by Lu Xun
The only thing that consoles me is the fact that the character “Ah” is absolutely correct. This is definitely not the result of false analogy, and is well able to stand the test of scholarly criticism. As for the other problems, it is not for such unlearned people as myself to solve them, and I can only hope that disciples of Dr. Hu Shi, who has such “a passion for history and research,” may be able in future to throw new light on them. I am afraid, however, that by that time my “True Story of Ah Q” will have long since passed into oblivion.
The foregoing may be considered as an introduction.
Chapter 2
A Brief Account of Ah Q's Victories
In addition to the uncertainty regarding Ah Q's surname, personal name, and place of origin, there is even some uncertainty regarding his “background.” This is because the people of Weizhuang only made use of his services or treated him as a laughing-stock, without ever paying the slightest attention to his “background.” Ah Q himself remained silent on this subject, except that when quarrelling with someone he might glare at him and say, “We used to be much better off than you! Who do you think you are?”
Ah Q had no family but lived in the Tutelary God's Temple at Weizhuang. He had no regular work either, being simply an odd-job man for others: when there was wheat to be cut he would cut it, when there was rice to be hulled he would hull it, when there was a boat to be punted he would punt it. If the work lasted for any length of time he might stay in the house of his temporary employer, but as soon as it was finished he would leave. Thus whenever people had work to be done they would remember Ah Q, but what they remembered was his service and not his “background.” By the time the job was done even Ah Q himself was forgotten, to say nothing of his “background.” Once indeed an old man remarked, “What a worker Ah Q is!” Ah Q, bare-backed, scrawny sluggard, was standing before him at the time, and others could not tell whether the remark was serious or derisive, but Ah Q was overjoyed.
Ah Q, again, had a very high opinion of himself. He looked down on all the inhabitants of Weizhuang, thinking even the two young “scholars” not worth a smile, though most young scholars were likely to pass the official examinations. Mr. Zhao and Mr. Qian were held in great respect by the villagers, for in addition to being rich they were both the fathers of young scholars. Ah Q alone showed them no exceptional deference, thinking to himself, “My sons may be much greater.”
Moreover, after Ah Q had been to town several times he naturally became even more conceited, although at the same time he had the greatest contempt for townspeople. For instance, a bench made of a wooden plank three feet by three inches the Weizhuang villagers called a “long bench.” Ah Q called it a “long bench” too; but the townspeople called it a “straight bench,” and he thought, “This is wrong. Ridiculous!” Again, when they fried large-headed fish in oil the Weizhuang villagers all added shallots sliced half an inch thick, whereas the townspeople added finely shredded shallots, and he thought, “This is wrong too. Ridiculous!” But the Weizhuang villagers were really ignorant rustics who had never seen fish fried in town.
Ah Q who “used to be much better off,” who was a man of the world and a “worker,” would have been almost the perfect man had it not been for a few unfortunate physical blemishes. The most annoying were some patches on his scalp where at some uncertain date shiny ringworm scars had appeared. Although these were on his own head, apparently Ah Q did not consider them as altogether honourable, for he refrained from using the word “ringworm” or any words that sounded anything like it. Later he improved on this, making “bright” and “light” forbidden words, while later still even “lamp” and “candle” were taboo. Whenever this taboo was disregarded, whether intentionally or not, Ah Q would fly into a rage, his ringworm scars turning scarlet. He would look over the offender, and if it were someone weak in repartee he would curse him while if it were a poor fighter he would hit him. Yet, curiously enough, it was usually Ah Q who was worsted in these encounters, until finally he adopted new tactics, contenting himself in general with a furious glare.
It so happened, however, that after Ah Q had taken to using this furious glare, the idlers in Weizhuang grew even more fond of making jokes at his expense. As soon as they saw him they would pretend to give a start and say:
“Look! It's lighting up.”
Ah Q rising to the bait as usual would glare in fury.
“So there is a paraffin lamp here,” they would continue, unafraid.
Ah Q could do nothing but rack his brains for some retort. “You don't even deserve...” At this juncture it seemed as if the bald patches on his scalp were noble and honourable, not just ordinary ringworm scars. However, as we said above, Ah Q was a man of the world: he knew at once that he had nearly broken the “taboo” and refrained from saying any more.
If the idlers were still not satisfied but continued to pester him, they would in the end come to blows. Then only after Ah Q had to all appearances been defeated, had his brownish queue pulled and his head bumped against the wall four or five times, would the idlers walk away, satisfied at having won. And Ah Q would stand there for a second thinking to himself, “It's as if I were beaten by my son. What the world is coming to nowadays!... ” Thereupon he too would walk away, satisfied at having won.
Whatever Ah Q thought he was sure to tell people later; thus almost all who made fun of Ah Q knew that he had this means of winning a psychological victory. So after this anyone who pulled or twisted his brown queue would forestall him by saying, “Ah Q, this is not a son beating his father, it is a man beating a beast. Let's hear you say it: A man beating a beast!”
Then Ah Q, clutching at the root of his queue, his head on one side, would say, “Beating an insect—how about that? I am an insect—now will you let me go?”
But although he was an insect the idlers would not let him go until they had knocked his head five or six times against something nearby, according to their custom, after which they would walk away satisfied that they had won, confident that this time Ah Q was done for. In less than ten seconds, however, Ah Q would walk away also satisfied that he had won, thinking that he was the “Number One self-belittler,” and that after subtracting “self-belittler” what remained was “Number One.” Was not the highest successful candidate in the official examination also “Number One” ? “And who do you think you are?”
After employing such cunning devices to get even with his enemies, Ah Q would make his way cheerfully to the tavern to drink a few bowls of wine, joke with the others again, quarrel with them again, come off victorious again, and return cheerfully to the Tutelary God's Temple, there to fall asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. If he had money he would gamble. A group of men would squat on the ground, Ah Q sandwiched in their midst, his face streaming with sweat; and his voice would shout the loudest: “Four hundred on the Green Dragon!”
“Hey—open there!”
The stake-holder, his face streaming with sweat too, would open the box and chant: “Heavenly Gate!—Nothing for the Corner!... No stakes on Popularity Passage! Pass over Ah Q's coppers!”
“The passage—one hundred—one hundred and fifty.”
To the tune of his chanting, Ah Q's money would gradually vanish into the pockets of other sweating players. Finally he would be forced to squeeze his way out of the crowd and watch from the back, taking a vicarious interest in the game until it broke up, when he would return reluctantly to the Tutelary God's Temple. The next day he would go to work with swollen eyes.
However, the truth of the proverb “Misfortune may prove a blessing in disguise” was shown when Ah Q was unfortunate enough to win and almost suffered defeat in the end.
This was the evening of the Festival of the Gods in Weizhuang. According to custom there was an opera; and close to the stage, also according to custom, were numerous gambling tables, the drums and gongs of the stakeholder's chant. He staked successfully again and again, his coppers turning into silver coins, his silver coi
ns into dollars, and his dollars mounting up. In his excitement he cried out, “Two dollars on Heavenly Gate!”
He never knew who started the fight, nor for what reason. Curses, blows and footsteps formed a confused medley of sound in his head, and by the time he clambered to his feet the gambling tables had vanished and so had the gamblers. Several parts of his body seemed to be aching as if he had been kicked and knocked about, while a number of people were looking at him in astonishment. Feeling as if something were amiss he walked back to the Tutelary God's Temple, and by the time he had calmed down again he realized that his pile of dollars had gone. Since most of the people who ran gambling tables at the Festival were not natives of Weizhuang, where could he look for the culprits?
So white and glittering a pile of silver! All of it his... but now it had disappeared. Even to consider this tantamount to being robbed by his son did not comfort him. To consider himself as an insect did not comfort him either. This time he really tasted something of the bitterness of defeat.
But presently he changed defeat into victory. Raising his right hand he slapped his own face hard, twice, so that it tingled with pain. After this slapping his heart felt lighter, for it seemed as if the one who had given the slap was himself, the one slapped some other self, and soon it was just as if he had beaten someone else—in spite of the fact that his face was still tingling. He lay down satisfied that he had gained the victory.
Soon he was asleep.
Chapter 3
A Further Account of Ah Q's Victories
Although Ah Q was always gaining victories, it was only after he was favoured with a slap in the face by Mr. Zhao that he became famous.
After paying the bailiff two hundred cash he lay down angrily. Then he said to himself, “What is the word coming to nowadays, with sons beating their fathers!” And then the thought of the prestige of Mr. Zhao, who was now his son, gradually raised his spirits. He scrambled up and made his way to the tavern singing The Young Widow at Her Husband's Grave. At that time he did feel that Mr. Zhao was a cut above most people.
After this incident, strange to relate, it was true that everybody seemed to pay him unusual respect. He probably attributed this to the fact that he was Mr. Zhao's father, but actually such was not the case. In Weizhuang, as a rule, if the seventh child hit the eighth child or Li So-and-so hit Zhang Soand-so, it was not taken seriously. A beating had to be connected with some important personage like Mr. Zhao before the villagers thought it worth talking about. But once they thought it worth talking about, since the beater was famous the one beaten enjoyed some of his reflected fame. As for the fault being Ah Q's, that was naturally taken for granted, the reason being that Mr. Zhao could do no wrong. But if Ah Q were wrong, why did everybody seem to treat him with unusual respect? This is difficult to explain. We may put forward the hypothesis that it was because Ah Q had said he belonged to the same family as Mr. Zhao; thus, although he had been beaten, people were still afraid there might be some truth in his assertion and therefore thought it safer to treat him more respectfully. Or, alternatively, it may have been like the case of the sacrificial beef in the Confucian temple: although the beef was in the same category as the pork and mutton, being of animal origin just as they were, later Confucians did not dare touch it since the sage had enjoyed it.
After this Ah Q prospered for several years.
One spring, when he was walking along in state of happy intoxication, he saw Whiskers Wang sitting stripped to the waist in the sunlight at the foot of a wall, catching lice; and at this sight his own body began to itch. Since Whiskers Wang was scabby and bewhiskered, everybody called him “Ringworm Whiskers Wang.” Although Ah Q omitted the word “Ringworm,” he had the greatest contempt for the man. To Ah Q, while scabs were nothing to take exception to, such hairy cheeks were really too outlandish and could excite nothing but scorn. So Ah Q sat down by his side. Had it been any other idler, Ah Q would never have dared sit down so casually; but what had he to fear by the side of Whiskers Wang? In fact, his willingness to sit down was doing the fellow an honour.
Ah Q took off his tattered lined jacket and turned it inside out; but either because he had washed it recently or because he was too clumsy, a long search yielded only three or four lice. He saw that Whiskers Wang, on the other hand, was catching first one and then another in swift succession, cracking them between his teeth with a popping sound.
Ah Q felt first disappointed, then resentful: the despicable Whiskers Wang had so many, he himself so few—what a great loss of face! He longed to find one or two big ones, but there were none, and when at last he managed to catch a middle-sized one, stuffed it fiercely between his thick lips and bit hard, the resultant pop was again inferior to the noise made by Whiskers Wang.
All Ah Q's ringworm patches turned scarlet. He flung his jacket on the ground, spat, and swore, “Hairy worm!”
“Mangy dog, who are you calling names?” Whiskers Wang looked up contemptuously.
Although the relative respect accorded him in recent years had increased Ah Q's pride, he was still rather timid when confronted by those loafers accustomed to fighting. But today he was feeling exceptionally pugnacious. How dare a hairy-cheeked creature like this insult him?
“If the cap fits wear it,” he retorted, standing up and putting his hands on his hips.
“Are your bones itching?” demanded Whiskers Wang, standing up too and draping his jacket over his shoulders.
Thinking that the fellow meant to run away, Ah Q lunged forward to punch him. But before his fist reached the target, his opponent seized him and gave him a tug which sent him staggering. Then Whiskers Wang seized his queue and started dragging him towards the wall to knock his head in the time-honoured manner.
“ ‘A gentleman uses his tongue but not his hands!'” protested Ah Q, his head on one side.
Apparently Whiskers Wang was no gentleman, for without paying the slightest attention to what Ah Q said he knocked his head against the wall five times in succession, then with a great push shoved him two yards away, after which he walked off in triumph.
As far as Ah Q could remember, this was the first humiliation of his life, because he had always scoffed at Whiskers Wang on account of his ugly bewhiskered cheeks, but had never been scoffed at, much less beaten by him. And now, contrary to all expectations, Whiskers Wang had beaten him. Could it really be true, as they said in the market-place: “The Emperor has abolished the official examinations, so that scholars who have passd them are no longer in demand?” This must have undermined the Zhao family's prestige. Was this why people were treating him contemptuously too?
Ah Q stood there irresolutely.
From the distance approached another of Ah Q's enemies. This was Mr. Qian's eldest son whom Ah Q thoroughly despised. After studying in a foreign-style school in the city, it seemed he had gone to Japan. When he came home half a year later his legs were straight and his queue had disappeared. His mother wept bitterly a dozen times, and his wife tried three times to jump into the well. Later his mother told everyone, “His queue was cut off by some scoundrel when he was drunk. By rights he ought to be a big official, but now he'll have to wait till it's grown again.” Ah Q, however, did not believe this, and insisted on calling him a “Bogus Foreign Devil” or “Traitor in Foreign Pay.” At sight of him he would start cursing under his breath.
What Ah Q despised and detested most in him was his false queue. When it came to having a false queue, a man could scarcely be considered human; and the fact that his wife had not attempted to jump into the well a fourth time showed that she was not a good woman either.
Now this “Bogus Foreign Devil” was approaching.
“Baldhead! Ass...” In the past Ah Q had just cursed under his breath, inaudibly; but today, because he was in a rage and itching for revenge, the words slipped out involuntarily.
Unfortunately this Baldhead was carrying a shiny brown cane which looked to Ah Q like the “staff carried by a mourner.” With great strides h
e bore down on Ah Q who, guessing at once that a beating was in the offing, hastily flexed his muscles and hunched his shoulders in anticipation. Sure enough, Thwack! Something struck him on the head.
“I meant him!” explained Ah Q, pointing to a nearby child.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
As far as Ah Q could remember, this was the second humiliation of his life. Fortunately after the thwacking stopped it seemed to him that the matter was closed, and he even felt somewhat relived. Moreover, the precious “ability to forget” handed down by his ancestors stood him in good stead. He walked slowly away and by the time he approached the tavern door he was quite cheeful again.
Just then, however, a little nun from the Convent of Quiet Self-improvement came walking towards him. The sight of a nun always made Ah Q swear; how much more so, then, after these humiliations? When he recalled what had happened, his anger flared up again.
“I couldn't think what made my luck so bad today—so it's meeting you that did it!” he fumed to himself.
Going towards her he spat noisily. “Ugh!.... Pah!”
The little nun paid not the least attention but walked on with lowered head. Ah Q stepped up to her and shot out a hand to rub her newly shaved scalp, then with a guffaw cried, “Baldhead! Go back quick, your monk's waiting for you....”
“Who are you pawing?...” demanded the nun, flushing all over her face as she quickened her pace.
The men in the tavern roared with laughter. This appreciation of his feat added to Ah Q's elation.
“If the monk paws you, why can't I?” He pinched her cheek.