# Ah Q and Others/Cloud over Luchen

As the sun gradually gathered up its yellow rays along the mud banks of the river, the scorched leaves of the tallow trees seemed to recover their breath and a few striped mosquitoes began to buzz underneath the trees. The smoke died out in the chimneys of the peasants' homes facing the river. Women and children sprinkled water on the dusty ground in front of their own houses and set out low tables and benches. It was supper time.
The old folks and the men sat on the low benches and chatted, wielding huge palm fans. The children ran about or squatted under the tallow trees and played with pebbles. The womenfolk carried out kan-ts'ai and brown rice, hot and steaming. A pleasure boat went by, carrying a party of literary aesthetes, who, watching the scenes along the banks, were inspired to poetic sentiment about the villagers, uttering, "Unreflecting and without a worry in their heads—this is truly Rural Bliss."
But the sentiments of these literary lights did not exactly accord with the truth, for they could not hear what old Mrs. Nine Pounds was saying. She was at that moment greatly put out by things in general: beating upon the leg of her stool with her frazzled palm fan for emphasis, she was saying,
"I have lived seventy-nine years and I have lived long enough. I do not want to see these signs of family decline. ​It is better that I died. In a moment we'll be eating supper, and yet she is eating toasted beans. She'll eat us poor!"
Her great-granddaughter Six Pounds, who was just then coming toward the supper table, thought better of it at the sight of the querulous woman. She ran to the river's edge and hid behind a tallow tree. Then she put out her little head adorned with two hornlike braids and said in a loud voice, "The old Would-Not-Die!"
Though old Mrs. Nine Pounds was of venerable age, she was not very deaf. However, she did not seem to have heard her granddaughter, and continued, "This proves that each generation is worse than the last!"
This village has a peculiar custom. When a baby is born, it is usually weighed and the weight in pounds becomes the milk name of the infant. After old Mrs. Nine Pounds had celebrated her fiftieth birthday she gradually became one of those who mourn for the good old times. When she was young, she said, the weather was not as hot as now, nor were the beans quite as hard. Her perpetual theme was that the world today is all wrong. Moreover, Six Pounds weighed three pounds less at birth than her great-grandfather, and one pound less than her father Seven Pounds. To the old lady these were indisputable proofs of her contention. Therefore she repeated with emphasis, "Truly, each generation is worse than the last!"
Her grand daughter-in-law Sister Seven Pounds came up with the rice basket as this sentiment was repeated and emphasized. She plumped down the basket on the table and said ​in a tone of vexation, "There you go again. When Six Pounds was born was she not actually six pounds and five ounces? Besides, your scales were specially made for you, with eighteen ounces to the pound. If a real sixteen-ounce scale had been used, our Six Pounds would have been over seven pounds. Come to think of it, grandfather and father might not have been actually nine or eight pounds. The scales used might have been only fourteen-ounce scales."
"Each generation worse than the last!"
Before Sister Seven Pounds answered, she suddenly espied her husband coming out of the lane. Thereupon she shifted the direction of her attack and shouted at him, "A fine time for you to be coming home, you dead corpse! Where did you hide off to die? You never care how long people hold up dinner for you, do you?"
Although Seven Pounds lived in the village, he was no ordinary peasant. Three generations, from his grandfather's time to his own, the men of his family had not touched the handle of a hoe. Like many other men of a more progressive nature, Seven Pounds made his living as a boatman. He made a round trip each day, in the morning from Luchen to the city and back to Luchen again by nightfall. Because of this he was well abreast of the times. For instance, he knew that at such and such a place the Thunder God struck dead a centipede monster, or that at such and such a place a maiden gave birth to a yaksha demon, and things of a like nature. He was, therefore, something of a personage in the village. However, in his family supper was still served without benefit of lamplight during the summer months, as was the custom of peasants, and he deserved a scolding for coming home so late.
Seven Pounds approached slowly, his head bowed, and ​sat down on a bench. In his hand he held a pipe with a brass bowl and an ivory mouthpiece and a stem of mottled bamboo more than six feet long. Six Pounds sneaked out from behind the tree and sat down beside him, greeting him, "dieh-dieh," but Seven Pounds paid no attention to her.
"Each generation worse than the last!" old Mrs. Nine Pounds said again.
Seven Pounds raised his head slowly and said with a sigh, "The Emperor has mounted the Dragon Throne."
For a moment Sister Seven Pounds was stupefied by the announcement, but then said with comprehension, "This is fine, for does it not mean that there will be general pardon by imperial grace?"
Seven Pounds sighed again and said, "I have no queue."
"Does the Emperor require queues?"
"The Emperor requires queues."
"How do you know?" Sister Seven Pounds asked, somewhat alarmed.
"Every one in the Hsien Heng wine shop says so."
Sister Seven Pounds began to feel that things looked black indeed for her husband, if they said so at the Hsien Heng wine shop, the chief source of news for the village. Glancing at her husband's shaven head, she could not suppress a mounting anger and resentment against him for having jeopardized his own safety. She almost hated him. In despair she filled a bowl with rice and thrust it in front of him and said, "You had better eat your rice. You will not grow a queue by pulling a long face!"
Imperceptibly the sun gathered up its last rays and the river recovered its coolness. The clatter of chopsticks and bowls echoed all over the open space and beads of sweat ​began to form on everyone's back. After finishing her third bowl of rice, Sister Seven Pounds glanced up and her heart began to beat violently when she saw fat, short Mr. Chao the Seventh coming toward them across the single-log bridge. What distressed her most was the fact that Mr. Chao was wearing his long gown of blue cotton cloth.
Mr. Chao was the proprietor of the Mao Yuan wine shop in the neighboring village and the most distinguished personage within a radius of thirty li. Because he was something of a scholar, he had about him the air of a man who had seen better days. He owned some ten odd volumes of the Romance of Three Kingdoms, with commentaries by Chin Sheng-t'an, and used to sit over them and read aloud word by word. The extent of his erudition was such that he not only knew the names of the Five Tiger Generals but also their derived names. He knew, for instance, that Chao Yun's derived name was Tzu-lung, Chang Fei's was Yi-te and so on. After the Revolution he coiled up his queue on top of his head, like a Taoist priest. He used to say with many a sigh that if Chao Tzu-lung were alive today, the world would not have come to such grief. Sister Seven Pounds had good eyes; she immediately noticed that Mr. Chao had not coiled his hair on top of his head like a Taoist priest but wore it in a queue with the familiar, closely shaven circle around it. From this she concluded that the Emperor must certainly have mounted the Dragon Throne, that wearing the queue was obligatory, and that Seven Pounds' position was most surely of a very precarious character. For Mr. Chao never wore that ​long gown of his except on special occasions. In the last three years he had worn it only twice, once when pockmarked Ah Ssu, with whom he once had a quarrel, fell ill, and again when Mr. Lu, who once wrecked his tavern, died. This was the third time and it could only mean that he was celebrating something lucky to himself but unlucky to his enemies.
Sister Seven Pounds remembered that two years earlier her husband had, under the influence of liquor, insulted Mr. Chao by declaring that he was born of a "cheap womb." Therefore she immediately feared for Seven Pounds and she could not still her pounding heart.
As Mr. Chao approached, those who were sitting stood up and said, pointing to their bowls with their chopsticks, "Mr. Seven, please join us!" Mr. Chao nodded and said, "Please go ahead, please go ahead. " He went straight to Seven Pounds' table, where he was greeted in the same fashion and returned the same answer. He looked at the fare of rice and steamed kan-ts'ai.
"How fragrant your kan-ts'ai is! Have you heard?" he asked, standing behind Seven Pounds and opposite Sister Seven Pounds.
"The Emperor has mounted the Dragon Throne," Seven Pounds said.
Sister Seven Pounds watched Mr. Chao's face and said with a placating smile, "Now that the Emperor has mounted the Dragon Throne, when are we going to have the general pardon by imperial grace?"
"General pardon by imperial grace? The general pardon will undoubtedly come in time," Mr. Chao said, and then continued with sudden severity, "But where's Seven Pounds' queue? Yes, the queue is an important matter. Do you know that during the Rebellion of the Longhairs it was a case of ​'grow your hair and lose your head or shave your hair and save your head?'"
Seven Pounds and his wife had never had any book learning and so did not quite understand the allusion. But since the learned Mr. Chao said so, the situation must be very grave and unalterable. It was as if the death sentence had been pronounced. Seven Pounds was left speechless with a ringing in his ears.
"Each generation worse than the last," old Mrs. Nine Pounds took the opportunity to voice her grievance to Mr. Chao. "The rebels today only cut off people's queues, making them look like neither monk nor priest. But were the Longhair rebels like this? I have lived seventy-nine years and I have lived long enough. The Longhairs of the old days used whole bolts of red satin to wrap around their heads, with the loose ends hanging down as far as their feet. The Longhair kings used yellow satin, also dangling down to the feet. Yes, yellow satin and red satin, dangling down . . . I have lived long enough; I am seventy-nine years old."
Sister Seven Pounds stood up and murmured to herself, "What are we going to do? All of us, old and young, depend upon him for our living."
Mr. Chao shook his head and said, "That can't be helped. The punishment for not having queues is clearly written in the book. They don't take into account family circumstances."
When she heard that it was clearly written in the book, Sister Seven Pounds gave up all hope. She felt quite helpless and in her helplessness her resentment turned toward Seven Pounds. She pointed at the tip of his nose with her chopsticks and said, "He has brought all this upon himself, the dead corpse! When the rebellion started I told him that he should ​give up poling boats for the time being and should not go into the city. But he insisted on going into the city—on rolling into the city—and when he got there they got hold of him and cut off his queue. Formerly he had a nice, silky, black queue and now he looks like neither monk nor priest. It is all well and good for the jailbird to bring this upon himself, but what have we done? What are we going to do? You walking corpse of a jailbird!"
The villagers had by now hurried through their meal and were gathered around Seven Pounds' table. Conscious of the fact that he was something of a personage. Seven Pounds felt acutely the shame of being scolded by one's wife in public. He raised his head and gently remonstrated, "It is very well for you to say these things now, but, at the time, you . . . "
"You walking corpse of a jailbird!"
Among the onlookers Sister Eighteen was the most kindhearted. With her two-year-old son in her arms—he was born after the death of her husband—she was standing beside Sister Seven Pounds. She felt sorry for Seven Pounds and tried to put in a word for him, saying, "Sister Seven Pounds, let him be. People are not gods, so who is to foresee what is to come? And did you not say at the time, Sister Seven Pounds, that it was not so bad, after all, to be without a queue? Besides, there has been no official proclamation by his honor the magistrate."
Before she had heard it all, Sister Seven Pounds was already red around the ears. She pointed her chopsticks at Sister Eighteen's nose and said, "What are you talking about, Sister Eighteen? As far as I can see I am the same person now as ​I was then, so how could I have said such a stupid thing? On the contrary, I cried for three days and three nights as everyone knows. Even Six Pounds, the little devil, cried."
Six Pounds had just finished her bowl of rice. She held out her empty bowl and asked for more. Whereupon, Sister Seven Pounds, who was looking for some object for her displeasure, brought down the points of her chopsticks on the child's head right between her hornlike queues and shouted, "Who told you to butt your snout into this, you men-keeping little widow!"
Crash, the empty bowl fell from Six Pounds' hand. It landed on the edge of a brick and a large piece broke off. Seven Pounds jumped to his feet, picked up the broken bowl, pieced it together, and examined it. "Your mother's ——" he shouted and with one slap knocked down Six Pounds, who lay there crying. Old Mrs. Nine Pounds took her hand, helped her up, and led her away, saying "Each generation worse than the last."
Sister Eighteen was also aroused, and said in a loud voice, "Sister Seven Pounds, you are 'pointing at the chicken while really cursing the dog.'"
Mr. Chao had been an onlooker until Sister Eighteen said "besides, there has been no official proclamation by his honor the magistrate." This angered him. Now he stepped forward and said, "'To point at the chicken while really cursing the dog' is a small matter at a time like this. The imperial troops will soon be here. Now you must know that the protector of the imperial equipage this time is Marshall Chang, a descendant of Chang Yi-te of Yen. With his eighteen-foot snake spear, he has the strength of ten thousand warriors. Who can stand up against him?" He grasped his hands into ​fists, as if holding an invisible snake spear, and lunged forward toward Sister Eighteen saying, "Can you stand up against him?"
Sister Eighteen, child in arms, was trembling with passion but she was nevertheless frightened to see Mr. Chao, his face full of grease and sweat, his eyes bulging, lunge at her. She did not dare answer, but turned around and walked away. Mr. Chao also walked off. The onlookers blamed Sister Eighteen for bringing this upon herself. They made way for Mr. Chao; several men without queues, who had been trying to rectify the lack by growing one, dodged behind others so as not to be seen by him. Mr. Chao did not try to search them out. He walked through the crowd and, as he turned behind the tallow trees, he repeated, "Can you stand up against him?" He stepped upon the single-log bridge and sauntered off.
The stupefied villagers all admitted to themselves that indeed no one of them was able to stand up against Chang Yi-te and that consequently Seven Pounds must forfeit his life. Since Seven Pounds had committed a crime against His Majesty's laws, he had no business to be so proud and self-satisfied as he related the news he had gathered on his daily trips to the city. Consequently they felt pleased at the fix that Seven Pounds found himself in. They wanted to express themselves on the point, but found they really had nothing to say.
The buzzing grew louder as the mosquitoes flew past the naked backs to hold converse among themselves under the tallow trees. The crowd slowly broke up; one by one the villagers went home, shut their gates and went to bed. Sister Seven Pounds did likewise, grumbling all the while as ​she gathered up the supper things and took away the table and benches.
Seven Pounds took the broken bowl home and sat upon his doorsill, smoking. But in his worry he forgot to puff at his pipe, and it went out. He knew that the situation was very critical, and he wished to think of some way out, some remedy, but his ideas were vague and disjointed and there was no way to connect them up. "Queue, queue, how about the queue? . . . Eighteen-foot snake spear . . . Each generation worse than the last . . . The Emperor upon his Dragon Throne . . . The broken bowl must be taken to the city to be mended . . . Who can stand up against him? . . . It is clearly written in the book . . . His mother's ——"
The next morning Seven Pounds poled the boat from Luchen to the city and returned in the evening as usual. At supper he told old Mrs. Nine Pounds that he had had the broken bowl mended in the city. The part broken off was very large and required sixteen brass clasps at three cash each, a total cost of forty-eight cash.
Old Mrs. Nine Pounds was dissatisfied as usual and said, "Each generation worse than the last. I have lived long enough. Three cash a clasp! But what sort of clasps are these? In the old days the clasps were different. I have lived seventy-nine years . . . "
From then on, although Seven Pounds went to the city as usual, a certain gloom hung over his household. The villagers avoided him, no longer caring to come to him for news of the city. Sister Seven Pounds had no civil words for him and frequently called him "jailbird."
One evening about ten days later, Seven Pounds returned from the city to find his wife in good spirits. "Did you hear anything in the city?" she asked him.
​"I heard nothing."
"Has the Emperor mounted the Dragon Throne?"
"They did not say."
"Didn't anyone at the Hsien Heng tavern say anything about it?"
"No one said anything there either."
"I think the Emperor is not going to mount the Dragon Throne after all. I passed by Mr. Chao's shop today and saw that he was reading his books again. His queue is again coiled up on top of his head and he did not wear his long gown."
"Mm . . . "
"Don't you suppose that the Emperor is not going to mount the Dragon Throne after all?"
"I suppose, perhaps not."
Seven Pounds has long since recovered the respect of the villagers and of his wife and is treated by them with the consideration due to a person of his standing. Now as they are gathered in the open space before their respective gates for their summer meals, they again greet one another with good-natured laughter. Mrs. Nine Pounds celebrated her eighteenth birthday long ago, and is as disgruntled and strong as ever. The two hornlike queues of Six Pounds have now grown into one braid. Although she has just begun to bind her feet, she is still able to help Sister Seven Pounds with the household chores. She is seen hobbling about the open space along the river bank now, the bowl with sixteen brass clasps in her hand.
* ↑ The Chinese pound or "catty" is generally equal to one and one-third English pounds.
* ↑ That is, baby name; it is generally discarded when one is old enough to enter school or to marry, though with persons in humble circumstances it may serve to the end of their lives.
* ↑ This alludes to the brief restoration of the Manchu dynasty in 1917.
* ↑ That is, their tzu, usually translated as "style." The connection between the name and the derived name is obvious in the cases of Generals Chao and Chang (as indeed in most cases): the former's name means "cloud," his derived name "Sir dragon"; the latter's name means "to fly," his derived name, "virtue of wings."
* ↑ See p. 61.
* ↑ To describe some one as "rolling" like an egg, particularly a turtle's egg, or to tell him to "roll away," is very uncomplimentary.
* ↑ Formula applied to Chang Fei's famous spear and his prowess.