第十二章 (Chapter Twelve)

Ma Bole had always been a timid man, even before the War of Resistance. He was from Qingdao. Having fled Qingdao for Shanghai, a city now engulfed in the roar of cannons and fire, he arrived on a large ocean steamer. With no money to his name, he disembarked and took a room in a small inn. The inn was tucked away in an alley on Fulili Road in the French Concession, packed with refugees who had fled from all over.

Staying at the inn, Ma Bole had nothing to do each day but eat and sleep. Three days passed like this. On the fourth day, he thought he must find something to do, otherwise what would become of him if he went on like this? He thought he could be a teacher, or maybe find work as a proofreader in a newspaper office. He reckoned he could handle proofreading. Even if his writing wasn’t polished, he knew a misspelled word when he saw one. He didn’t think proofreading would be hard.

So he went to the newspaper offices looking for work. "Have you done proofreading before?" they asked him. "No, but I can do it," he said. "We need experienced proofreaders here. We don’t hire without experience," they replied. He went to three or four other papers and got the same answer. He tried publishing houses next, and they said the same thing. Then he tried schools, and they said the same thing. Thoroughly rebuffed, he went back to the inn.

What was he to do? He thought he could try manual work, so he went to the factories. But the factories didn’t want him either. Only then did he truly feel it: he was unemployed, he was a man without a profession. He had always thought fleeing the war was one thing and finding a job another. Surely one still had to look for work even while being displaced by the war. Now he realized how hard it was to find work in the midst of this wartime exodus. He grew pessimistic. He thought about going home, but then reconsidered. What good would that do? Wouldn’t it just mean more misery? His father would never show him a friendly face.

He thought and thought, then lay back down on the bed. Once he was lying down, his pessimistic thoughts returned. His future looked bleak, his prospects frightening. He was unemployed now, he had no money, he would surely starve to death. Thinking of himself as such a pitiful wretch, he began to cry. He cried bitterly, as he had never cried before. He cried for a while, then stopped. What was the use of crying? He had to come up with something.

He thought again. Maybe he could start a small business, but he had no capital. He thought of borrowing money from friends, but then he remembered: his friends were all poor too, who had money to lend him? He grew pessimistic again. Just as he was sinking into despair, he suddenly heard voices from the next room, loud voices, a woman’s voice. "You must leave, quickly," she said. "This is no place to stay. The Japanese planes come to bomb every day, who knows when they might hit here."

Then a man’s voice, low and hushed: "If I go, what will you do?" The woman said: "Don’t worry about me. You go, quickly. I’ll be fine here alone." The man said: "How can that be? How can I leave you here by yourself?" The woman said: "You must go. If you don’t, we’ll both die here." The man fell silent. Hearing this, Ma Bole thought the man and woman were probably husband and wife, now forced to part because of the war.

Thinking of this, Ma Bole turned his thoughts to himself. He was still alone, unmarried, without a sweetheart. If he had someone, he could flee the war together with her, he wouldn’t feel so lonely. And when, he wondered, would he ever have someone? At this thought, he was filled with melancholy again. As he lingered in his melancholy, he heard the woman in the next room start crying. She cried bitterly, sobbing between tears: "Go, go quickly. Don’t come back."

Hearing her cry, Ma Bole felt even more wretched. How pitiable this woman was! Her husband was leaving her, she would be alone here, what would become of her? Thinking this, he thought of himself again. Wasn’t he alone here too? Wasn’t he too without anyone to care for him, without anyone to show concern? At this thought, he began to cry again. He cried for a while, then stopped. Crying was useless. He had to find a way to live.

So he got up from the bed, thinking to take a walk outside to clear his head. On the street he saw refugees everywhere, in tattered clothes, some holding children, others carrying bundles. They wandered up and down the street, they had nowhere to stay, they were all looking for a place to sleep. Seeing these refugees, Ma Bole thought, wasn’t he a refugee now too? Wasn’t he just like them? Thinking this, he felt a kinship with them in their shared misery.

He walked for a bit and saw a crowd gathered around a spot. Drawing closer, he saw it was a soup kitchen giving out porridge to refugees. The refugees were lined up, waiting to receive their portion. Ma Bole watched them squat by the roadside and eat, eating with such relish as if that porridge were the finest delicacy in the world. Watching them eat, he felt his own stomach growl with hunger. He wanted to go get a bowl too, but then he reconsidered. He was a man with an education, after all-how could he line up with these refugees for porridge? So he held back.

He stood there a moment, then walked on. A little further, he saw a recruitment station. A banner read: "Recruiting Volunteer Army to Defend Greater Shanghai." Many young men were signing up. Ma Bole watched them and thought, he could sign up too. As a soldier, he’d have food to eat, he wouldn’t have to worry about survival anymore. But then he thought again: soldiers had to fight, and fighting meant getting killed. Ma Bole was terrified of death. How could he become a soldier? So he didn’t sign up.

He walked a little more, then went back to the inn. Back in his room, lying on the bed, he thought about what he’d seen on the street: the refugees, the young recruits. He thought and thought until he grew pessimistic again. He was at a dead end. He couldn’t find work, he couldn’t join the army. He would surely starve to death. At this thought, he began to cry again. He cried for a while, then stopped. Crying was useless. He had to sleep.

He fell asleep. In the middle of the night, he was jolted awake by the sound of planes. The noise was deafening, right over his head it seemed. He trembled all over with fright, scrambled off the bed, wanting to hide underneath. But looking under the bed, it was piled high with stuff, he couldn’t squeeze in. So he sat on the bed, listening to the planes. The sound grew louder and louder, and then he heard the explosions, so loud they shook his room.

Scared out of his wits, he thought a bomb might just fall on his head, he’d be blown to bits. At this thought, he began to cry again. He cried for a while, and then the sound of the planes gradually faded, until it was gone. He knew the planes had passed, and only then did he breathe a sigh of relief. He tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t. He lay with his eyes open until dawn.

After daybreak, he heard the woman in the next room crying again. He heard her sob: "He’s gone, he really left, he won’t ever come back." Hearing this, Ma Bole knew her husband was gone. And again he thought of himself. He was still alone, he still had no one. If he were to die, no one would cry for him either. At this thought, he was overcome with grief again.

After a while in his grief, he got up, wanting to go out and see where last night’s bombs had hit. On the street he saw many buildings damaged-some collapsed, others on fire. There were dead and injured lying in the streets. Seeing this, Ma Bole felt sick at heart. How cruel war was! How many families it shattered, how many people it left homeless! Thinking this, he thought of himself again. Wasn’t he too a man with no home to return to?

He watched for a while, then went back to the inn. Back inside, he heard the woman in the next room had stopped crying. She was talking to someone else. The woman said: "I’m alone now. What am I to do?" The other person said: "Don’t be sad. You can find someone else." The woman said: "Find someone else? How can I? In my state, who would want me?" Hearing this, Ma Bole wondered, this woman was alone now, what would become of her? Would she end up like him, with no food and nowhere to stay?

Thinking this, a sudden idea struck him. He could go and get to know this woman, he could comfort her, he could help her. So he left his room and went to her door and knocked. "Who is it?" the woman asked from inside. Ma Bole said: "It’s me, from next door." The woman opened the door. Ma Bole saw her-a woman in her thirties, not bad-looking, her face etched with sorrow.

Ma Bole said: "I heard you crying and it saddened me, so I came to see if you were all right." The woman said: "Thank you." Ma Bole said: "No need to thank me. We’re both victims of this war. We ought to help each other." The woman said: "Yes, we ought to help each other." Ma Bole said: "Your husband’s gone. You’re alone here. What do you plan to do?" The woman said: "I don’t know. My mind is in a whirl right now."

Ma Bole said: "Don’t be sad. Take your time, think it over slowly. You’ll think of something." The woman said: "Thank you for comforting me." Ma Bole said: "Don’t thank me. I’m homeless too, with nobody to care about me. So we’re two of a kind, sharing the same misfortune." Hearing this, the woman began to cry again. "We’re both poor, unfortunate creatures!" she sobbed.

Seeing her cry, Ma Bole felt wretched too, so he comforted her some more. The two of them talked for a long time. They talked of their backgrounds, of what had befallen them. The more they talked, the more they felt they were kindred spirits in misery. In the end, Ma Bole said to the woman: "We’re both homeless, we both have no one who cares. Why don’t we look after each other?"

Hearing this, the woman was taken aback at first. Then, after thinking it over, she said: "What you say makes sense. We’re both helpless now. Maybe things will be a little better if we’re together." Hearing her words, Ma Bole was overjoyed. He thought, from now on he wouldn’t be alone anymore, he had a woman with him. So he moved into her room, and the two of them began living together.

After the two of them started living together, Ma Bole’s life improved a little, because now he had someone to cook for him and wash his clothes. The woman was good to Ma Bole, she looked after him, she was considerate. Ma Bole felt he was a little bit happy now. He wasn’t as pessimistic as before, and he didn’t cry as much as before.

But life was still hard for the two of them, because neither had a job, neither had any income. They lived off the little money Ma Bole had brought with him, and that little money was soon spent. Once the money was gone, they had nothing to eat. The two of them just had to go hungry. Ma Bole couldn’t stand the hunger, so he went out to look for work again, but after a few days of looking, he still found nothing.

He couldn’t find work, so he grew pessimistic again. He thought if they went on like this, the two of them would surely starve to death. Seeing Ma Bole so downcast, the woman comforted him: "Don’t be sad. We’ll think of something." Ma Bole said: "Think of what? We’re both useless." The woman said: "We could start a small business." Ma Bole said: "What kind of small business? We don’t have any capital." The woman said: "We could borrow some money."

Ma Bole said: "From whom? Who would lend us money?" The woman said: "We could borrow from a loan shark." Ma Bole said: "From a loan shark? The interest is sky-high. If we borrow, how will we ever pay it back?" The woman said: "We can’t worry about that now. Let’s borrow first, start a business, and pay it back once we earn." Ma Bole thought for a moment and said: "All right, let’s go borrow from a loan shark then."

The two of them went and borrowed money from a loan shark. With the borrowed money, they bought a batch of cigarettes and matches, set up a little stall on the street, and started selling cigarettes and matches. Just like that, the two of them started a small business. After a few days, business wasn’t bad. They earned a little money each day. Seeing they could earn money, Ma Bole was happy. He thought now the two of them could make a living.

But the money they earned wasn’t much. After paying the loan shark’s interest, it was just enough for the two of them to eat. They still ate very sparingly every day, afraid to eat too much, afraid the money would run out. They lived like this day after day, not knowing how long this kind of life would last.

One day, Ma Bole was selling cigarettes on the street when he saw a young man walk over. The young man was dressed smartly and carried a cane. At a glance, Ma Bole recognized him. It was a former university classmate of his, surnamed Wang, named Wang Baogui. Seeing Wang Baogui, Ma Bole was overjoyed. He thought he could borrow some money from him. So he called out: "Wang Baogui! Wang Baogui!"