Explore Chapter 5 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.
Six years have passed in a flash since I ran from the countryside to the capital. During this time, I have witnessed and heard of quite a few so-called national events. Yet none have left any trace in my heart. If I were to pinpoint their impact, it would only be that they have exacerbated my ill temper-frankly speaking, they have made me look down upon people more and more each day.
It was the winter of the sixth year of the Republic. A fierce north wind was blowing. Due to my livelihood, I had to go out early in the morning. Hardly anyone was on the road. With great difficulty, I hired a rickshaw and told him to take me to S Gate. After a while, the north wind subsided. The dust on the road had long been swept clean, leaving a pristine white thoroughfare. The rickshaw man ran even faster. Just as we were approaching S Gate, the shaft suddenly caught someone, and they slowly fell.
The one who fell was a woman with graying hair and tattered clothes. She suddenly darted from the roadside across the front of the rickshaw. The rickshaw man had already swerved to avoid her, but her worn cotton vest was unbuttoned. The breeze blew it open, and it finally caught on the shaft. Fortunately, the rickshaw man had slowed down a bit. Otherwise, she would have taken a heavy tumble and ended up with a bloody head.
Upon hearing the old woman's words, the rickshaw man didn't hesitate at all. Still supporting her arm, he walked forward step by step. I was somewhat surprised. Hastily looking ahead, I saw a police substation. After the strong wind, no one was outside. The rickshaw man, supporting the old woman, was heading straight for that gate.
At that moment, I suddenly felt a strange sensation. His dusty back seemed to grow tall in an instant, and as he walked farther, it grew even larger, until I had to look up to see it. Moreover, to me, he gradually became almost a kind of pressure, even squeezing out the petitness hidden beneath my fur coat.
My vitality seemed to congeal at that point. I sat motionless, not thinking, until I saw a policeman emerge from the substation. Only then did I get off the rickshaw.
The policeman approached me and said, "Hire another rickshaw for yourself. He can't take you anymore."
The wind had completely died down. The road was still quiet. As I walked, I pondered, almost afraid to think of myself. Setting aside past matters, what did this handful of coppers mean? A reward for him? Could I still judge the rickshaw man? I couldn't answer myself.
Even now, this incident often comes to mind. Because of it, I often endure pain, striving to reflect on myself. The civil and military affairs of recent years have long faded from my memory, just like the "Confucius said" and "Book of Songs" I read as a child, of which I can't recall half a line. Only this small incident always floats before my eyes, sometimes even clearer, teaching me shame, urging me to renew myself, and increasing my courage and hope.