A Small Incident
一件小事 · Call to Arms
A Small Incident
I had left the countryside for the capital six years before. In that time I had witnessed and heard of a good many events which were said to be of national importance, but none of them had left any impression on me. If I had been asked to trace any lasting effect they had had on me, all I could have said was that they had made me worse-tempered—or, in plain terms, had simply taught me to look down on people more each day.
But one small incident had significance for me, for it dragged me out of my bad temper and I have never forgotten it.
It was the winter of the sixth year of the Republic, and a fierce north wind was blowing. Because I had to earn my living, I had to be out early. I met hardly anyone on the way, but finally I engaged a rickshaw and told him to pull me to the S Gate. Soon the wind dropped, the dust had blown off the road, leaving a clean white highway, and the rickshaw man pulled faster. Just before the S Gate, the shaft seemed to hook a woman, who slowly fell.
It was a woman with greying hair and ragged clothes. She had suddenly darted across the road in front of us; the rickshaw man had already swerved, but her tattered cotton-padded jacket, unbuttoned, had blown open in the breeze and caught on the shaft. Fortunately the rickshaw man had slowed down, or she would certainly have taken a bad fall and cut her head open.
She lay on the ground; and the rickshaw man stopped. I was sure the old woman was not hurt, and as there was no one else in sight, I thought him a fool to ask for trouble and delay me.
"Go on!" I told him. "There's nothing wrong."
The rickshaw man ignored me—or perhaps did not hear—but put down his shafts and helped the old woman up slowly. Supporting her arm, he asked:
"What's the matter with you?"
"I fell and hurt myself."
I thought: I saw you fall slowly. How could you be hurt? You're just putting on an act, and that's really disgusting. The rickshaw man was asking for trouble, and now he had it. Let him get out of it as best he could.
But when the rickshaw man heard this, he showed no hesitation. Still supporting her arm, he walked slowly forward. I was amazed and looked ahead—there was a police station, and after the gale no one was outside. The rickshaw man was leading the old woman straight to the gate.
Then I had a sudden strange feeling. His dusty back seemed suddenly to loom larger, and the further he walked the larger it grew, until I had to look up to see it. And it seemed to bear down on me too, until it threatened to squeeze out the "smallness" hidden under my fur coat.
My energy seemed to have slowed down. I sat there without moving or thinking, until a policeman came out of the station and I got out of the rickshaw.
The policeman came up to me. "Engage another rickshaw yourself. He can't pull you any more."
Without thinking, I took a handful of coppers from my overcoat pocket and gave them to the policeman. "Please give him…"
The wind had dropped completely, and the road was still quiet. I walked on, thinking, almost afraid to think about myself. Leaving aside what had happened before, what was the meaning of this handful of coppers? Was it a reward? Was I in a position to judge the rickshaw man? I could not answer myself.
This incident keeps coming back to me even now. Because of it I am still sometimes in pain, and I try to think about myself. The political and military achievements of the past few years have faded from my memory like the "Confucius says" and "The Book of Songs says" I read as a child—I cannot remember a single sentence of them. Only this small incident keeps rising before my eyes, sometimes even more clearly, making me ashamed, urging me to reform, and giving me courage and hope.
(July 1920. This paragraph was not in the first publication, but was added when Call to Arms was collected.)
一件小事
我從鄕下跑到京城裏，一轉眼已經六年了。其間耳聞目覩的所謂國家大事，算起來也很不少；但在我心裏，都不留什麽痕迹，倘要我尋出這些事的影響來說，便只是增長了我的壞脾氣，——老實說，便是教我一天比一天的看不起人。
但有一件小事，卻於我有意義，將我從壞脾氣裏拖開，使我至今忘記不得。
這是民國六年的冬天，大北風刮得正猛，我因爲生計關係，不得不一早在路上走。一路幾乎遇不見人，好容易纔雇定了一輛人力車，教他拉到S門去。不一會，北風小了，路上浮塵早已刮淨，剩下一條潔白的大道來，車夫也跑得更快。剛近S門，忽而車把上帶著一個人，慢慢地倒了。
跌倒的是一個女人，花白頭髮，衣服都很破爛。伊從馬路邊上突然向車前橫截過來；車夫已經讓開道，但伊的破棉背心沒有上釦，微風吹著，向外展開，所以終於兜著車把。幸而車夫早有點停步，否則伊定要栽一個大觔斗，跌到頭破血出了。
伊伏在地上；車夫便也立住腳。我料定這老女人並沒有傷，又沒有別人看見，便很怪他多事，要自己惹出是非，也誤了我的路。
我便對他說，『沒有什麽的。走你的罷！』
車夫毫不理會，——或者並沒有聽到，——卻放下車子，扶那老女人慢慢起來，攙着臂膊立定，向伊說：
『你怎麽啦？』
『我摔壞了。』
我想，我眼見你慢慢倒地，怎麽會摔壞呢，裝腔作勢罷了，這眞可憎惡。車夫多事，也正是自討苦喫，現在你自己想法去。
車夫聽了這老女人的話，卻毫不躊躇，仍然攙著伊的臂膊，便一步一步的向前走。我有些詫異，忙看前面，是一所巡警分駐所，大風之後，外面也不見人。這車夫扶著那老女人，便正是向那大門走去。
我這時突然感到一種異樣的感覺，覺得他滿身灰塵的後影，剎時高大了，而且愈走愈大，須仰視纔見。而且他對於我，漸漸的又幾乎變成一種威壓，甚而至於要榨出皮袍下面藏著的『小』來。
我的活力這時大約有些凝滯了，坐着沒有動，也沒有想，直到看見分駐所裏走出一個巡警，纔下了車。
巡警走近我說，『你自己僱車罷，他不能拉你了。』
我沒有思索的從外套袋裏抓出一大把銅元，交給巡警，說，『請你給他……』
風全住了，路上還很靜。我走着，一面想，幾乎怕敢想到我自己。以前的事姑且擱起，這一大把銅元又是什麽意思？獎他麽？我還能裁判車夫麽？我不能回答自己。
這事到了現在，還是時時記起。我因此也時時熬了苦痛，努力的要想到我自己。幾年來的文治武力，在我早如幼小時候所讀過的『子曰詩云』一般，背不上半句了。獨有這一件小事，卻總是浮在我眼前，有時反更分明，教我慚愧，催我自新，並且增長我的勇氣和希望。
（一九二〇年七月。）初次發表時無此文，爲《吶喊》編集時所加。