head would have brought sixty dollars!”
Hsiang Tzu already regretted it; hearing this made him feel even worse. But, he went on to think, it was hardly virtuous to let three living animals have their throats cut for the soup pot. They had all escaped together so they should all live. That was all there was to say about it and he felt at peace in his mind.
Hu Niu cleared the table. Liu looked up as though he’d thought of something. Suddenly a laugh showed two teeth that looked more and more like tiger teeth the older he got. “Dolt! Did you say you were sick at Hai Tien? Why didn’t you come straight back on the Huang Ts’un Road?”
“I had to go the long way around by the Western Hills. I was afraid that if I took the main road someone would catch me. I was pretty sure the villagers would grab me as a deserter if they thought things over.”
Liu smiled and his eyes rolled back and forth. He had been afraid Hsiang Tzu was lying about the money. Maybe it was stolen. He wasn’t going to hide anyone’s loot for him. He had done every lawless thing there was to do when young, but he had to be careful now that he had taken up the role of reformed character. He knew what to watch out for, all right. There was only one flaw in Hsiang Tzu’s story, but he had explained it away without mumbling. The old man relaxed. “Now what?” he said, pointing to the money.
“Whatever you say.”
“Buy another rickshaw?” The old man stuck out his tiger teeth again as if to say, “You buy another rickshaw and still think you’re going to stay at my place free again?”
“There isn’t enough. I’ve got to buy a new one!” Hsiang Tzu did not look at Liu’s teeth. He was concentrating on his own thoughts.
“Lend you the money? One percent interest. Anyone else gets charged two and a half.”
Hsiang Tzu shook his head.
“Buying on installments from a dealer is not as good as giving me one percent.”
“I won’t buy one on installments either,” Hsiang Tzu said intensely. “I’ll save up until I get enough. Ready cash buys ready goods.”
Old Liu stared at Hsiang Tzu as if he were trying to read a strange word he couldn’t figure out and detested, but could hardly get angry at. He waited awhile and then picked up the money. “Thirty dollars? You’re sure about the amount?”
“That’s right.” Hsiang Tzu stood up. “I’m going to bed. I’ve brought you a box of matches, sir.” He put the box on the table and stood blankly for a moment. “There’s no need to tell people about the camels.”
[In chapters five through seventeen, Hsiang Tzu was seduced by Hu Niu and fooled into marrying her. Hu Niu’s father disapproved of the marriage and disowned her, forcing the couple to move out and rent a room in a shabby mixed courtyard in the city. Hsiao Fu Tzu in the text below is the young daughter of the couple’s neighbor Ch’iang, who was also a rickshaw puller. Earlier in desperation Ch’iang had sold his Hsiao Fu Tzu to a military officer, but she had come back and tried to feed the family by prostituting herself.]
Chapter Eighteen
There was simply no human sound at all in the mixed courtyard when June came. The children went out very early clutching their broken baskets to collect whatever they could. By nine that poisonous flower of a sun was already drying and splitting the skin on their skinny backs and they were forced to come home with what they had gathered and eat whatever the big people gave them. The somewhat older children, if they could scrape up the least amount of capital, would buy some bits of natural ice from an icehouse and, combining it with some they had scrounged, would go out and sell it all quickly.
If they hadn’t got together this mite of capital, then they’d all go to the moat outside the city wall and take baths, stealing coal at the railway station outside of town without any extra trouble on the way. Or they’d go catch some dragonflies and cicadas to sell to the children of rich families.
The younger children didn’t dare go so far. They all went to places nearby where there were trees and collected locust tree insects, digging their larvae out for fun.
After all the children had gone out, and all the men were gone too, the women would sit in their rooms with their backs bare, but none of them dared go outside. Not because of the way they looked, but because the ground in the courtyard was already hot enough to burn their feet.
Finally, when the sun was fast setting, the men and children came back in a continual stream. By this time there was shade from the wall and a little cool breeze in the courtyard. The hot air stored up in the rooms all day made them like the inside of a steamer basket. Everybody sat in the courtyard waiting for the women to get the cooking done. The courtyard was quite crowded then; it was just like a marketplace but one without merchandise. They had all been through one day’s worth of heat and they were red-eyed and ill-tempered. Their bellies were empty again and their faces even more anxious and pale. Let one word be spoken out of line and some of them wanted to beat the children, others wanted to beat their wives, and if they couldn’t be beaten, at least they could be cursed at furiously. This sort of ruckus continued until everyone had eaten.
After eating, some of the children just lay down on the ground and went to sleep while others went out to the street to chase and frolic around. The adults all felt more cheerful after they had eaten their fill and those who enjoyed talking gathered in several groups to discuss the misfortunes of the day.
But those who had not yet eaten had no place to pawn anything or sell anything, assuming that they had anything to pawn or sell, because the pawnshops were already closed. The men paid no attention to how hot the rooms were. They dropped their heads down onto the k’ang and made not a sound or, perhaps, cursed loudly. The women held back their tears and tried to smooth things over. Then they went out and, after who knows how many rebuffs, finally managed to borrow twenty cents or so. Clutching this precious money, they went to buy cornmeal to make some mush for the family.
Hu Niu and Hsiang Tzu were not part of this pattern of living. Hu Niu was pregnant and this time it was true. Hsiang Tzu would go out bright and early but she always waited until eight or nine and then got up. It is a traditional and erroneous belief that it won’t do to exercise when pregnant and Hu Niu really took it to heart. Besides, she wanted to take advantage of her condition to show off. Everyone else had to get up and get moving early. She was the only one who could calmly enjoy lying in bed as long as she liked. When evening came, she’d take a small stool to a place outside the front gate where there was a little cool breeze and sit there. She went in after almost everyone else in the place had gone to bed. She couldn’t be bothered to gossip with them.
Hsiao Fu Tzu got up late too, but she had another reason. She feared the sidelong glances the men gave her, so she waited until they’d all gone to work and then, and only then, did she dare go outside her door. During the day, if she didn’t visit Hu Niu, she’d go out walking because her advertisement was simply herself. In the evening, to avoid attracting the attention of the men who lived there, she would go out into the streets for another turn and sneak back when she figured they had all gone to bed.
Hsiang Tzu and Ch’iang were the exceptions among the men. Hsiang Tzu disliked entering this courtyard and feared going into his rooms even more. The endless griping of all the other men made him frantic and he longed to have a quiet place to sit by himself. At home, he felt more and more that Hu Niu was like a mother tiger. On top of that, the rooms were so hot and disagreeable that, with the tiger added in, it was as if he couldn’t breathe when he got inside. Formerly, he’d come home early to avoid having her yell at him and scold him. Recently, with Hsiao Fu Tzu for company, she hadn’t been keeping tabs on him so much, so he’d been coming home a little later.
Ch’iang hadn’t been coming home much recently at all. He knew what his daughter was doing and he didn’t have the nerve to come in the gate. But there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing it. He knew he didn’t have the strength to take care of his children. It was better for him not to come back, and to pretend that out of sight is out of mind.
Sometimes he hated her. If Hsiao Fu Tzu had been a boy, he could guarantee that nothing this disgraceful would have been necessary. But this having a daughter! Why did it have to happen to him? Sometimes he pitied her. Here was his own daughter selling herself to feed her two little brothers! He could hate her or feel sorry for her but nothing else. When he was drinking and broke he didn’t hate or pity her; he came back wanting money from her. At a time like that, he thought of her as something that could earn money. After all, he was the papa and to demand money from her was simply a matter of “calling things by their right names” and carrying out the correct relationship between father and child.
Sometimes he also thought about appearances. Didn’t everybody hold Hsiao Fu Tzu in contempt? Her father couldn’t forgive her either. He’d force her to give him the money and curse her too, as if he were cursing her for everyone to hear. He’d show them that he, Ch’iang, hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Hsiao Fu Tzu who was born not caring about her reputation!
He’d rail at her and Hsiao Fu Tzu wouldn’t even let out a deep breath. Hu Niu, on the other hand, would alternately swear and urge him to leave. Of course he’d take some money with him. It was only enough to keep him drunk because if he sobered up and looked at the money he’d just jump in the river or hang himself.
The heat on the fifteenth of June was enough to drive people mad. The sun had just risen and the ground was already afire. Puffs of gray dust, like clouds and yet not clouds, like mist and yet not mist, floated low in the air, making people exasperated. There was no breeze at all. Hsiang Tzu looked at the grayish-reddish sky and decided not to start work until late afternoon. He’d wait until after four o’clock to go out and keep going until dawn if he didn’t make much. No matter what the night was like, it would be easier to put up with than the daytime.
Hu Niu nagged at him to get out of there. She was afraid it would hinder business if he was there because Hsiao Fu Tzu would probably bring home a “guest.”
“You think it’s better here? By afternoon even the walls are scorching!”
He said nothing, drank some cold water, and went out.
The willows along the street looked sick. Their leaves were all curled up and covered with dust; their branches, barely moving, drooped in utter dejection. There was not a spot of dampness anywhere in the main street. It was so dry it shimmered whitely. Then the dust from the dirt streets flew up and joined the dust in the sky to make a poisonous layer of gray dust that burned people’s faces. It was dry everywhere, hand-scorching everywhere, depressing everywhere. The whole city was like a fired-up brick kiln, which made breathing difficult.
Dogs crawled along with their red tongues dragging. The nostrils of horses and donkeys flared out. The street vendors didn’t dare yell and the asphalt pavements began to melt. It was so bad it seemed the sun would even melt the brass shop signs. The streets were very quiet, except for a monotonous banging and clanging from the metalworking shops, which annoyed people.
Rickshaw pullers were well aware that they wouldn’t eat if they didn’t get a move on, but they too were reluctant to look for business. Some parked their rickshaws in a shady place, put the top up, and took a nap in the rickshaw. Some burrowed into tea shops and drank tea. Others didn’t take their rickshaws out at all; they just went out and looked around to see if there was any possibility of working. Those who were out working lost face quite willingly, even if they were the most prepossessing of fellows. They didn’t dare run and just shuffled along with their heads down. Every well became their lucky star. It didn’t matter how far they’d gone—when they saw a well they hurried over to it. They’d just take a long drink at the trough along with the horses and donkeys if there wasn’t any freshly drawn water. And there were those who, coming down with cholera or befuddled by sunstroke, just went on and on until they collapsed and never stood up again.
Even Hsiang Tzu was a little scared! He realized, after pulling an empty rickshaw for a while, that he was surrounded by burning hot air and even the backs of his hands were sweating. But he still intended to take a fare if he got one in the hope that running might make a little breeze.
He did get a passenger, started off, and then realized that the temperature had reached a point that would not allow anyone to work. He’d run a little and then couldn’t breathe. His lips were burning and seeing water made him want to drink it, although he wasn’t really thirsty. That poisonous flower of a sun would split the skin on his hands and back if he didn’t run. He got to his destination one way or another with his clothes glued to his body. He took his palm leaf fan and fanned himself. It was no use. The breeze was hot. He had already lost count of how many times he had had a drink of cold water and still he made for a teahouse. He felt somewhat better when he’d downed two pots of hot tea. The sweat came out of his body as soon as the tea went into his mouth. It was just as if the inside of his body was open at both ends and couldn’t hold a drop of water. He didn’t dare move.
He sat for a long time feeling very queasy. Since he didn’t want to risk going out again and had nothing else to do, he began to think that the weather was determined to make things difficult for him. No, he would not give in to weakness. This wasn’t his first day pulling a rickshaw and this wasn’t his first nasty encounter with summer. He couldn’t just fritter away an entire day this way.
He thought he’d go out but his legs were reluctant to move and his body was unusually weak. It was as if he’d spent too long in a hot bath and still didn’t feel any better for it, even though he had sweated a lot. He sat a while longer and then couldn’t put up with it anymore. Sitting here made him sweat too, so why not go out briskly and try anyway?
He realized his mistake as soon as he got outside. The layer of gray air had already scattered and the sky wasn’t so depressing, but the sun was much worse than before. No one dared lift his head to look at it. All anyone knew was that the glare dazzled the eyes everywhere. The glare was all over. There was a whiteness shot through with red in the sky, on the rooftops, on the walls, and on the ground. The sun was a huge burning glass; it was as if every sunbeam had come through it and was heating things to their flash point. In this white glare every color stabbed the eyes and every smell had mixed in with it a fetid stench boiled out of the ground. There seemed to be no one in the streets, which had suddenly become a lot wider and without a breath of cool air. Their glitter made people afraid.
Hsiang Tzu didn’t know what to do. He plodded on very slowly, pulling the rickshaw with his head down. He hadn’t anywhere to go. He was confused. Covered with sticky sweat, he was giving off a sour smell. After he walked awhile his shoes and socks and feet were all stuck together, just as if he’d stepped in soppy mud. It was extremely uncomfortable.
He hadn’t any intention of drinking more water but he went over to take a drink automatically whenever he saw a well. Not, however, to relieve his thirst. Apparently, it was to enjoy the bit of coolness when the well water went down his throat and into his stomach and produced a moment of sudden chill, gooseflesh, and a cold shiver. It was very pleasant. When he finished he’d hiccup repeatedly. The water wanted out!
He walked awhile and sat awhile. He was much too listless to look for business and still didn’t feel hungry when noon came. He considered going to get something to eat as usual but felt nauseated when he saw the food. His stomach was full of almost every kind of water and sometimes made a little sloshing noise like the sound inside the belly of a donkey or horse which has just been watered.
When comparing the seasons, Hsiang Tzu had always believed that winter was more horrible than summer. It had never occurred to him that summer could be so unbearable. He’d been through more than one summer in this city all right, but couldn’t recall ever being so hot. Was the weather hotter now than it used to be or was his body failing him? When he thought of that he was suddenly not so muddled and his heart seemed to have grown cold. His body, yes, his own body, wasn’t making it! It frightened him, but there was nothing he could do to change things. There was no way he could drive Hu Niu away. He would turn into another Ch’iang or a man like that tall fellow he’d met or Hsiao Ma’s grandfather. Hsiang Tzu was done for!
He got another fare shortly past noon. This was the hottest part of the day, and the hottest day of the year as well, but he decided to make the trip at a run. He didn’t care how hot it was in the sun. If he managed it, and nothing happened to him, well then, that would prove there was nothing wrong with him. If he couldn’t do it, what was there left to say? He might just as well trip and break his neck on the fiery ground!
He had gone only a little way when he became aware of a cool breeze just like cold winter air coming into a hot room through a slit in the door. He didn’t dare believe it, so he looked at the willows along the road for confirmation. Yes indeed, they were all moving slightly.
Suddenly a great many people were out in the street. Those in the shops fought to get out and then held rush-leaf fans over their heads while they looked around. “There’s a cool breeze! A cool breeze is coming!” Almost all of them wanted to shout and jump for joy. The willows suddenly seemed to have been transformed into angels bringing heavenly tidings. “The willow branches are waving! Lord of Heaven grant us a cool breeze!”
It was still hot but hearts were much calmer. A cool wind, even a little one, gives people lots of hope.
This cool wind passed by and the sunlight was not as strong; it was bright and then somewhat dimmer, as if a veil of flying dust floated in front of it. The wind suddenly rose and those willows, motionless most of the day, acted as if they’d had some pleasant news. Swaying and swinging, their branches looked like they’d grown another length. A gust of wind passed by and the sky darkened. All the gray dust flew high up into the sky and then settled back down and inky clouds were visible on the northern horizon.
There was no more sweat on Hsiang Tzu’s body. He looked northward once, stopped the rickshaw, and put up the rain cover. He knew that summer rain comes when it says it’s coming and doesn’t waste time. He’d just got the cover on when there was another gust of wind. The black clouds were rolling onward and had already covered up half the sky. The hot air on the ground combined with the cold air above and the noisome dry dust. The air seemed cooler but it still was hot. The southern half of the sky was clear and sunny. The black clouds in the northern half were like ink.
Everybody was alarmed and frantic as if some great disaster loomed. Rickshaw pullers hurriedly put up rain covers, shopkeepers scurried to take down their signs, street vendors scrambled around stowing away their goods and mats, and pedestrians rushed by.
There was another blast of wind; when it had passed by, the shop signs, the mats, and the pedestrians all seemed to have been rolled up and carried off by the gust. All that was left were the willow branches following the wind in a mad dance.
The clouds had not yet covered the entire sky but it was already dark on the ground; the too hot, too bright, too clear noontime had abruptly been transformed into something that resembled a dark night. The wind brought the rain as it dashed wildly from east and west as if searching for something on the ground. Far off on the northern horizon there was a red flash as if the clouds had been split open and their blood gushed out. The wind diminished but it made a loud whistling noise that made people shiver. A blast of this kind passed by and nobody seemed to know what to do next. Even the willows were waiting for something apprehensively.
There was yet another flash, white and clear and right overhead. The fast-falling raindrops came with it and forced the dust to leap upward, giving the ground a rainish look of its own. Many huge raindrops pelted Hsiang Tzu on the back and he shivered twice.
The rain paused. Now the black clouds covered the entire sky. Still another blast of wind came, much stronger than the ones before, and the willow branches stretched out horizontally, the dust flew in all directions, and the rain fell in sheets. Wind, earth, and rain were all mixed up together; that gray, cold, roaring wind wrapped everything up inside itself and you couldn’t tell what was a tree, what was ground, or what was cloud. It was a chaos of noise and confusion. The wind passed by, leaving behind only the driving rain to tear the sky, rend the earth, and fall everywhere. You couldn’t see rain. There was only a sheet of water, a blast of wetness, and then innumerable arrowheads that spurted up from the ground and hundreds of torrents that fell from the roofs. In a few minutes the earth was indistinguishable from the sky as the rivers in the air flowed down and the rivers on the ground flowed across them to make a grayish dark turbid yellow, sometimes white, world of water.
Hsiang Tzu’s clothes had been soaked beforehand. There wasn’t a dry spot on him and his hair was wet under his straw hat. The water on the ground covered his feet. It was already hard to walk. The rain above pelted his head and back, swept across his face, and wrapped around his loins. He couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t move forward. He was forced to stand in the middle of all that water without knowing where the road was or what front, back, left, and right were. All he was conscious of was the water that chilled him to the bone and sloshed over him. He was aware of nothing except a great vague hotness in his heart and the sound of rain in his ears. He wanted to put the rickshaw down but didn’t know where to put it. He thought about running but the water held his feet. He could only keep moving, pulling the rickshaw with his head down one step at a time and more dead than alive. The passenger seemed to have died right there in the rickshaw. He let the rickshaw man risk his life in the rain without saying a word.
The rain let up some. Hsiang Tzu straightened up slightly and puffed once. “Sir, let’s take shelter somewhere and then go on!”
“Make it snappy! What do you think you’re doing just leaving me somewhere!” He stamped his feet and yelled.
For a moment Hsiang Tzu actually thought about leaving the rickshaw and going to find someplace out of the rain. But when he looked at how dripping wet he was, he knew he’d only get the shivers if he stopped. He ground his teeth and, paying no attention to whether the water was deep or shallow, began to run. He hadn’t been running long when another flash came close behind another darkening of the sky and rain blurred his vision again.
When they finally arrived his passenger didn’t give him a penny extra. Hsiang Tzu said nothing. He didn’t care if he lived or not.
The heavy rain stopped and then resumed but fell much lighter than before. Hsiang Tzu ran straight home. He hugged the stove to get warm and shivered like the leaves on a tree in the wind and rain. Hu Niu steeped him a bowl of ginger and sugar water and he drank it all down in one draught like an idiot. When he finished he burrowed under his quilt and knew nothing more. His condition was like being asleep and yet not really sleeping. In his ears was the swishing sound of rain.
The black clouds began to look tired a little after four o’clock. Softly and weakly, they let loose paler flashes of lightning. In a while the clouds in the west broke up. The tops of the black clouds were edged with gold and a little whiteness came rushing underneath them. The lightning all went south, dragging the not so terribly loud thunderclaps along with it. After another interval, rays of sunlight came out through the spaces between the clouds in the west, making gold and green reflections on the water-covered leaves. In the east hung a pair of rainbows, their legs in the dark clouds, the tops of their bows in the blue sky. Soon the rainbows faded and there were no more black clouds in the sky.
The blue sky, as well as everything else that had been newly washed, looked like part of a charming world just risen from darkness. Even the “pond” in the mixed courtyard had a few dragonflies hovering over it.
But, except for the barefooted children who chased those dragonflies, no one in the place cared about taking pleasure in the clear sky that followed the rain.
A piece fell out of a corner in the rear wall in Hsiao Fu Tzu’s room and she and her brothers hurriedly tore the matting off the k’ang and blocked up the hole. The courtyard wall had collapsed in several places but no one had time to do anything about it because they were all too busy taking care of their own rooms. Some had front steps that were too low and let the water in. They all had to race around with old bowls and dustpans bailing out the water. Some were on the roof looking for ways to patch it. Some had roofs that leaked like sprinkling cans and got everything inside soaking wet. They were busy moving things outside next to the cookstove to dry or hanging them on windowsills in the sun. They had huddled in their rooms while the rain was falling; rooms that might, when the moment came, collapse and bury them alive. They left their fate to Heaven. After the rain they tried to figure out how to repair their losses.
Although a heavy rain might lower the price of a pound of rice by half a cent, still, their losses were so great that such a trifling drop in price could not make up for them. They paid their rent but no one ever came to repair the place unless the dilapidation was so bad that no one could possibly live there. In that case, two masons would come along and fix up the wall haphazardly with mortar and broken bricks, preparing it for its next collapse. If the rent wasn’t paid the whole family would be thrown out and have its goods confiscated. The walls were cracking, the roof might fall in and kill someone, and no one cared. A place like this was all their tiny income could afford. It was tumbledown, dangerous, and they deserved it!
The greatest loss of all resulted from the sickness brought on by the rainwater. All of them, young and old, were out in the streets looking for a deal all day and the furious rain of summer could pelt down on their heads at any time. They all sold their strength to make a living and were always covered with sweat. The fierce rain of the north was very hard and very cold. Sometimes there were hailstones as big as walnuts in it. If it did nothing else, the ice-cold rain striking at their open pores made them lie on the k’ang with a fever for a day or two.
The children got sick and there was no money for medicine. A spell of rain urged the corn and the kaoliang upward in the fields but it also sprinkled death onto many of the poor children in the city.
The adults got sick, and that was even worse. Poets chant about the lotus “pearls” and double rainbows that come after rain, but poor people suffer from hunger when the wage earners are sick. A spell of rain might well create a few more singsong girls and sneak thieves and put a few more people in jail. When adults get sick it’s much better for boys and girls to become thieves and singsong girls than to starve! “The rain falls on the rich and on the poor, falls on the just and on the unjust.” But the truth is that the rain is not evenhanded at all because it falls on an inequitable world.
Hsiang Tzu was sick and he certainly was not the only sick person in the place.
(Translated by Jean M. James)