Explore Chapter 4 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.
Red-nosed Old Gong held a bowl of yellow wine; as he spoke, he pursed his lips toward the wall of the neighboring house. Blue-skinned Ah Wu put down his wine bowl, gave Old Gong a hard thump on the back, and mumbled:
Now, Luzhen was a quiet place, still clinging to old customs. Before the first watch sounded, everyone had closed their doors and gone to sleep. In the deep of night, only two households were awake. One was Xianheng Tavern, where a few drinking friends gathered around the counter, eating and drinking merrily; the other was the neighbor Widow Shan Si. Since her husband died the year before last, she had relied solely on her own hands spinning cotton yarn to support herself and her three-year-old son, which was why she kept such late hours.
At that moment, Widow Shan Si sat on the edge of the bed holding her Bao'er. The spinning wheel stood silent on the floor. The dim lamplight fell on Bao'er's face, flushed crimson with a tinge of pallor. Widow Shan Si reckoned to herself: she had drawn temple lots, offered sacred vows, tried every folk remedy. If these still brought no improvement, what was she to do?-The only recourse was to consult Immortal He. But perhaps Bao'er's condition was milder by day and worse by night. By tomorrow, with the sunrise, the fever might break and the wheezing might ease. Such things were common enough among the sick.
Widow Shan Si was a simple woman who did not grasp the dread hidden in that word "but." While many a bad thing indeed turned good because of it, many a good thing was also ruined on its account. Summer nights are short. Not long after Old Gong and his companion fell silent, the eastern sky began to pale. Soon, a silvery dawn light stole through the crack in the window.
Widow Shan Si waited for daybreak, but unlike others, she found it excruciatingly slow; each of Bao'er's breaths seemed to stretch longer than a year. Now it was finally bright. The brightness of day overwhelmed the lamplight-and she saw Bao'er's nostrils flaring, in and out.
Widow Shan Si knew things were amiss. She cried out inwardly, "Aiya!" and thought: What was to be done? The only way was to consult Immortal He. Though a simple woman, she was decisive. She stood up, took from the wooden cabinet the thirteen small silver dollars and one hundred eighty copper coins she had saved day by day, stuffed them into her pocket, locked the door, and holding Bao'er, hurried straight to the He residence.
It was still early, yet four patients already sat in He's house. She took out four silver coins for the registration slip, and Bao'er was fifth in line. Immortal He stretched out two fingers to take the pulse, his nails over four inches long. Widow Shan Si marveled inwardly and thought: Bao'er should pull through. But anxiety got the better of her; she couldn't resist asking, and so stammered out:
"Stagnation in the central cavity."
"It is fire subjugating metal..."
Immortal He spoke only half the sentence and closed his eyes; Widow Shan Si felt too embarrassed to press further. A man in his thirties sitting opposite Immortal He, who had already written out a prescription, pointed to a few characters in the corner of the paper and said:
Widow Shan Si took the prescription and walked off, thinking. Although a simple woman, she knew that the He residence, the Salvation Pharmacy, and her own home formed a triangle; naturally, it was simpler to buy the medicine and head straight back. So she hurried directly to the Salvation Pharmacy. The shop assistant, with his long nails, examined the prescription slowly and wrapped the medicine with deliberate care. Widow Shan Si held Bao'er and waited; Bao'er suddenly raised a tiny hand and tugged forcefully at a loose strand of her hair-an act he had never done before. Widow Shan Si was struck with a dread that rooted her to the spot.
The sun had risen long ago. Widow Shan Si carried the child, the medicine package growing heavier with each step; the child struggled incessantly, and the road seemed to stretch longer. Helpless, she sat down on the threshold of a mansion by the roadside to rest awhile. Her clothes gradually felt icy against her skin, and she realized she was drenched in sweat; Bao'er seemed to have fallen asleep. She rose and walked on slowly, still struggling, when suddenly she heard a voice by her ear:
Widow Shan Si dearly wished at that moment for a celestial warrior to descend and lend her aid, but she did not wish it to be Ah Wu. Yet Ah Wu had a chivalrous streak and, come what may, was bent on helping. After some demurral, she finally gave her consent. He then stretched out his arm, thrusting it right down between her bosom and the child, and lifted the boy away. Widow Shan Si felt a wave of heat rise from her breast, flushing her face and ears in an instant.
They walked on together, some two and a half feet apart. Ah Wu kept up a chatter to which Widow Shan Si gave scant reply. They had not gone far when Ah Wu returned the child to her, saying the time for his prearranged meal with friends had come; Widow Shan Si took back the child. Fortunately, home was not far off. She soon saw Ninth Aunt Wang from across the way sitting by the street, who called out from a distance:
Bao'er took the medicine after noon. Widow Shan Si watched his expression closely; he seemed much calmer. Then in the afternoon, he suddenly opened his eyes and cried "Mama!" before closing them again as if falling back asleep. He slept for a spell, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and the tip of his nose. Widow Shan Si touched them gently-they clung to her fingers like glue. In panic, she felt his chest and could not hold back her sobs.
Bao'er's breathing faded from calm to nothing, and Widow Shan Si's sobs swelled into wails. A few knots of people gathered then. Inside the door were Ninth Aunt Wang, Blue-skinned Ah Wu, and the like; outside were the manager of Xianheng and Red-nosed Old Gong, and the like. Ninth Aunt Wang took command. She had a string of paper money burned; then, using two benches and five garments as security, she borrowed two silver dollars for Widow Shan Si to provide a meal for the helpers.
The first problem was the coffin. Widow Shan Si still had a pair of silver earrings and a gold-wrapped silver hairpin. She gave these to the manager of Xianheng, entrusting him to act as guarantor for a coffin, half paid in cash, half on credit. Blue-skinned Ah Wu also thrust forth his hand, eager to volunteer; Ninth Aunt Wang would not allow it, permitting him only the task of bearing the coffin the next day. Ah Wu cursed "old beast" and stood sullenly, lips pursed. The manager went off on his own; that evening he returned, saying the coffin had to be made to order and would be ready only after midnight.
By the time the manager returned, the helpers had already eaten. As Luzhen still observed old customs, everyone went home to sleep before the first watch. Only Ah Wu remained, leaning against Xianheng's counter drinking, while Old Gong hummed his tune.
At this time, Widow Shan Si sat on the edge of the bed weeping, Bao'er lay on the bed, and the spinning wheel stood silent on the floor. After a long while, Widow Shan Si's tears ran dry. Her eyes opened wide as she looked around, feeling it all very strange: none of this could be happening. She reckoned to herself: It must be a dream, all of it a dream. Tomorrow she would wake up, safely in her bed, and Bao'er would be sleeping soundly beside her. He would wake too, call out "Mama," and leap up to play, full of life and vigor.
The silvery light gradually flushed crimson, and the sun's rays soon touched the roof ridge. Widow Shan Si sat with vacant eyes, staring blankly; until a knocking at the door startled her into running to open it. Outside stood an unfamiliar man with something on his back; behind him was Ninth Aunt Wang.
It was late afternoon before the coffin lid was fastened: because Widow Shan Si would weep awhile, gaze awhile, and could not bear to have it sealed shut for good. Fortunately, Ninth Aunt Wang grew impatient and indignantly rushed forward, dragged her aside, and only then did they manage, with many hands, to close the lid.
Yet Widow Shan Si had truly done all she could for her Bao'er, leaving no shortcoming. Yesterday, a string of paper money was burned; this morning, forty-nine scrolls of the "Great Compassion Mantra" were burned. When he was laid out, they dressed him in his newest clothes. His favorite playthings-a clay figurine, two small wooden bowls, two glass bottles-were placed beside his pillow. Later, Ninth Aunt Wang counted on her fingers and pondered carefully, but could still think of nothing wanting.
That whole day, Blue-skinned Ah Wu simply failed to appear. The manager of Xianheng thus hired two bearers for Widow Shan Si, at two hundred and ten big coins each, to carry the coffin to the paupers' cemetery for burial. Ninth Aunt Wang also helped her cook a meal, which was eaten by all who had lifted a hand or spoken a word. The sun gradually took on the hue of setting; those who had eaten likewise began to show a desire to return home-and so they all finally went home.
Widow Shan Si felt very dizzy. After resting a while, she actually grew somewhat steady. But then she was struck by a profound strangeness: she had encountered something never before experienced in her life, something that should not be, yet had undeniably come to pass. The more she thought, the odder it seemed. And she sensed another peculiar thing-the room had suddenly become far too quiet.
She stood up, lit the lamp, and the room seemed quieter still. In a daze, she went to bolt the door, returned to sit on the edge of the bed. The spinning wheel stood silent on the floor. She collected herself and looked around, feeling even more she could neither sit nor stand. The room was not only too quiet, but also too large, and the things within it too empty. The overlarge room closed in on her from all sides; the overempty things pressed upon her from all sides, stifling her breath.
She knew now that her Bao'er was truly dead. Unwilling to face the room, she blew out the lamp and lay down. She wept and thought. She thought of that time when she was spinning cotton yarn, and Bao'er sat beside her eating aniseed beans. He would stare with his little black eyes, think for a moment, and say, "Mama! Papa sold wontons. When I grow up, I'll sell wontons too, and earn lots and lots of money-I'll give it all to you." In those days, even every inch of the yarn she spun seemed meaningful, every inch alive. But now, what had happened? As for the present, Widow Shan Si could really think of nothing.-As I've said before: she was a simple woman. What could she possibly think? She only felt the room was too quiet, too large, too empty.
But though Widow Shan Si was simple, she knew the dead do not return to life, and that her Bao'er could indeed be seen no more. She sighed and said to herself, "Bao'er, you should still be here. Let me see you in a dream." Then she closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep quickly to meet her Bao'er, her labored breathing passing through the silence, the vastness, and the void, clear in her own ears.
Widow Shan Si finally drifted into a hazy slumber; the whole room was utterly still. By then, Red-nosed Old Gong's tune was long finished. Staggering out of Xianheng, he raised his voice to a shrill pitch and sang: