Lu Xun
Kung I-chi

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Written: March 1919
Source: Selected Stories of Lu Hsun, Published by Foreign Languages Press, Peking, 1960, 1972
Transcribed: Original transcription from coldbacon.com
HTML Markup: Mike B. for MIA, 2005
Public Domain: Marxists Internet Archive (2005). You may freely copy, distribute, display and perform this work; as well as make derivative and commercial works. Please credit “Marxists Internet Archive” as your source.

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The wine shops in Luchen are not like those in other parts of China. They all have a right-angled counter facing the street, where hot water is kept ready for warming wine. When men come off work at midday and in the evening they buy a bowl of wine; it cost four coppers twenty years ago, but now it costs ten. Standing beside the counter, they drink it warm, and relax. Another copper will buy a plate of salted bamboo shoots or peas flavoured with aniseed, to go with the wine; while for a dozen coppers you can buy a meat dish. But most of these customers belong to the short-coated class, few of whom can afford this. Only those in long gowns enter the adjacent room to order wine and dishes, and sit and drink at leisure.

At the age of twelve I started work as a waiter in Prosperity Tavern, at the entrance to the town. The tavern keeper said I looked too foolish to serve the long-gowned customers, so I was given work in the outer room. Although the short-coated customers there were more easily pleased, there were quite a few trouble-makers among them too. They would insist on watching with their own eyes as the yellow wine was ladled from the keg, looking to see if there were any water at the bottom of the wine pot, and inspecting for themselves the immersion of the pot in hot water. Under such keen scrutiny, it was very difficult to dilute the wine. So after a few days my employer decided I was not suited for this work. Fortunately I had been recommended by someone influential, so he could not dismiss me, and I was transferred to the dull work of warming wine.

Thenceforward I stood all day behind the counter, fully engaged with my duties. Although I gave satisfaction at this work, I found it monotonous and futile. Our employer was a fierce-looking individual, and the customers were a morose lot, so that it was impossible to be gay. Only when Kung I-chi came to the tavern could I laugh a little. That is why I still remember him.

Kung was the only long-gowned customer to drink his wine standing. He was a big man, strangely pallid, with scars that often showed among the wrinkles of his face. He had a large, unkempt beard, streaked with white. Although he wore a long gown, it was dirty and tattered, and looked as if it had not been washed or mended for over ten years. He used so many archaisms in his speech, it was impossible to understand half he said. As his surname was Kung, he was nicknamed "Kung I-chi," the first three characters in a children‘s copybook. Whenever he came into the shop, everyone would look at him and chuckle. And someone would call out:

"Kung I-chi! There are some fresh scars on your face!"

Ignoring this remark, Kung would come to the counter to order two bowls of heated wine and a dish of peas flavoured with aniseed. For this he produced nine coppers. Someone else would call out, in deliberately loud tones:

"You must have been stealing again!"

"Why ruin a man‘s good name groundlessly?" he would ask, opening his eyes wide.

"Pooh, good name indeed! The day before yesterday I saw you with my own eyes being hung up and beaten for stealing books from the Ho family!"

Then Kung would flush, the veins on his forehead standing out as he remonstrated: "Taking a book can‘t be considered stealing, . . . Taking a book, the affair of a scholar, can‘t be considered stealing!" Then followed quotations from the classics,1 like "A gentleman keeps his integrity even in poverty," and a jumble of archaic expressions till everybody was roaring with laughter and the whole tavern was gay.

From gossip I heard, Kung I-chi had studied the classics but had never passed the official examination. With no way of making a living, he grew poorer and poorer, until be was practically reduced to beggary. Happily, he was a good calligrapher, and could get enough copying work to support himself. Unfortunately he had failings: he liked drinking and was lazy. So after a few days he would invariably disappear, taking books, paper, brushes and inkstone with him. After this had happened several times, nobody wanted to employ him as a copyist again. Then there was no alternative for him but to take to occasional pilfering. In our tavern his behaviour was exemplary. He never failed to pay up, although sometimes, when he had no ready money, his name would appear on the board where we listed debtors. However, in less than a month he would always settle, and his name would be wiped off the board again.

After drinking half a howl of wine, Kung would regain his composure. But then someone would ask:

"Kung I-chi, do you really know how to read?"

When Kung looked as if such a question were beneath contempt, they would continue: "How is it you never passed even the lowest official examination?"

At that Kung would look disconsolate and ill at ease. His face would turn pale and his lips move, but only to utter those unintelligible classical expressions. Then everybody would laugh heartily again, and the whole tavern would be merry.

At such times, I could join in the laughter without being scolded by my master. In fact he often put such questions to Kung himself, to evoke laughter. Knowing it was no use talking to them, Kung would chat to us children. Once he asked me:

"Have you had any schooling?"

When I nodded, he said, "Well then, I‘ll test you. How do you write the character hui in hui-xiang (aniseed—Translator) peas?"

I thought, "I‘m not going to be tested by a beggar!" So I turned away and ignored him. After waiting for some time, he said very earnestly:

"You can‘t write it? I‘ll show you how. Mind you remember! You ought to remember such characters, because later when you have a shop of your own, you‘ll need them to make up your accounts."

It seemed to me I was still very far from owning a shop; besides, our employer never entered hui-xiang peas in the account book. Amused yet exasperated, I answered listlessly: "Who wants you as a teacher? Isn‘t it the character hui with the grass radical?"

Kung was delighted, and tapped two long fingernails on the counter. "Right, right!" he said, nodding. "Only there are four different ways of writing hui. Do you know them?" My patience exhausted, I scowled and made off. Kung I-chi had dipped his finger in wine, in order to trace the characters on the counter; but when he saw how indifferent I was, he sighed and looked most disappointed.

Sometimes children in the neighbourhood, hearing laughter, came to join in the fun, and surrounded Kung I-chi Then he would give them peas flavoured with aniseed, one apiece. After eating the peas, the children would still hang round, their eyes on the dish. Flustered, he would cover the dish with his hand and, bending forward from the waist, would say: "There isn‘t much. I haven‘t much as it is." Then straightening up to look at the peas again, he would shake his head. "Not much! Verily, not much, forsooth!" Then the children would scamper off, with shouts of laughter.

Kung I-chi was very good company, but we got along all right without him too.

One day, a few days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, the tavern keeper was laboriously making out his accounts. Taking down the board from the wall, he suddenly said: "Kung I-chi hasn‘t been in for a long time. He still owes nineteen coppers!" That made me realize how long it was since we had seen him.

"How could he come?" one of the customers said. "His legs were broken in that last beating."

"Ah!"

"He was stealing again. This time he was fool enough to steal from Mr. Ting, the provincial scholar! As if anybody could get away with that!"

"What then?"

"What then? First he had to write a confession, then he was beaten. The beating lasted nearly all night, until his legs were broken."

"And then?"

"Well, his legs were broken."

"Yes, but after that?"

"After? . . . Who knows? He may be dead."

The tavern keeper did not pursue his questions, but went on slowly making up his accounts.

After the Mid-Autumn Festival the wind grew colder every day, as winter came on. Even though I spent all my time by the stove, I had to wear my padded jacket. One afternoon, when the shop was empty, I was sitting with my eyes closed when I heard a voice:

"Warm a bowl of wine."

The voice was very low, yet familiar. But when I looked up, there was no one in sight. I stood up and looked towards the door, and there, facing the threshold, beneath the counter, sat Kung I-chi. His face was haggard and lean, and he looked in a terrible condition. He had on a ragged lined jacket, and was sitting cross-legged on a mat which was attached to his shoulders by a straw rope. When he saw me, he repeated:

"Warm a bowl of wine."

At this point my employer leaned over the counter and said: "Is that Kung I-chi? You still owe nineteen coppers!"

"That . . . I‘ll settle next time," replied Kung, looking up disconsolately. "Here‘s ready money; the wine must be good."

The tavern keeper, just as in the past, chuckled and said:

"Kung I-chi, you‘ve been stealing again!"

But instead of protesting vigorously, the other simply said:

"You like your joke."

"Joke? If you didn‘t steal, why did they break your legs?"

"I fell," said Kung in a low voice. "I broke them in a fall." His eyes pleaded with the tavern keeper to let the matter drop. By now several people had gathered round, and they all laughed. I warmed the wine, carried it over, and set it on the threshold. He produced four coppers from his ragged coat pocket, and placed them in my hand. As he did so I saw that his hands were covered with mud—he must have crawled here on them. Presently he finished the wine and, amid the laughter and comments of the others, slowly dragged himself off by his hands.

A long time went by after that without our seeing Kung again. At the end of the year, when the tavern keeper took down the board, he said, "Kung I-chi still owes nineteen coppers!" At the Dragon Boat Festival the next year, he said the same thing again. But when the Mid-Autumn Festival came, he did not mention it. And another New Year came round without our seeing any more of him.

Nor have I ever seen him since—probably Kung I-chi is really dead.

March 1919

 

 

孔乙己⑴

　
 
　　魯鎮(zhèn)的酒店的格局，是和別處不同的：都是當(dāng)街一個曲尺形的大柜臺，柜里面預(yù)備著熱水，可以隨時溫酒。做工的人，傍午傍晚散了工，每每花四文銅錢，買一碗酒，——這是二十多年前的事，現(xiàn)在每碗要漲到十文，——靠柜外站著，熱熱的喝了休息；倘肯多花一文，便可以買一碟鹽煮筍，或者茴香豆，做下酒物了，如果出到十幾文，那就能買一樣葷菜，但這些顧客，多是短衣幫，大抵沒有這樣闊綽。只有穿長衫的，才踱進(jìn)店面隔壁的房子里，要酒要菜，慢慢地坐喝。
　　
　　我從十二歲起，便在鎮(zhèn)口的咸亨酒店里當(dāng)伙計(jì)，掌柜說，樣子太傻，怕侍候不了長衫主顧，就在外面做點(diǎn)事罷。外面的短衣主顧，雖然容易說話，但嘮嘮叨叨纏夾不清的也很不少。他們往往要親眼看著黃酒從壇子里舀出，看過壺子底里有水沒有，又親看將壺子放在熱水里，然后放心：在這嚴(yán)重兼督下，羼水也很為難。所以過了幾天，掌柜又說我干不了這事。幸虧薦頭的情面大，辭退不得，便改為專管溫酒的一種無聊職務(wù)了。
　　
　　我從此便整天的站在柜臺里，專管我的職務(wù)。雖然沒有什么失職，但總覺得有些單調(diào)，有些無聊。掌柜是一副兇臉孔，主顧也沒有好聲氣，教人活潑不得；只有孔乙己到店，才可以笑幾聲，所以至今還記得。
　　
　　孔乙己是站著喝酒而穿長衫的唯一的人。他身材很高大；青白臉色，皺紋間時常夾些傷痕；一部亂蓬蓬的花白的胡子。穿的雖然是長衫，可是又臟又破，似乎十多年沒有補(bǔ)，也沒有洗。他對人說話，總是滿口之乎者也，教人半懂不懂的。因?yàn)樗湛祝瑒e人便從描紅紙⑵上的“上大人孔乙己”這半懂不懂的話里，替他取下一個綽號，叫作孔乙己?？滓壹阂坏降?，所有喝酒的人便都看著他笑，有的叫道，“孔乙己，你臉上又添上新傷疤了！”他不回答，對柜里說，“溫兩碗酒，要一碟茴香豆。”便排出九文大錢。他們又故意的高聲嚷道，“你一定又偷了人家的東西了！”孔乙己睜大眼睛說，“你怎么這樣憑空污人清白……”“什么清白？我前天親眼見你偷了何家的書，吊著打。”孔乙己便漲紅了臉，額上的青筋條條綻出，爭辯道，“竊書不能算偷……竊書！……讀書人的事，能算偷么？”接連便是難懂的話，什么“君子固窮”⑶，什么“者乎”之類，引得眾人都哄笑起來：店內(nèi)外充滿了快活的空氣。
　　
　　聽人家背地里談?wù)?，孔乙己原來也讀過書，但終于沒有進(jìn)學(xué)⑷，又不會營生；于是愈過愈窮，弄到將要討飯了。幸而寫得一筆好字，便替人家鈔鈔書，換一碗飯吃?？上钟幸粯訅钠猓闶呛贸詰凶?。坐不到幾天，便連人和書籍紙張筆硯，一齊失蹤。如是幾次，叫他鈔書的人也沒有了?？滓壹簺]有法，便免不了偶然做些偷竊的事。但他在我們店里，品行卻比別人都好，就是從不拖欠；雖然間或沒有現(xiàn)錢，暫時記在粉板上，但不出一月，定然還清，從粉板上拭去了孔乙己的名字。
　　
　　孔乙己喝過半碗酒，漲紅的臉色漸漸復(fù)了原，旁人便又問道，“孔乙己，你當(dāng)真認(rèn)識字么？”孔乙己看著問他的人，顯出不屑置辯的神氣。他們便接著說道，“你怎的連半個秀才也撈不到呢？”孔乙己立刻顯出頹唐不安模樣，臉上籠上了一層灰色，嘴里說些話；這回可是全是之乎者也之類，一些不懂了。在這時候，眾人也都哄笑起來：店內(nèi)外充滿了快活的空氣。
　　
　　在這些時候，我可以附和著笑，掌柜是決不責(zé)備的。而且掌柜見了孔乙己，也每每這樣問他，引人發(fā)笑?？滓壹鹤约褐啦荒芎退麄冋勌?，便只好向孩子說話。有一回對我說道，“你讀過書么？”我略略點(diǎn)一點(diǎn)頭。他說，“讀過書，……我便考你一考。茴香豆的茴字，怎樣寫的？”我想，討飯一樣的人，也配考我么？便回過臉去，不再理會?？滓壹旱攘嗽S久，很懇切的說道，“不能寫罷？……我教給你，記著！這些字應(yīng)該記著。將來做掌柜的時候，寫賬要用。”我暗想我和掌柜的等級還很遠(yuǎn)呢，而且我們掌柜也從不將茴香豆上賬；又好笑，又不耐煩，懶懶的答他道，“誰要你教，不是草頭底下一個來回的回字么？”孔乙己顯出極高興的樣子，將兩個指頭的長指甲敲著柜臺，點(diǎn)頭說，“對呀對呀！……回字有四樣寫法⑸，你知道么？”我愈不耐煩了，努著嘴走遠(yuǎn)。孔乙己剛用指甲蘸了酒，想在柜上寫字，見我毫不熱心，便又嘆一口氣，顯出極惋惜的樣子。
　　
　　有幾回，鄰居孩子聽得笑聲，也趕熱鬧，圍住了孔乙己。他便給他*擒釹愣鉤*，一人一顆。孩子吃完豆，仍然不散，眼睛都望著碟子?？滓壹褐嘶?，伸開五指將碟子罩住，彎腰下去說道，“不多了，我已經(jīng)不多了。”直起身又看一看豆，自己搖頭說，“不多不多！多乎哉？不多也。”⑹于是這一群孩子都在笑聲里走散了。
　　
　　孔乙己是這樣的使人快活，可是沒有他，別人也便這么過。
　　
　　有一天，大約是中秋前的兩三天，掌柜正在慢慢的結(jié)賬，取下粉板，忽然說，“孔乙己長久沒有來了。還欠十九個錢呢！”我才也覺得他的確長久沒有來了。一個喝酒的人說道，“他怎么會來？……他打折了腿了。”掌柜說，“哦！”“他總?cè)耘f是偷。這一回，是自己發(fā)昏，竟偷到丁舉人家里去了。他家的東西，偷得的么？”“后來怎么樣？”“怎么樣？先寫服辯⑺，后來是打，打了大半夜，再打折了腿。”“后來呢？”“后來打折了腿了。”“打折了怎樣呢？”“怎樣？……誰曉得？許是死了。”掌柜也不再問，仍然慢慢的算他的賬。
　　
　　中秋之后，秋風(fēng)是一天涼比一天，看看將近初冬；我整天的靠著火，也須穿上棉襖了。一天的下半天，沒有一個顧客，我正合了眼坐著。忽然間聽得一個聲音，“溫一碗酒。”這聲音雖然極低，卻很耳熟?？磿r又全沒有人。站起來向外一望，那孔乙己便在柜臺下對了門檻坐著。他臉上黑而且瘦，已經(jīng)不成樣子；穿一件破夾襖，盤著兩腿，下面墊一個蒲包，用草繩在肩上掛??；見了我，又說道，“溫一碗酒。”掌柜也伸出頭去，一面說，“孔乙己么？你還欠十九個錢呢！”孔乙己很頹唐的仰面答道，“這……下回還清罷。這一回是現(xiàn)錢，酒要好。”掌柜仍然同平常一樣，笑著對他說，“孔乙己，你又偷了東西了！”但他這回卻不十分分辯，單說了一句“不要取笑！”“取笑？要是不偷，怎么會打斷腿？”孔乙己低聲說道，“跌斷，跌，跌……”他的眼色，很像懇求掌柜，不要再提。此時已經(jīng)聚集了幾個人，便和掌柜都笑了。我溫了酒，端出去，放在門檻上。他從破衣袋里摸出四文大錢，放在我手里，見他滿手是泥，原來他便用這手走來的。不一會，他喝完酒，便又在旁人的說笑聲中，坐著用這手慢慢走去了。
　　
　　自此以后，又長久沒有看見孔乙己。到了年關(guān)，掌柜取下粉板說，“孔乙己還欠十九個錢呢！”到第二年的端午，又說“孔乙己還欠十九個錢呢！”到中秋可是沒有說，再到年關(guān)也沒有看見他。
　　
　　我到現(xiàn)在終于沒有見——大約孔乙己的確死了。
　　
　　一九一九年三月。⑻
　　
　　□注釋
　　
　　⑴本篇最初發(fā)表于一九一九年四月《新青年》第六卷第四號。發(fā)表時篇末有作者的附記如下：“這一篇很拙的小說，還是去年冬天做成的。那時的意思，單在描寫社會上的或一種生活，請讀者看看，并沒有別的深意。但用活字排印了發(fā)表，卻已在這時候，——便是忽然有人用了小說盛行人身攻擊的時候。大抵著者走入暗路，每每能引讀者的思想跟他墮落：以為小說是一種潑穢水的器具，里面糟蹋的是誰。這實(shí)在是一件極可嘆可憐的事。所以我在此聲明，免得發(fā)生猜度，害了讀者的人格。一九一九年三月二十六日記。”
　　
　　⑵描紅紙：一種印有紅色楷字，供兒童摹寫毛筆字用的字帖。舊時最通行的一種，印有“上大人孔（明代以前作丘）乙己化三千七十士爾小生八九子佳作仁可知禮也”這樣一些筆劃簡單、三字一句和似通非通的文字。
　　
　?、?#8220;君子固窮”：語見《論語·衛(wèi)靈公》。“固窮”即“固守其窮”，不以窮困而改便操守的意思。
　　
　?、冗M(jìn)學(xué)：明清科舉制度，童生經(jīng)過縣考初試，府考復(fù)試，再參加由學(xué)政主持的院考（道考），考取的列名府、縣學(xué)籍，叫進(jìn)學(xué)，也就成了秀才。又規(guī)定每三年舉行一次鄉(xiāng)試（省一級考試），由秀才或監(jiān)生應(yīng)考，取中的就是舉人。
　　
　　⑸回字有四樣寫法：回字通常只有三種寫法：回、〔外“冂”內(nèi)“巳”〕、〔“面”之下部〕。第四種寫作〔外“囗”內(nèi)“目”〕（見《康熙字典·備考》），極少見。
　　
　?、?#8220;多乎哉？不多也”：語見《論語·子罕》：“大宰問于子貢曰：‘夫子圣者與？何其多能也！’子貢曰：‘固天縱之將圣，又多能也。’子聞之，曰：‘大宰知我乎？吾少也賤，故多能鄙事。’君子多乎哉？不多也。”這里與原意無關(guān)。
　　
　　⑺服辯：又作伏辯，即認(rèn)罪書。
　　
　?、虛?jù)本篇發(fā)表時的作者《附記》（見注１），本文當(dāng)作于一九一八年冬天。按：本書各篇最初發(fā)表時都未署寫作日期，現(xiàn)在篇末的日期為作者在編集時所補(bǔ)記。