Miscellaneous Memories and Random Writings -- Selected Works from Sanlian

Author: Yang Jiang
Editor: Zheng Yong
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-04-01
Features: Excerpt: I often took an old man's tricycle. He pedaled, I sat, and we chatted along the way. According to Lao Wang himself: After the liberation of Beijing, all tricycle peddlers were organized. At that time, he "was slow on the uptake," "didn't catch up," "came too late," and thus "wasn't included." He lamented that "as he grew old, he was no longer useful." Lao Wang often felt anxious about being left behind and out of place because he was a solo worker. His only means of survival was his old, dilapidated tricycle; he had an older brother who had died, and his two nephews "weren't promising," and besides that, he had no other relatives. Lao Wang wasn't just old—he only had one eye; the other was a "snail eye," meaning he was blind. Passengers were reluctant to take his tricycle, fearing he couldn't see clearly and might hit something. Some said that this old bachelor likely wasn't honest in his youth, contracted some terrible disease, and lost one eye. His good eye was also sick, and he couldn't see in the dark. Once, he crashed into a utility pole, swelling on one side of his face, turning purple and blue. At that time, we were at the re-education farm, and my daughter said he had night blindness, so she gave him a large bottle of cod liver oil, and he could see at night. He might have lost one eye from poor nutrition since childhood, or perhaps from some terrible disease—anyway, it was an unhappy fate, and the latter was undoubtedly a deeper misfortune. One evening, my husband and I were taking a walk when we passed a desolate alley and saw a dilapidated courtyard with a few collapsed small houses. Lao Wang was pedaling his tricycle into the courtyard. Later, while chatting with Lao Wang while riding his tricycle, I asked if that was his home. He said he had lived there for many years. One summer, Lao Wang delivered ice to the families downstairs and offered to deliver it to our house for half the price. Of course, we didn't accept his discount. Every morning, Lao Wang carried the ice up to the third floor and put it in our refrigerator for us. The ice he delivered was twice the size of his predecessor's, yet the price was the same. Most of us knew the tricycle peddlers at the alley entrance, and Lao Wang was one of the honest ones. He never realized we were easy targets; he probably never thought about that at all. When the Cultural Revolution began, Mo Cun suddenly couldn't walk with one leg. I took leave for him and asked Lao Wang to take him to the hospital. I didn't dare to take the tricycle myself and waited at the bus stop outside the hospital. Lao Wang helped Mo Cun off the tricycle but refused to take money. He said, "I'm taking Mr. Mo to the hospital—I won't take money." I insisted on giving him money, and he whispered in a hoarse voice, "Do you still have money?" I smiled and said I did, but he took the money but still didn't seem entirely at ease.