Chinese Literature

Ten days later, the case of the suicide of Yang the Elder’s daughter Huan was closed by the court. The old man returned from the county seat, making a stop at the district government office on the way home. The blow to his spirits was the worst he had suffered in years. He, who had always been so sure of himself, now felt completely crushed. He _ crept back to the village after dark and groped his way into the house. Lying down on his hard wooden bed, he seemed to go all to pieces. His back was sore, his legs ached, his eyes were swollen, his head was spinning, his body weighed a thousand catties. He had no desire to eat or drink, or even to smoke. Falling into an exhausted slumber, he didn’t awaken until very late the following morning.

Physically, he felt a little better but his numbed brain, which was just beginning to function again, was at once deluged with a flood of recollections of the stupid things he had done in past years, of the events of the last two weeks. They raced through his mind without respite.

The tempest in the village receded, washing away with it the blind prejudices that had encrusted his thinking for so long. But he had lost his daughter and had nearly caused the destruction of Chun-mei’s mother. Who knew when these scars would heal? If the government had been severe with me, he thought, and sentenced me to a long term in prison, maybe I wouldn’t feel quite so bad. But only Huan’s husband and her ' mother-in-law were sent to jail.... Both in the county and in the district, the authorities had only talked to the old man, long and patiently, as though teaching a confused, stubborn child.

“Is the sin of Huan’s husband and his mother any worse than mine? No, no, no... .’ The Elder shook his head. With tears in his eyes, he lay on his back, heaving sigh after sigh, staring at the dust-coated spider streamers hanging from the ceiling.

But before long he made up his mind. Rising from his bed, he instructed his young grandson to invite Chun-mei, her mother, her Aunt Li and young Li-chia to come to his house.

“Remember,” he cautioned, “you must say ‘please. Even to Chun- mei you must say ‘please.’ You tell them I haven’t been well lately, or I’d have gone to see them... .”

When Aunt Li arrived, bringing Chun-mei and her mother, the old man had already had a bite to eat. He was talking to his crippled son. The latter immediately stood up when the visitors entered, opened the windows and brought in a few stools. The son was a simple, honest fellow who was entirely at a loss at making conversation. After fussing about for a few minutes, he slipped away to the next room to return to his firecracker manufacturing.

The old man invited his guests to be seated, then asked his grandson, “Where is your uncle, Li-chia?”

“He hasn’t any time right now,” Aunt Li interposed. And she added