Explore Chapter 2 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.
The layout of the taverns in Luzhen is unlike anywhere else: each features a large right-angled counter facing the street, with hot water kept inside for warming wine at any time. Laborers, after knocking off at noon or in the evening, would often spend four coppers to buy a bowl of wine-this was over twenty years ago, now each bowl has risen to ten coppers-and stand outside the counter, drinking it hot to rest; if willing to spare one more copper, they could get a dish of salted bamboo shoots or Aniseed Beans, as a snack to accompany the wine; if they spent over a dozen coppers, they might purchase a meat dish, but such customers, mostly from the short-coated class, were seldom so well-off. Only those in long gowns would saunter into the room adjoining the shop, order wine and dishes, and sit drinking leisurely.
From the age of twelve, I worked as an attendant at the Xianheng Tavern by the town entrance. The proprietor said I looked too simple-minded to serve long-gowned patrons, so he assigned me to duties outside. The short-coated customers out there, though easier to deal with, were often garrulous and nitpicky. They would insist on watching the yellow wine being ladled from the vat, check if the pot had water at the bottom, and see it placed in hot water before they felt assured. Under such strict supervision, it was quite a challenge to dilute the wine. So after a few days, the proprietor declared I wasn't fit for that either. Fortunately, my recommender had considerable influence, so I couldn't be dismissed, and I was switched to the exclusive and monotonous task of warming wine.
From then on, I stood behind the counter all day, attending solely to my duty. Though I never neglected my work, I always found it somewhat monotonous and dull. The proprietor wore a fierce expression, and the patrons were seldom cheerful, making it impossible to feel lively; only when Kong Yiji came to the tavern could we have a few laughs, which is why I still remember him.
Kong Yiji was the only long-gowned customer who drank his wine standing. He was a tall man with a large frame, a pale, almost sallow complexion, wrinkles often interspersed with scars, and a disheveled, grizzled beard. Though he wore a long gown, it was dirty and tattered, seemingly unmended and unwashed for over a decade. When he spoke, it was always full of archaic literary phrases, which were only half-understandable. Because his surname was Kong, people took the semi-intelligible phrase "Scholar Kong Yiji" from the old-fashioned copybooks and nicknamed him Kong Yiji. Whenever Kong Yiji arrived, all the drinkers would look at him and laugh, some calling out, "Kong Yiji! You've got fresh scars on your face again!" He would ignore them and say to the counter, "Warm two bowls of wine, and bring a dish of Aniseed Beans." Then he would lay out nine large coppers. They would deliberately shout louder, "You must have stolen something again!" Kong Yiji would open his eyes wide and protest, "How can you blacken a man's name so groundlessly…" "What good name? I saw you with my own eyes the day before yesterday, stealing books from the He family and getting strung up and beaten." Kong Yiji's face would turn crimson, the veins on his forehead bulging as he argued, "Taking books from a scholar's home… that's merely borrowing, not stealing!… Matters pertaining to a scholar, can they be called theft?" Then followed a stream of even more incomprehensible remarks, quotes from the Confucian classics about gentlemen enduring poverty and the like, which sent everyone present into roars of laughter: the tavern was filled with a joyous air.
From overhearing private discussions, I learned that Kong Yiji had once studied the classics but never passed the imperial examinations, and having no trade to fall back on, he grew poorer and poorer until he was almost reduced to begging. Fortunately, he wrote a fine hand and could copy out books for others in exchange for a meal. Unfortunately, he had one fatal flaw: he was fond of drinking and averse to work. After sitting at the task for a few days, he would disappear, books, paper, brushes, and inkstone all vanishing with him. This happened several times, until no one would hire him for transcription work. Left with no alternative, Kong Yiji occasionally resorted to petty theft. But his conduct at our tavern was better than anyone else's, for he never defaulted on his payment; though sometimes, when short of ready cash, he would have his debt chalked up on the tally-board, within a month he would surely settle it and have Kong Yiji's name wiped off.
After drinking half a bowl of wine, Kong Yiji's flushed face would gradually return to normal, and others would ask again, "Kong Yiji, do you really know how to read?" Kong Yiji would look at the questioner with an expression of lofty disdain. They would then press on, "How come you never even managed to become a licensed scholar?" At this, Kong Yiji would immediately appear dejected and uneasy, his face clouding over with a gray pallor, and he would mutter more of those half-intelligible classical phrases, utterly incomprehensible this time. At such moments, everyone would laugh together, and the tavern was again filled with a joyous air.
During these times, I could join in the laughter without the proprietor ever scolding me. Moreover, the proprietor himself often questioned Kong Yiji like this to amuse everyone. Knowing he couldn't hold a proper conversation with them, Kong Yiji would turn to the children. Once he said to me, "Have you studied?" I gave a slight nod. He said, "Studied… then let me test you. How do you write the character 'hui' as in Aniseed Beans?" I thought to myself, a beggar like him, how dare he test me? So I turned my face away and paid him no heed. Kong Yiji waited a long while, then said with great earnestness, "You can't write it, can you?… I'll teach you. Remember it! These characters should be memorized. When you become a proprietor, you'll need them for bookkeeping." I thought to myself that I was far from becoming a proprietor, and besides, our proprietor never entered Aniseed Beans into the accounts; both amused and impatient, I replied indifferently, "Who needs you to teach me? Isn't it the character 'hui' with the grass radical on top?" Kong Yiji looked extremely pleased, tapping the counter with his long fingernails as he nodded, "Right, right!… But the character for 'hui' has four distinct forms, do you know them?" I grew even more impatient and, pouting, walked away. Kong Yiji had just dipped a fingernail in wine to write the characters on the counter, but seeing my utter lack of interest, he sighed and looked deeply regretful.
A few times, neighboring children, drawn by the laughter, would join the excitement and crowd around Kong Yiji. He would then give them Aniseed Beans to eat, one bean each. After finishing the beans, the children still wouldn't disperse, their eyes fixed on the dish. Kong Yiji would grow flustered, cover the dish with his splayed fingers, bend down, and say, "There aren't many left. I haven't got many." Straightening up, he would look at the beans again, shake his head, and murmur, "Not many, not many! Are there many? No, not many." Then this group of children would scatter amidst fresh gales of laughter.
One day, about two or three days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, the proprietor was slowly settling accounts. He took down the tally-board and suddenly said, "Kong Yiji hasn't been here for a long time. He still owes nineteen coppers!" Only then did I realize he indeed hadn't come for ages. A drinker nearby said, "How could he come?… He broke his leg." The proprietor said, "Oh!" "He kept on stealing. This time, he was foolhardy enough to steal from Provincial Graduate Ding's house. How could he steal from there?" "What happened then?" "What happened? First, he wrote a confession, then he was beaten. They thrashed him for most of the night, and then broke his leg." "And after that?" "After that, his leg was broken." "What happened after his leg was broken?" "What?… Who knows? Maybe he's dead." The proprietor asked no further and slowly resumed his accounting.
After the Mid-Autumn Festival, the autumn wind grew colder day by day as winter approached; even while sitting by the fire all day, I had to wear a padded jacket. One afternoon, with no customers about, I was sitting with my eyes closed. Suddenly, I heard a voice, "Warm a bowl of wine." The voice was very low but familiar. Looking up, I saw no one. I stood to peer outside and found Kong Yiji sitting by the threshold, right below the counter. His face was dark and dreadfully thin, and he looked a wretched sight; he wore a tattered lined jacket, and sat cross-legged on a rush mat which was attached to his shoulders by a straw rope. Seeing me, he repeated, "Warm a bowl of wine." The proprietor also leaned out from behind the counter and said, "Kong Yiji? You still owe nineteen coppers!" Kong Yiji looked up dejectedly and replied, "This… I'll settle it next time. This time it's cash. Make sure the wine is good." The proprietor, smiling at him as usual, said, "Kong Yiji, you've been stealing again!" But this time he didn't argue much, merely muttering, "Don't tease…" "Tease? If you hadn't stolen, how would your leg be broken?" Kong Yiji murmured, "I fell… I fell, I fell…" His expression seemed to plead with the proprietor to let the matter drop. By then, several people had gathered, and they all laughed along with the proprietor. I warmed the wine, brought it out, and placed it on the threshold. He fumbled four coppers from his torn pocket and put them in my hand. I saw his hand was covered in mud-apparently he had come here using those very hands. Shortly after, he finished the wine and, amid the laughter and talk of others, slowly dragged himself away on his hands.
After that, I didn't see Kong Yiji for a long time again. At the lunar New Year, the proprietor took down the tally-board and said, "Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers!" By the Dragon Boat Festival the following year, he said again, "Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers!" But when the Mid-Autumn Festival came, he didn't mention it, and by the next lunar New Year, there was still no sign of him.