Selected Works of Lao She - 60 Literary Masters of the Century

Author: Lao She
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: He is not afraid of hard work and does not have the faults of ordinary rickshaw pullers that are excusable but not easily emulated. His intelligence and effort are enough to make his ambitions come true. If his circumstances were better or if he had received more education, he would not have ended up in the "rubber band." Moreover, whatever he did, he would never let himself down. Unfortunately, he had to pull rickshaws; well, even in this profession, he proved his ability and intelligence. He was like a good ghost even in hell. Raised in the countryside, he lost his parents and a few acres of thin farmland and came to the city at the age of eighteen. Carrying the strength and honesty of a country youth, he did almost every job that paid with hard labor. But soon, he realized that pulling rickshaws was an easier way to earn money. Other hard labor jobs had limited income; pulling rickshaws offered more variety and opportunities, and he might earn more than he hoped at unexpected times and places. Naturally, he knew that such opportunities were not entirely accidental but required both him and his rickshaw to be in good condition and to have something to sell to meet discerning customers. After thinking it over, he believed he had the qualifications: he had strength and was young; the only thing lacking was experience in driving and the courage to start with a nice rickshaw. But this was not an insurmountable difficulty. With his body and strength as a foundation, he was confident that after a trial period of ten days or so, he would be able to drive well, then rent a new rickshaw, and perhaps soon get a regular passenger. Then, by saving and spending prudently for a year or two, even three or four years, he would be able to buy his own rickshaw—a beautiful one! Looking at his youthful muscles, he thought this was just a matter of time. It was a goal and purpose he was determined to achieve, not a dream! His physique and muscles had developed beyond his years. In his early twenties, he was already tall and strong, though his limbs had not yet been shaped by time. Yet, he already looked like an adult—a grown man with an innocent and mischievous air. Watching the skilled rickshaw pullers, he planned how to tighten his waist to make his fan-like chest and straight back more prominent. He turned his head to look at his shoulders, how broad and imposing they were! After tightening his waist, he would wear fat-legged white pants, the cuffs tied with chicken intestine strings, revealing his "extra-large" feet! Yes, he was undoubtedly going to be an outstanding rickshaw puller. He laughed at himself, as if he were foolish. He didn’t have much of a look, but what made him endearing was the spirit in his face. His head was not very big, with round eyes, a meaty nose, and two short, thick eyebrows. His hair was always neatly shaven. There was no excess fat on his cheeks, but his neck was almost as thick as his head. His face was always rosy, with a particularly noticeable scar between his cheekbone and right ear—a mark left by a donkey when he was sleeping under a tree as a child. He paid little attention to his appearance, for he loved his face as much as he loved his body, both being strong and sturdy. He regarded his face as part of his limbs, as long as it was sturdy, it was good. Yes, even after coming to the city, he could still stand upside down for half an hour. Standing like this, he felt as if he were like a tree, straight and sturdy from top to bottom. Indeed, he was like a tree—strong, silent, yet full of vitality. He had his own plans and some cunning, but he didn’t like to discuss them with others. Among the rickshaw pullers, personal grievances and difficulties were common talk. At the "rickshaw stand," in small tea houses, and in the big courtyards, everyone reported, described, or argued about their own stories, which then became everyone’s property, like folk songs passed from place to place. Xiangzi was a countryman, and his speech was not as nimble as that of city dwellers. If fluency was an innate talent, he was naturally reluctant to talk much, so he also refused to learn the city dwellers’ frivolous and malicious talk. He knew his own story and didn’t like to discuss it with others. Because he often had free time, he had time to think, his eyes as if always looking into his own heart. Once his mind was made up, he would follow the path his heart opened. If the path didn’t work out, he could remain silent for a day or two, gritting his teeth as if biting his own heart! Once he decided to pull rickshaws, he did just that. He rented a broken rickshaw and started practicing his legs. He didn’t earn much money that day. The next day, his business was good, but after lying down for two days, his ankles swelled like two gourds and he couldn’t lift them anymore. He endured it, no matter how much pain he felt. He knew this was inevitable, a necessary step in pulling rickshaws. Only after passing this test could he dare to run freely. After his feet healed, he could run. This made him very happy, for there was nothing else to fear: he knew the city well, even if it meant taking a detour sometimes, which didn’t matter much, as he had plenty of strength. He understood the method of pulling rickshaws through his experience with pushing, pulling, carrying, and lifting, and it wasn’t very difficult. Moreover, he had his own plan: pay attention, avoid competition, and he probably wouldn’t run into trouble. As for bargaining and fighting for passengers, his slow speech and quick temper made him no match for the old hands. Knowing this weakness, he simply didn’t go to the "rickshaw stand." Wherever there were no rickshaws, he would leave his there. At this quiet spot, he could bargain calmly, and sometimes he wouldn’t even ask for a price, just saying, "Get in, and pay what you think it’s worth!" His appearance was so honest, and his face so simple and endearing, that people seemed to have no choice but to trust him, not daring to think that this foolish big fellow could be a trickster. Even if people suspected, they could only wonder if he was a new countryman who didn’t know the city well and couldn’t bargain. When people asked, "Do you know the way?" he would give a smile that was both foolish and charming, leaving people unsure how to respond. After two or three weeks, he had mastered his driving. He knew his driving style was very good-looking. Driving style was proof of a rickshaw puller’s skill and qualifications. Those who dragged their feet like a pair of fans on the ground were clearly newcomers from the countryside. Those over fifty, who ran slowly with their heads bowed low and feet scraping the ground, ran at a speed almost the same as walking, yet they gave every appearance of running. Those who had experience but little strength had their own way: they kept their chests in, took deep breaths, lifted their legs high, and peeked forward with every step. In this way, they gave the impression of running hard, yet in reality, they were no faster than others. They relied on their "style" to maintain their dignity. Xiangzi, of course, would never adopt any of these poses. His long legs and large strides, his steady waist, and the quiet sound of his running—each step had some flexibility. The handle of the rickshaw didn’t move, making the passengers feel safe and comfortable. When told to stop, no matter how fast he was running, he would lightly tap the ground with his big feet twice and come to a stop. It seemed his strength could reach every part of the rickshaw. His back was slightly bent, his hands loosely gripping the handlebar. He moved with agility, precision, and without haste; he ran very fast but without danger.