Chinese Literature

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mouth. He was still sitting onthe old sofa in the principal’s room, for he had refused to go to his own. The servants of the school were all asleep. Old Pan had gone to the kitchen to boil some water for Mr. Li to drink.

Mr. Li tried desperately to steady his confused mind, wanting to recollect when this dream of his had started.

The Marco Polo Bridge Incident on J uly 7, 1937, that started the war with the Japanese, it must be just a dream. ... The Battle of Shanghai in the following month just couldn’t have happened. ...

What about the September 18th Incident of 1931 by which the Japanese occupied China’s Northeast? He had to think that over carefully. And there was also the January 28th Incident in 1932 when the Japanese attacked Shanghai. ... How could China lose four of her provinces without hitting back at the aggressor at all? At this point in his refiections, he stood up resolutely, wiped his lips hard with his handkerchief, and told himself firmly:

“No, no, impossible! The September 18th Incident. cannot have actually happened. Neither did the January 28th Incident happen. It must still be... still the time before September 1931 now!”

“Here’s a potful of strong tea I’ve made for you, I-mo,”’ Old Pan came in, looking at him cheerily. “Hadn’t you better take a piece of Pa-kwatan against your headache first?”

Mr. Li sighed, took a small piece of the medicine from Old. Pan’s hand, and put it into his mouth absent-mindedly. Then he sat down again and felt his right temple with his finger. It was throbbing. He said to his old friend, with some remorse:

“I really don’t know what I have been thinking about just now. I am too sensitive, too full of fancies. My nerves haven’t been too good lately.”

“Go to bed early. I think you’ve been drinking too much wine.’

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” he said rather impatiently. “You don’t understand me... . Maye. 2

With a look at the principal’s face, he checked-himself. They had become friends in Peking at. the time of the May 4th Movement in 1919. Since then, they had followed different courses in life and developed in different ways. Now... Mr. Li considered that he could see through. Old Pan at one glance, while Old Pan never understood him, Mr. Li, at all.

But in the whole school, in the whole town, there was only Old Pan who sometimes talked to him. When he wanted company, he had to put up with Old Pan’s longish, honest face before his eyes and Old Pan’s highpitched voice in his ears. It was like having the same dish at every meal every day, with no change allowed. He hoped some other colleague might join him. Little Mr. Chen would be all right. Even old Mr. Chang would be welcome. Otherwise. .. .

“Otherwise my stomach will really be upset.’

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