Explore Chapter 5 of '呐喊' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
Six years have flown by since I came from the countryside to the capital. During this time, I have witnessed and heard of many so-called national events; but not one of them has left any mark on my mind. If I were forced to trace their influence, I could only say they have made my bad temper worse. To be frank, they have taught me to despise people more with each passing day.
It was the winter of 1917, and a fierce north wind was blowing. Due to my livelihood, I had to go out early in the morning. There was hardly anyone on the road, and with great difficulty I managed to hire a rickshaw and told him to take me to <<<S Gate>>>. After a while, the north wind subsided, and the dust on the road had long been swept clean, leaving a pristine white thoroughfare. The rickshaw puller ran even faster. Just as we were approaching <<<S Gate>>>, the shafts suddenly caught a person, who slowly fell.
The one who fell was a woman with greying hair and tattered clothes. She had suddenly darted out from the roadside right in front of the rickshaw; the puller had already swerved to avoid her, but her tattered cotton-padded vest was unbuttoned, and the breeze billowed it out, so it finally caught on the shafts. Fortunately, the puller had slowed down a bit; otherwise, she would have taken a heavy tumble and ended up with a broken head and bleeding.
Hearing the old woman's words, the rickshaw puller did not hesitate at all. Still supporting her by the arm, he began to walk forward step by step. I was somewhat surprised and hurriedly looked ahead. It was a police substation; after the strong wind, no one was outside. The puller, supporting the old woman, was heading straight for that gate.
At that moment, I suddenly felt a strange sensation. His dusty back seemed to grow larger in an instant, and as he walked farther, it grew even larger, until I had to look up to see it. Moreover, to me, he gradually became almost a kind of oppressive force, even threatening to squeeze out the "smallness" hidden beneath my fur-lined gown.
My vitality seemed somewhat frozen then; I sat without moving or thinking, until I saw a policeman come out of the substation, and only then did I get down from the rickshaw.
The wind had completely died down, and the road was still quiet. As I walked, I pondered, almost afraid to think of myself. Setting aside past matters, what did this handful of coppers mean? A reward for him? Could I still judge the rickshaw puller? I couldn't answer myself.
Even now, this incident often comes to mind. Because of it, I often endure pain, striving to think of myself. The civil and military affairs of recent years have long been like the "Confucian classics" I read as a child, from which I cannot recall half a line. Only this small incident always floats before my eyes, sometimes even more vividly, teaching me shame, urging me to renew myself, and increasing my courage and hope.