Explore Chapter 17 of "马伯乐" with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
His constitution was not robust, yet he suffered from no particular illness. Outwardly, he was thin. But he took no medicine year-round; an occasional chill he cured by simply smoking a few extra cigarettes. Cigarettes, of course, were no remedy for a cold, but upon reflection, he deemed them the more economical choice. What was the use of medicine anyway? A common cold was hardly fatal.
He poured some boiling water from the thermos, stirred it noisily with a spoon until lukewarm, and took a sip himself. Finding it acceptable, he stood by the bed, cup in hand, waiting as if afraid that setting it down would make it unavailable when needed. After a long wait with the child still asleep, his impatience grew, and he shook the little one awake.
By ‘escape,’ he simply meant running away. In any situation that seemed the least bit unfavorable, his first impulse was flight. Where to? He often didn’t know himself. Yet he was bold in his flight, disregarding all else, as if pursued by flood and wild beasts, faster than anyone.
This is bad, Ma Bole thought. Mrs. Ma must be behind this. He happened then to be involved with a young woman, a matter Mrs. Ma had quarreled with him about several times. Had she complained to his father, saying he was chasing after that girl all the way to Shanghai? Staying home any longer would only invite disaster.
Seizing the opportunity while Mrs. Ma was visiting her parents, he asked his father once more about going to Shanghai to study, to see if his father would relent. His father’s answer was final: “You cannot go. Absolutely not.”
The bag was to contain everything-toothbrush, tooth powder. Take the toothbrushes: he opened Mrs. Ma’s pigskin suitcase and saw over a dozen. Take them all, he thought. What a waste not to. If I don’t take them now, I’ll never get another chance. He saw towels, soap-Lux brand, fine soap. Wherever I go, I’ll need to wash my face! And washing requires soap. He saw Mrs. Ma’s patterned handkerchiefs, more than a dozen, in various fabrics-gauze, linen, silk. Among them were several expensive ones she had frugally saved for herself. Now they were his. He was delighted. He thought to himself:
Ma Bole chuckled sweetly to himself. The more he looked at the little handkerchiefs, the lovelier they seemed.
Ma Bole was ecstatic. After closing this suitcase, he opened the next. By the time he was ready to leave, he had looted three large suitcases and two small ones.
He packed over twenty neckties, new and old-every necktie he owned. More than twenty pairs of socks, new and old; some were so worn as to be useless, others dirty and unwashed. Having no time to sort them, he stuffed them all in.
What he couldn’t take, he strewed across the floor, leaving the room in utter disarray. Mrs. Ma’s talcum powder dusted the bed. Worn shoes, tattered socks, even the children’s belongings lay scattered about. He had no intention of returning.
A young person dwelling long in such a household would be corrupted, would rot, would grow moss all over his soul. Like mold in the rainy season, a lively modern youth would sprout a fuzz of lethargy, just like those plants on the ocean floor. That slimy, slippery feeling when bathing in the sea and stepping on seaweed-how profoundly unpleasant! Slowly, a youth in this house would become just like that, like those submarine growths. In short, this place was uninhabitable, a den of senile decay. Just look at his father! Every morning he rose and prayed to God for over half an hour. Kneeling, glasses off, his droning voice buzzed like a giant bee around one’s ears, an indistinct murmur. Sometimes he would cup his hands over his face, motionless as a stone carving. After prayers, he would put on his glasses and sit at the long, ironwood table in the parlor-styled after an antique Chinese design-reading the Bible Pastor Jianying had given him, its pages edged in gold. That Bible was bound with such luxury that only his father was permitted to handle it; even his mother was forbidden, let alone anyone else. It was treated with more reverence than the Ma family genealogy. Since his father’s conversion to Christianity, the genealogy had been stored away, only brought out for the New Year. Not like this Bible, which sat untouched year-round.
Old Master Ma was, at heart, a gentleman of the pure old Chinese school, dressed in an antique bronze robe with large floral patterns, formal cloth-soled shoes, his fingernails grown half an inch long. Yet he affected foreign ways. When foreign friends from the local church visited, the old man would call the servant “Boy” and shout for beer:
Everything foreign was superior. Foreign children were plump. Foreign women were capable. Foreign glassware was sturdy. Foreign woolens were of the finest quality.
The grandfather’s instruction did not stop there; he also taught the grandchildren to read the Bible. Sometimes he would summon them to stand respectfully before the long table and read a passage.
Listening, some would begin to doze off, mingling these new phrases with the scattered bits they remembered from church. They stood there picking their noses, biting their nails, eyes glazing over in a daze, nodding off.
At this point, the grandfather would dismiss them with a command. Out in the hallway, the children would remain quiet for a good while, some rubbing their eyes, others yawning.
On the Sabbath, from dawn to dusk, no purchases were allowed-not groceries, not fruit. In summer, when watermelon vendors passed by with their loads, they could not buy. Anything to eat had to be purchased the day before. If one forgot, or bought watermelon but not muskmelon, or when apricots and plums came into season simultaneously, buying one often meant forgetting the other. Besides, the market offered too great a variety to buy everything. So when the children cried too much, their mother would secretly buy them treats. Should the old master discover this, he said nothing on the Sabbath itself. But the next day, for any fault brought to his attention, he would summon the offender to the long table, open the gilded Bible, and read a passage to them.
Is this any way to raise children? What use will they be when they grow up? The Chinese nation sinks deeper into the abyss with each passing day! If every family in China is like this, teaching their children from infancy to light up at the sight of a foreigner as if gazing upon silver dollars… Foreigners aren’t here to hand out silver dollars! Damn it all! They’ve drained the wealth and vitality of our people, and still we bow and scrape before them!
And as for this Mrs. Ma, she’s utterly insipid now. Since having children, she’s stopped reading, stopped keeping a diary. Every day she just holds the Bible, pretending to read, putting on airs. She claims she doesn’t truly believe in Jesus, but does it for the sake of the future inheritance-how can one not play along? She says the old man has declared that whoever shows the greatest loyalty to the Lord Jesus will receive the largest share in the will.
Therefore, he thought, he must take with him everything he might possibly need. Leave anything behind, and it would be gone for good, lost forever.
He could foresee events before they occurred. He could imagine the worst and, dwelling on it, make it seem even worse. A pessimistic situation, once he turned his mind to it, could be made to appear utterly irredeemable. The slightest flaw in any object would catch his eye immediately, branding it worthless and fit only to be discarded.
Dining at a Chinese restaurant, upon pulling out a chair, he would first feel it with his fingers for grime. If clean, he sat. If dirty, he still sat, but only after standing there hesitantly for a moment with a look of mild distaste. When chopsticks were placed on the table, he would subject them to an inspection. His method was peculiar. Unlike most people who would wipe them with the accompanying paper wrapper, he held them up to his eyebrows, scrutinizing them closely. Only then would he take out his own handkerchief and wipe them fastidiously, as if his handkerchief alone were clean. In truth, this was not the case; he washed that handkerchief but once a week, tossing it into his bathwater. At Western restaurants, however, he placed his complete trust in the establishment. He would pull out a chair without a glance and sit down (though he might sometimes run a hand over the tablecloth, but that was to admire the精致 embroidery, not to check for dirt). When presented with a knife, fork, and a white napkin, he wouldn’t even look at the cutlery. Without a moment’s doubt, he would plunge it into the meat pie.
Shopping at Chinese stores, he loved nothing more than haggling for a bargain. Even with clearly marked prices, he would look at the price tag and still try to bargain. Men’s rayon socks, forty cents a pair? He would insist on thirty-five. Refused, he would buy them anyway. And he would never bother to check another shop, for he had his own calculation:
“These socks aren’t expensive! Forty cents is cheap. At a big department store, they’d cost fifty cents for sure.”
At foreign stores, he did not haggle. Even if encouraged to, he would not. Even for items without price tags, if the foreign shopkeeper said two dollars, he paid two; three dollars, three. He betrayed not the slightest concern for money, producing it from his pocket without a moment’s hesitation.