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 wine shops in Luzhen is unique: each has a large, L-shaped counter facing the street, with hot water ready inside for warming wine. Laborers, after work around noon or evening, would spend four coppers-this was over twenty years ago, now it costs ten-to buy a bowl of wine, stand by the counter, drink it warm, and rest. If willing to spend one more copper, they could buy a dish of salt-boiled bamboo shoots or Aniseed Beans as a snack. For over ten coppers, one could get a meat dish, but most customers were from the short-coated class and seldom so extravagant. Only those in long gowns would stroll into the inner room next to the shop, order wine and dishes, and sit drinking leisurely.
From the age of twelve, I worked as a waiter at the Xianheng Tavern at the town entrance. The boss said I looked too foolish to serve long-gowned customers, so I was assigned tasks outside. Short-coated customers, though easier to deal with, were often garrulous and nitpicky. They insisted on watching the yellow wine being ladled from the vat, checking if there was water at the bottom of the pot, and seeing it warmed in hot water before they were satisfied. Under such strict supervision, diluting the wine was nearly impossible. After a few days, the boss said I couldn’t handle this either. Fortunately, out of respect for my recommender, he couldn’t dismiss me, so I was switched to the tedious job of exclusively warming wine.
From then on, I stood behind the counter all day, devoted to my duty. Though I never neglected my work, I found it monotonous and dull. The boss wore a fierce expression, and the customers were never cheerful, making it impossible to liven up. Only when Kong Yiji came to the shop 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 pallid face, wrinkles often interspersed with scars, and a messy, grizzled beard. Though he wore a long gown, it was dirty and tattered, as if unmended and unwashed for over a decade. When he spoke, he was always full of pedantic phrases, half-understood by others. Because his surname was Kong, they took the half-intelligible phrase 'Shangda Ren Kong Yiji' from children’s copybooks and nicknamed him Kong Yiji. Whenever Kong Yiji entered the shop, all the drinkers would look at him and laugh. Some would call out, "Kong Yiji, you’ve got fresh scars on your face again!" Ignoring them, he would say to the counter, "Warm two bowls of wine and bring a dish of Aniseed Beans." Then he would produce nine coppers. They would deliberately shout louder, "You must have stolen something again!" Kong Yiji would open his eyes wide and say, "How can you wrong an innocent man like that..." "What innocence? I saw you steal books from the He family the other day and get beaten for it." Kong Yiji would flush crimson, the veins on his forehead bulging, and argue, "Taking books can’t be counted as stealing... Taking books!... A scholar’s affair, can that be called theft?" Then followed unintelligible words like "a gentleman remains poor" and "zhe hu" and the like, provoking loud laughter from everyone, filling the shop with a merry atmosphere.
From whispered conversations, I heard that Kong Yiji had studied books but never passed the imperial examinations, and he lacked any means of livelihood. Thus, he grew poorer until he was nearly reduced to begging. Fortunately, he wrote a good hand and could copy books for others in exchange for a meal. Unfortunately, he had a bad habit: he loved drink and was lazy. After a few days of sitting, he would disappear along with the books, paper, brushes, and inkstones. After this happened several times, no one asked him to copy books anymore. Having no alternative, Kong Yiji occasionally resorted to theft. Yet in our shop, his conduct was better than others’-he never defaulted on payment. Even if he occasionally had no cash and his debt was temporarily chalked on the tally-board, within a month he would surely repay and have Kong Yiji’s name wiped off.
After drinking half a bowl of wine, Kong Yiji’s flushed face gradually returned 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 air of disdain, as if deigning no reply. They would then say, "How is it you never managed to obtain even half a Xiucai?" At this, Kong Yiji would immediately appear disheartened and uneasy, his face clouding over with grayness, and he would mutter something-this time all pedantic phrases, completely incomprehensible. Then everyone would laugh heartily, and the shop would be filled with a merry atmosphere.
At such times, I could join in the laughter without fear of reprimand from the boss. Indeed, the boss himself often asked Kong Yiji such questions to provoke mirth. Knowing he couldn’t converse with them, Kong Yiji would turn to the children. Once he said to me, "Have you studied books?" I nodded slightly. He said, "Studied books... then let me test you. How do you write the character for 'hui' in Aniseed Beans?" I thought, how could a beggar-like man presume to test me? So I turned away and ignored him. Kong Yiji waited a long time, then said earnestly, "You can’t write it, can you?... Let me teach you. Remember! These characters should be remembered. When you become a boss someday, you’ll need them for bookkeeping." Secretly, I thought I was far from being a boss, and our boss never entered Aniseed Beans in the accounts. Amused yet impatient, I lazily replied, "Who needs you to teach? Isn’t it the character 'hui' with a grass radical over the character for 'return'?" Kong Yiji looked extremely pleased, tapped the counter with his long fingernails, and nodded, "Right, right!... But do you know there are four ways to write the character 'hui'?" Growing more impatient, I pursed my lips and walked away. Kong Yiji had just dipped his nail in wine to write on the counter, but seeing my lack of interest, he sighed deeply, looking utterly regretful.
A few times, neighborhood children, hearing the laughter, would join the fun and gather around Kong Yiji. He would give them Aniseed Beans to eat, one bean each. After eating the beans, the children still wouldn’t leave, their eyes fixed on the dish. Kong Yiji grew flustered, spread his fingers to cover the dish, bent down, and said, "Not many left, I haven’t many left." Straightening up, he glanced at the beans again, shook his head, and muttered, "Not many, not many! Are there many? No, not many." Then the children dispersed amid laughter.
Kong Yiji brought such amusement, yet without him, life went on just the same for others.
One day, about two or three days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, the boss was slowly settling accounts, taking down the tally-board, when he 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 said, "How could he come?... He broke his leg." The boss said, "Oh!" "He was still stealing. This time, he was so foolish as to steal from Provincial Graduate Ding’s house. Can one steal from there?" "What happened then?" "What happened? First, he wrote a confession, then he was beaten, thrashed for most of the night, and his leg was broken." "And then?" "Then his leg was broken." "After it was broken, what then?" "What then?... Who knows? Probably dead." The boss asked no more and continued slowly calculating his accounts.
After the Mid-Autumn Festival, the autumn wind grew colder each day, as winter approached. I spent my days huddled by the fire, needing a padded jacket. One afternoon, with no customers, I was sitting with my eyes closed. Suddenly, I heard a voice, "Warm a bowl of wine." Though very low, the voice was familiar. Looking, I saw no one. Standing up to peer outside, I saw Kong Yiji sitting by the threshold under the counter. His face was dark and emaciated, almost unrecognizable. He wore a tattered lined jacket, his legs crossed, sitting on a rush mat tied with straw rope over his shoulder. Seeing me, he repeated, "Warm a bowl of wine." The boss also leaned out and said, "Kong Yiji? You still owe nineteen coppers!" Kong Yiji looked up dejectedly and replied, "This... I’ll clear it next time. This time it’s cash, and make the wine good." The boss, as usual, said with a laugh, "Kong Yiji, you’ve stolen again!" But this time he didn’t argue much, only saying, "Don’t make fun of me!" "Make fun? If you hadn’t stolen, how would your leg be broken?" Kong Yiji whispered, "Fell and broke it, fell, fell..." His expression seemed to beg the boss to drop the subject. By then, a few people had gathered, and they laughed along with the boss. I warmed the wine, brought it out, and placed it on the threshold. He fumbled in his tattered pocket, produced four coppers, and placed them in my hand. I saw his hands were covered in mud-he had crawled here using them. After a while, he finished the wine and, amid the chatter and laughter of others, slowly crawled away using his hands.
After that, I didn’t see Kong Yiji for a long time again. At the year-end, the boss took down the tally-board and said, "Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers!" At the Dragon Boat Festival the next year, he said again, "Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers!" But by the Mid-Autumn Festival, he didn’t mention it, and by the next year-end, there was still no sign of him.
To this day, I have never seen him again-probably Kong Yiji is indeed dead. March 1919.