Rickshaw Boy: A Novel

by She Lao

  The passengers he hauled received no special treatment from Xiangzi. He took them where they wanted to go and not a step farther. If they said the entrance to an alley, then expected him to take them down the alley, not on your life! He was ready to meet his disappointed passengers glare for glare, and he always won, since he knew his nicely clad riders were afraid of getting their foreign suits dirty. He also knew how unreasonable and cheap these men—most of them, at least—were. All right, he was ready. The moment they popped off, he reached out, grabbed the sleeves of their fifty- or sixty-yuan suit coats, and decorated them with a big black handprint. It was not a free gift, for they still had to pay him. If they doubted his strength, their sore, skinny arms told them all they needed to know.

  He still ran fast, but breakneck speed did him no good. If his passenger told him to speed up, he’d slow to a shuffle and demand, “You want speed? What’ll you pay for it?” He sold blood and sweat, not courtesy. No longer did he hold out hope that a generous tip awaited him at the end of a run. The price—what he thought was fair—had to be settled before he put his muscle to work.

  A rickshaw was nothing to be pampered. No longer did he fancy buying one of his own, nor did he care about those owned by others. They were just rickshaws. When he pulled one, he ate and paid the rent; when he didn’t, he paid no rent, and as long as he had enough money to buy food, why worry about it? That was the relationship—the only relationship—between man and rickshaw. He was not one to deliberately damage one of them, but he saw no need to go all out to take care of one, either. From time to time, he was involved in an accident with another rickshaw, but he was no longer hopping mad when that happened. He’d calmly take it back to the owner’s shed, and if he was told to pay fifty cents for the damage, he’d hand over twenty. What if the owner demanded more? Easy—he’d threaten to settle the matter with his fists, and he was happy to oblige if the owner was up for it.

  Experience is the soil of life; it determines what a man will become. A peony will not grow in the desert. Xiangzi fell into a rut, neither better nor worse than any other rickshaw man, just an ordinary member of the trade. Not only did that make for a more comfortable life, but it also gained him acceptance from his peers. All crows are black, and he had no desire to be the only one with white feathers.

  Another winter arrived, bringing a yellow sandstorm from the desert that in a single night froze many people to death. Xiangzi reacted to the howl of the wind by burying his head under the covers and staying there until it stopped. With a reluctant grumble he got up, not sure if he wanted to go out or take the day off. Although he was deterred by the thought of grasping those icy shafts, his greatest fear was the choking, nauseating blasts of wind. Dusk usually calmed the gale-like winds, and by four that afternoon, they had died out completely, as patches of sunset pink peeked through the evening haze. He forced himself to take his rickshaw out, tucking his hands into his sleeves and pushing the crossbar ahead with his chest, plodding along listlessly, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Darkness fell, and he decided to haul a couple more fares before knocking off for the day. He didn’t even feel like lighting the lanterns until four or five policemen along the way finally got him to comply.

  In front of the Drum Tower he stole another man’s fare under the street lamps and began hauling his passenger to East City. Without even taking off his padded robe, he loped along, knowing how pathetic that looked, but so what! Would he get anything extra by doing a better job of it? He wasn’t pulling: he was just going through the motions, and even when his forehead was beaded with sweat, he didn’t stop to take off his robe. What difference did it make? When he turned down an alley, a dog that must have reacted to the sight of a rickshaw man running in a padded robe nipped at his heels. Xiangzi stopped, grabbed his whisk broom, and took off after the dog. Even after the dog had run off, he waited, in case it dared come back. It didn’t. “Fucking cur!” he cursed spiritedly. “Think I’m afraid of you?”

  “What the hell kind of rickshaw man are you?” his passenger asked angrily.

  It was a familiar voice, and Xiangzi’s heart skipped a beat. The alley was pitch black, and the lantern beams, though bright enough, pointed down, making it impossible to see the man’s face. He was wearing a hooded winter hat that hid his features, all but his eyes. Xiangzi was still trying to recall where he’d heard that voice when the man asked, “Aren’t you Xiangzi?”

  Now he knew. It was Fourth Master Liu! Stunned, he went hot all over and didn’t know what to do.

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  “Dead!” Xiangzi stood there glued to the spot. Did he say that, or was it somebody else?

  “What? She’s dead?”

  “Yes, she’s dead.”

  “Anybody who falls into your fucking hands is sure to die!” Xiangzi suddenly found himself.

  “Get down! I said get down! I’d knock you down from there if you weren’t so old. Now get down!”

  His hands shaking, Fourth Master climbed down. “Where’s she buried? Tell me that.”

  “That’s none of your business!” Xiangzi picked up the shafts and walked off.

  After putting some distance between them, he turned to look. The old man—a big black shadow—was still standing there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Xiangzi had forgotten where he was headed as he strode forward, head high, both hands gripping the shafts, eyes blazing, mindless of direction or destination. Happy and carefree, he felt as if he had disgorged all the bad luck that had come his way since marrying Huniu onto Fourth Master Liu. Disregarding the cold and forgetting to look for fares, he single-mindedly walked on, as if somewhere up ahead was the place where he would rediscover his old self, that happy-go-lucky, clean and honest, ambitious, hardworking Xiangzi. The vision of the old man standing in the middle of the alley made anything he might say unnecessary. Triumphing over Fourth Master was the ultimate victory. He hadn’t raised a hand against him, hadn’t given him the boot, but the old man had lost his only close relative, while Xiangzi remained free and perfectly at ease. No one could say that vengeance wasn’t sweet. If the news did not kill Fourth Master outright, it would surely hasten his death. He had everything; Xiangzi had nothing. But Xiangzi could happily pull a rickshaw, while the old man could not even learn where his daughter was buried. All right, old man, even with your piles of money and prodigious temper, you are no match for a poor rickshaw man who can barely manage two meals a day.

  As his spirits soared, he felt like singing a song of triumph in a booming voice to let the world know that Xiangzi lived on and had claimed his victory.

  Cold night air seemed to peel away the skin of his face, but to him it was bracing; chilling rays of light from street lamps actually warmed his heart. He was surrounded by light that brightened his future. Not having smoked for many days, he didn’t miss it at all. From now on, no more tobacco and no more alcohol. Triumphing over Fourth Master gave Xiangzi the desire to start life afresh, to once again strive to better himself. He’d beaten Fourth Master once and for all. The old man’s curses had the effect of highlighting Xiangzi’s sense of accomplishment and filling him with hope. Now that he had spat out that last malevolent breath, he would henceforth breathe in only fresh air. Just look at those hands, those feet. He was still young, wasn’t he? He would always be young. Huniu was dead, Fourth Master would soon be dead, but Xiangzi was very much alive; he was happy and he had ambitions. Yes, Xiangzi would live on. All evil people will die unmourned. The soldiers who’d seized his rickshaw; Mrs. Yang, who’d withheld food from her servants; Huniu, who’d deceived and oppressed him; Fourth Master, who’d been contemptuous of him; Detective Sun, who’d swindled him out of his money; Granny Chen, who’d made a fool of him; Mrs. Xia, who’d tried to seduce him…They would die, all of them, while faithful, honest Xiangzi would live on forever!

  But, Xiangzi, from now on you must always do your best! he cautioned himself. Why wouldn’t I want to do my best? I have the will, th
e strength, and my youth. In defense of himself, he replied, Once I’m happy, no one can stop me from marrying and enjoying success at my trade. After what’s happened to me lately, who could keep from going downhill in dejection? But that’s all in the past. Tomorrow you will all be introduced to a new Xiangzi, even better than before, much better!

  His legs seemed invigorated by his muttering, as if to prove that it was not meaningless talk. I’ve got what it takes to carry this out. So what if I was sick or that I contracted a social disease? This change of heart will make me well and strong again. No problem! He had worked up a sweat and a thirst. Thoughts of finding something to drink woke him up to his surroundings—he’d arrived at Rear Gate. Rather than go to a teahouse, he parked his rickshaw in the lot west of the gate and summoned a boy selling tea from a clay pot; he drank two bowls of an insipid liquid that passed for tea but tasted like dishwater. It was terrible, but he vowed that that was what he’d drink from then on; no more wasting money on good food and drink. Having made up his mind to live austerely, he decided to get something to eat—something that did not go down easily—to mark the beginning of a new life, dedicated to hard work and privation. He bought ten leathery, crusty griddlecakes filled with cabbage leaves and managed to get them down, despite the foul taste. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked himself, Where to now?

  He could think of only two people he could go to and count on. To fulfill his promise to make something of himself, he would have to go see them both—Fuzi and Mr. Cao. Mr. Cao was a wise man who would be forgiving and helpful; he would tell Xiangzi what to do. After taking Mr. Cao’s advice on dealing with the outside world, he’d go to Fuzi, who would be his helpmate at home. It was a flawless plan.

  But had Mr. Cao returned home? Never mind, he’d go to Beichang Street the next day and ask around. If there was no news, he’d check with Mr. Zuo. Once he found Mr. Cao, his problems were solved. All right, then, he said to himself, I’ll haul fares tonight, and then go find Mr. Cao tomorrow. After that, I’ll give Fuzi the good news that I had made a mess of things, but that’s all in the past. Now it’s time for you and me to set out on life’s road together.

  Xiangzi’s plans lit up his eyes as he searched the area for fares like a hawk, and when he spotted one he nearly flew to it. He was out of his padded robe even before settling the fee, and once he started out, though his legs lacked the power of earlier days, he ran all out, spurred on by a heat that coursed through his body. The same old Xiangzi. When he ran like that, no one could keep up with him. He overtook every rickshaw ahead, like a man possessed. Sweat streamed from him. His body felt lighter after his first trip, and there was renewed spring in his step. He wanted to keep running, like a fine racehorse that paws the ground when it hasn’t run enough. He did not quit for the day until one in the morning, when he returned to the shed with the day’s rent, plus ninety cents.

  He went straight to bed and slept till daybreak. Then he rolled over and did not open his eyes again till the sun was high in the sky. There is nothing sweeter than a good rest after a hard workout. He got up and stretched, limbering up his cracking joints. His stomach was empty; he was famished.

  After getting something to eat, with a little laugh he said to the shed boss, “I have something to do, so I’ll be taking the day off.” He had it all worked out: he’d take care of his personal business today and start his new life tomorrow.

  First he headed to Beichang Street to see if Mr. Cao had moved back, intoning a silent prayer as he walked: Please, Mr. Cao, be there, don’t let me come up empty. If things go bad at the beginning, nothing will come out right in the end. Heaven won’t desert Xiangzi, now that he’s turned his life around, will it?

  He rang the bell at Mr. Cao’s gate with a trembling hand. His heart nearly leaped out of his breast as he waited for someone to come to a gate he knew so well. He had no time to think about all that had happened; he just wanted to see the gate open to a familiar face. He waited, beginning to suspect that there was no one home. Why else would it be so dreadfully quiet? Suddenly, there was a noise on the other side; it gave him a momentary fright, like hearing something stir when you are keeping vigil at a bier. The door opened, its creaky hinges accompanied by the dearest, most affectionate sound he could have hoped for: “Oh!” It was Gao Ma.

  “Xiangzi, how long has it been? Look how thin you are!” She, on the other hand, had put on weight.

  “Is the master home?” was all he could say.

  “Yes, but aren’t you something! You can ask about the master but pretend we don’t know each other, not even a ‘How do you do?’ Always the timid carpenter, too scared to saw wood. Come in. How’ve you done for yourself?”

  “Not so good.” He smiled.

  “Master,” Gao Ma said outside the study. “Xiangzi’s here.” Mr. Cao was moving some narcissus plants into the sunlight.

  “Come in!”

  “Go on in. You and I can talk later. I’ll go tell the mistress you’re here. We often talk about you. A fool and his dumb luck.” She walked off talking to herself.

  Xiangzi entered the study. “I’m back, Master.” He wanted to ask how the old man was doing but couldn’t get the words out.

  “Ah, Xiangzi.” Mr. Cao, who stood there in a mandarin jacket, was wearing a kindly smile. “Sit down, um…” He thought for a moment. “We’ve been back quite a while. Old Cheng told us you were—let’s see, Harmony Shed, I think. Gao Ma went looking for you but didn’t find you. Sit down. How’ve you been? How about work?”

  Tears were about to spill out of Xiangzi’s eyes. He was incapable of telling people what he felt because that was written in blood and buried deep in his heart. It took a moment to calm down and try to turn that blood into simple words that would flow from his heart. It was all right there in his memory, and once he arranged it, little by little, he could narrate a living history. How significant it would be he did not know, but all the wrongs he’d suffered were clear and distinct.

  Mr. Cao could see that Xiangzi was deep in thought, so he sat down to wait quietly for him to say something.

  For what seemed like a long time, Xiangzi just stood there with his head bowed. Then he abruptly looked up at Mr. Cao, as if to suggest that he would say nothing if no one was interested in hearing him out.

  “Go ahead, say it.” Mr. Cao nodded.

  So Xiangzi told what had happened to him, starting with how he’d come to the city from the countryside. He hadn’t planned on mentioning such trivial facts of his past, but skipping them would have made it difficult to put the rest of his life in context. His memory was formed by blood, sweat, and suffering, and mustn’t reveal itself lightly, leaving anything out. Every drop of sweat, every ounce of blood, flowed from his life, so everything that had happened was worth relating.

  How he worked as a coolie laborer immediately after coming into the city, and then began pulling a rickshaw. How he scraped together enough to buy his own rickshaw, and how it was lost…he told of his life all the way up to the present. Even he was surprised by how much he had said and how natural it had felt. One after another, events in his life seemed to leap from his heart, each finding the words appropriate to its description. One sentence followed another, all honest and true, all endearing and tragic. He was powerless to keep the events bottled up, and so the words were unstoppable, with no hesitation or confusion. He seemed to want to empty his heart in one prolonged breath. A sense of relief built as he spoke, quickly forgetting himself, since he was now part and parcel of his narration. He was there in every sentence—ambitious, wronged, hardworking, degraded, all him. When he finished, his brow was sweaty, his heart empty, comfortably empty, the sort of comfort someone feels after passing out and coming to covered in a cold sweat.

  “Now you want me to tell you what to do, is that it?” Mr. Cao said.

  Xiangzi nodded. Now that he’d said his piece, he was reluctant to say more.

  “You still want to pull a rickshaw?”

&
nbsp; Again Xiangzi nodded. It was all he knew how to do.

  “Well, since that’s what you want,” Mr. Cao said slowly, “you have two choices. One is to save up to buy your own rickshaw, the other to rent one from someone else. Don’t you agree? Since you have no savings, you could borrow money to buy a rickshaw, but you’d have to pay interest on the loan, so what’s the difference? You’re better off renting one for now and finding a monthly job. It’s steady work with a place to stay and free food. Your best bet would be to come work for me again, but since I sold my rickshaw to Mr. Zuo, you’d have to rent one. What do you say?”

  “That sounds wonderful!” Xiangzi stood up. “Have you forgotten that other affair, sir?”

  “What affair is that?”

  “That time you and the mistress moved in with the Zuos.”

  “Oh, that!” Mr. Cao laughed. “I forgot that long ago. I was on pins and needles then, so the wife and I went to Shanghai for a few months. We really didn’t have to, since Mr. Zuo took care of everything. That fellow Ruan Ming is an official now, and he doesn’t seem inclined to give me any trouble. But you don’t know about any of this, so don’t give it another thought. Let’s talk about you. What about that Fuzi you mentioned—what’s her situation?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Off the top of my head, I’d say you can’t afford to marry her and find a place to live; you don’t have enough for the rent alone, let alone the coal and lamp oil you’d need. Finding work, with you pulling a rickshaw and her working as a maid for the same household, would be harder than you think. Don’t get me wrong, but I need to ask: Is she trustworthy?”

  As his face reddened, Xiangzi stammered, “She only did what she did because she had no choice. She’s a good person, I’ll stake my life on it! She…” His heart was tied up in knots, as a welter of emotions came together, then flew apart and rushed out. He was at a loss for words.