A small incident (Translation)

I've started studying mandarin again.  As part of that, I am systematically reading through a book of short stories by one of China's grandmasters of literature, Lu Xun (鲁迅), who lived during early revolutionary China. To aid my study, each story I go through I'm going to post here and then try to translate it as best I can.  The original text is below, the translation is presented first.

"A small incident" - Lu Xun, July 1920

The six years from when I moved from my home town to the capital have passed in the blink of an eye.  Over this time, I've heard that our so-called country has had not a few milestones; but in my heart, none of them have left any impression, and if I try to search for what I have of these events, it only increases my discontent - truthfully, it makes me to look down on people more and more each day.

But there was one small incident that for me has significance, dragging me out of my discontent, that until now I have been unable to forget.

This was in the country's sixth year's [1917] winter, with the North wind blowing hard, when for work I had no choice but to commute in the mornings.  When I started my commute there were almost no people to be seen, so it was easy to find a rickshaw, telling the driver to go to the S Gate [one of Beijing's gates].  It didn't take long for the North wind to die down and the dust on the road to clear, leaving a spotless white path, letting the rickshaw puller go faster.  Just before the S Gate, suddenly on the rickshaw's axle there was a person, who slowly fell down.

The fallen person was a woman, with grizzled hair, and very ragged clothes.  She had abruptly turned from the street and cut in front of us; despite the rickshaw puller giving her right of way, the woman's jacket hadn't been buttoned, and a gust of wind had caused it to open and finally wrap around the rickshaw axle.  Luckily, the rickshaw puller had slowed down, or else the woman would have been caught and overturned, her head struck and bleeding.

She lay on the ground; the rickshaw puller put down the handles.  I judged that this old woman wasn't hurt, and no one saw it, so I thought the stop was strange, and that he was asking for trouble and delaying my trip.

He said to her:
"Are you alright?"
"Something's broken."

I thought, I saw you fall slowly to the ground, how is it that she could have broken something, she's malingering, how reprehensible.  The he's meddlesome and asking for trouble, getting his own ideas about walking around.

The rickshaw puller, upon hearing the old woman's words, did not hesitate for a moment, suddenly supporting the woman by her arm and walking forward step by step.  I was a little astonished, forgetting to look forward to see a police station in front of us, upwind, with no one outside.  The rickshaw puller was supporting the old woman as they made their way towards the big door.

In that moment I suddenly felt an unusual feeling, like the impression in the dust from the rickshaw puller became taller, or perhaps grew ever larger, so that I had to crane my neck to see it.  Or maybe he gradually became more powerful, even as I felt my petty concerns being squeezed from underneath my leather jacket.

My life's urgent pace slowed down, sitting there without moving, without thinking, until I got off when a police patrolman approached the rickshaw.

The policeman said, "You should book another rickshaw, he won't be pulling you."

Without thinking, I pulled a roll of coins from my jacket, giving it to the policeman, saying "Please give this to him..."

The wind died down, the street was still very clean.  I walked, lost in thought, almost scared of my introspection.  With everything else in my life temporarily set aside, I asked myself, what was the meaning of that roll of coins?  To reward him? Could I still judge the rickshaw driver?  I couldn't bear to reply to myself.

To this day that incident is one I frequently remember.  I therefore always remember to put aside my pain, to strive to think about myself.  These past few years' cultural forces, like the classical aphorisms I memorized at a young age, have so faded from my memory that I can't even half recite them.  Only this small incident, which hovers just in front of my eyes, sometimes even more clearly, has taught me to be ashamed, urged me to reform, and renewed my courage and hope.

Professional Translation linked here

Original:


一件小事 - 鲁迅 July 1920

我从乡下跑到京城里，一转眼已经六年了。其间耳闻目睹的所谓国家大事，算起来也很不少；但在我心里，都不留什么痕迹，倘要我寻出这些事的影响来说，便只是增长了我的坏脾气，——老实说，便是教我一天比一天的看不起人。
　　但有一件小事，却于我有意义，将我从坏脾气里拖开，使我至今忘记不得。
　　这是民国六年的冬天，大北风刮得正猛，我因为生计关系，不得不一早在路上走。一路几乎遇不见人，好容易才雇定了一辆人力车，教他拉到S门去。不一会，北风小了，路上浮尘早已刮净，剩下一条洁白的大道来，车夫也跑得更快。刚近S门，忽而车把上带着一个人，慢慢地倒了。
　　跌倒的是一个女人，花白头发，衣服都很破烂。伊从马路上突然向车前横截过来；车夫已经让开道，但伊的破棉背心没有上扣，微风吹着，向外展开，所以终于兜着车把。幸而车夫早有点停步，否则伊定要栽一个大斤斗，跌到头破血出了。
　　伊伏在地上；车夫便也立住脚。我料定这老女人并没有伤，又没有别人看见，便很怪他多事，要自己惹出是非，也误了我的路。
　　我便对他说，“没有什么的。走你的罢！”
　　车夫毫不理会，——或者并没有听到，——却放下车子，扶那老女人慢慢起来，搀着臂膊立定，问伊说：
　　“你怎么啦？”
　　“我摔坏了。”
　　我想，我眼见你慢慢倒地，怎么会摔坏呢，装腔作势罢了，这真可憎恶。车夫多事，也正是自讨苦吃，现在你自己想法去。
　　车夫听了这老女人的话，却毫不踌躇，仍然搀着伊的臂膊，便一步一步的向前走。我有些诧异，忙看前面，是一所巡警分驻所，大风之后，外面也不见人。这车夫扶着那老女人，便正是向那大门走去。
　　我这时突然感到一种异样的感觉，觉得他满身灰尘的后影，刹时高大了，而且愈走愈大，须仰视才见。而且他对于我，渐渐的又几乎变成一种威压，甚而至于要榨出皮袍下面藏着的“小”来。
　　我的活力这时大约有些凝滞了，坐着没有动，也没有想，直到看见分驻所里走出一个巡警，才下了车。
　　巡警走近我说，“你自己雇车罢，他不能拉你了。”
　　我没有思索的从外套袋里抓出一大把铜元，交给巡警，说，“请你给他……”
　　风全住了，路上还很静。我走着，一面想，几乎怕敢想到自己。以前的事姑且搁起，这一大把铜元又是什么意思？奖他么？我还能裁判车夫么？我不能回答自己。
　　这事到了现在，还是时时记起。我因此也时时煞了苦痛，努力的要想到我自己。几年来的文治武力，在我早如幼小时候所读过的“子曰诗云”一般，背不上半句了。独有这一件小事，却总是浮在我眼前，有时反更分明，教我惭愧，催我自新，并且增长我的勇气和希望。