Explore Chapter 12 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.
This pair of white rabbits did not seem long weaned. Though they were of a different species, one could yet perceive their naive and artless nature. They stood with their tiny crimson ears erect, noses twitching, their eyes betraying alarm and doubt-doubtless feeling adrift in unfamiliar surroundings, no longer as secure as they had been in their old home. Such creatures, if bought by oneself on a temple fair day, would cost at most two strings of cash each. But the Third Mistress had paid a whole silver dollar for them, having sent a servant to purchase them from a shop.
The children were of course overjoyed, clamoring as they crowded around to look; the grown-ups too gathered to watch. A little dog called S came running up, barged forward for a sniff, let out a sneeze, and retreated several paces. "S, listen here!" the Third Mistress shouted. "You are not to bite them!" She gave him a slap on the head, and S backed away, never attempting to bite them again.
This pair spent most of their time confined to the small yard behind the rear window-because, I heard, they were excessively fond of tearing the wallpaper and often gnawed on the legs of wooden furniture. A wild mulberry tree grew in this little yard. When its berries fell, the rabbits loved to eat them, even neglecting the spinach set out for them. If crows or magpies tried to descend, they would arch their backs, kick off hard with their hind legs against the ground, and spring up with a sudden, sharp whir like a sudden flurry of snow. The startled birds would hurry away. After a few such encounters, they dared not come near again. The Third Mistress said the birds were not the real worry; at worst they might steal a bit of food. The true menace was a great black cat that often glared down malevolently from the top of the low wall-this was what required vigilance. Fortunately, S was a sworn enemy of cats, so perhaps nothing would come of it.
The children often caught them to play with. Very docile, they would prick up their ears and twitch their noses, standing tamely within the ring of small hands. But given the slightest chance, they would slip away. Their bed at night was a small wooden box lined with straw, placed beneath the eaves by the rear window.
Several months passed in this way. Then, all of a sudden, they began to dig. They dug with astonishing speed, scraping with their front paws and kicking with their hind legs. In less than half a day, they had excavated a deep burrow. Everyone was puzzled. Later, upon closer inspection, it became clear that one rabbit's belly was much larger than the other's. The next day, they busied themselves for hours carrying dry grass and leaves into the hole.
Everyone was delighted, saying there would soon be little rabbits to see. The Third Mistress promptly issued a stern decree to the children, forbidding them from catching the rabbits any more. My mother, too, was pleased by the prospect of their family's expansion, and said that once the newborns were weaned, she would ask for a couple to raise outside her own window.
From then on, they lived in their self-made burrow. They sometimes came out to eat, but later disappeared altogether. It was impossible to tell whether they had stored provisions inside in advance or simply stopped eating. After more than ten days, the Third Mistress told me the pair had reappeared. The litter had probably been born and died, she said, for although the female's teats were full of milk, there was no sign of her going in to nurse. Her words carried a distinct note of indignation and anger, but she was powerless to do anything.
One day, the sun was warm, the air still, the leaves motionless. I suddenly heard laughter and, tracing the sound, saw a crowd of people leaning against the rear window of the Third Mistress. There in the yard was a tiny rabbit, hopping about. It was far smaller than its parents had been when bought, but it could already kick off with its hind legs and make little leaps. The children vied to tell me they had seen another little rabbit poke its head out of the burrow, only to withdraw instantly. That must have been its sibling.
The little one, too, nibbled at some grass, but the mother seemed to forbid it, often snatching the blades from its mouth-though she did not eat them herself. The children's laughter grew loud. Startled at last, the little one hopped and vanished into the burrow. The mother followed right to the entrance. She nudged the little one's back with her front paws, pushing it fully inside. Then she scrabbled at the dirt to seal up the hole.
Yet before long, both the little one and its mother vanished again. The weather had been overcast for days, and the Third Mistress began to fret that they had fallen victim to the great black cat. I disagreed, suggesting it was merely the cold keeping them hidden; once the sun came out, they were sure to emerge.
Only the Third Mistress, who regularly fed them spinach there, still thought of them. Once, going into the small yard behind the window, she suddenly spotted a different hole in the corner of the wall. Looking back at the old entrance, she could just make out numerous claw marks. If these were the big rabbits' marks, their claws should not have been so large. Her suspicion turned again to the great black cat that haunted the wall. She felt compelled to dig. Fetching a hoe, she dug all the way down. Though filled with misgivings, she still harbored a faint hope of finding the little white rabbits. But at the bottom lay only a heap of rotten grass mixed with rabbit fur-likely their birthing bed-and nothing more. The place was utterly deserted, with no trace of the snow-white little rabbits or that sibling who had only peeked out.
Indignation, disappointment, and a profound desolation drove her to dig up the new hole in the corner. As soon as she began, the two big rabbits bolted out. Thinking they had moved house, she was heartened. But she kept digging. Reaching the bottom, she found it, too, lined with grass and rabbit fur, and upon it lay seven tiny rabbits, their bodies a uniform pinkish-red. A closer look showed their eyes were still tightly shut.
From then on, the Third Mistress not only nursed a deep hatred for the black cat but also held the mother rabbit in considerable disdain. It was said that even before those two were lost, others must have died, for a single litter would surely number more than two. Those too weak to compete for the teat would have perished first. This seemed plausible, for among the seven now, two were very frail. So whenever she had a spare moment, she would catch the mother rabbit and place the little ones on her belly one by one to drink their fill, allowing no shortage.
My mother remarked to me that she had never even heard of such a troublesome method of rabbit-rearing; it was probably worthy of inclusion in the *Record of Peerless Deeds*.
But from that time on, I was haunted by a sense of desolation. Sitting by the lamp late at night, I would reflect on how those two small lives had been lost-quietly, imperceptibly, at some unknown hour-vanishing without leaving a trace in the annals of life, without so much as a single bark from S. And I would remember other things. Once, living in a guild hall, I rose early to find a scatter of pigeon feathers under a large locust tree-clearly the remains of a hawk's feast. By mid-morning, when the janitor came to sweep, nothing remained. Who knew a life had ended there? Another time, passing the West Four Archway, I saw a small dog nearly crushed by a carriage. When I returned, it was gone-removed, no doubt. Pedestrians flowed past, oblivious. Who knew a life had ended there? On summer nights, outside my window, I often heard the drawn-out, zhi-zhi scream of a fly-caught, surely, in a spider's jaws. Yet I had never paid it any mind, and others did not even hear it...
If the Creator could be reproached, then I think He creates life far too indiscriminately, and destroys it far too recklessly.
My mother had always strongly disapproved of my mistreating cats. Now, suspecting I meant to avenge the little rabbits with some ruthless act, she got up to question me. And in the general opinion of the household, I was indeed an enemy of cats. I had harmed cats before and often beat them, especially when they were mating. But my reason for beating them was not the mating itself; it was their infernal racket, which kept me from sleep. I saw no need for such a tremendous, special clamor over the business of mating.
Besides, with the black cat having harmed the little rabbits, I now had a "just cause" for action. Thinking my mother far too soft-hearted, I could not help but voice this ambiguous, near-disapproving reply.
The Creator is too capricious. I cannot but defy Him-though in doing so, I may unwittingly be aiding His work...
That black cat would not be strutting upon the low wall much longer-of this I was determined. And my gaze drifted involuntarily to the bottle of potassium cyanide hidden in my bookcase.