A LITTLE INCIDENT
A LITTLE INCIDENT
Lu Hsun
Six years have gone by, as so many winks, since I came to the capital from the village. During all that time there have occurred many of those events known as “affairs of the state”, a great number of which I have seen or heard about. My heart does not seem to have been in the least affected by any of them, and recollection now only tends to increase my ill temper and cause me to like people less as the day wears on. But one little incident alone is deep with meaning to me, and I am unable to forget it even now.
It was a winter day in the sixth year of the Republic, and a strong northernly wind blew furiously. To make a living, I had to be up early, and on the way to my duties I encountered scarcely anyone. After much difficulty, I finally succeeded in hiring a rickshaw. I told the puller to take to me to the South Gate.
After a while, the wind moderated its fury, and in its wake the streets were left clean of the loose dust. The puller ran quickly. Just as we approached the South Gate, somebody ran in front of us, got entangled in the rickshaw, and tumbled to the ground.
It was a woman with streaks of white in her hair, and she wore ragged clothes. She had darted suddenly from the side of the street, and directly crossed in front of us. My puller tried to swerve aside, but her tattered jacket, unbuttoned and fluttering in the wind, caught in the shafts. Fortunately, the puller had slowed his pace, otherwise she would have been thrown head over heels, and probably injured. After we halted, the woman still knelt on all fours. I did not think she was hurt. No one else had seen the collision. And it irritated me that the puller had stopped and was apparently prepared to get himself involved in some foolish complication. It might delay and trouble my journey.
“It’s nothing,” I told him. “Move on!”
But either he did not hear me or did not care, for he put down the shafts and gently helped the old woman to her feet. He
Lu Hsun
Six years have gone by, as so many winks, since I came to the capital from the village. During all that time there have occurred many of those events known as “affairs of the state”, a great number of which I have seen or heard about. My heart does not seem to have been in the least affected by any of them, and recollection now only tends to increase my ill temper and cause me to like people less as the day wears on. But one little incident alone is deep with meaning to me, and I am unable to forget it even now.
It was a winter day in the sixth year of the Republic, and a strong northernly wind blew furiously. To make a living, I had to be up early, and on the way to my duties I encountered scarcely anyone. After much difficulty, I finally succeeded in hiring a rickshaw. I told the puller to take to me to the South Gate.
After a while, the wind moderated its fury, and in its wake the streets were left clean of the loose dust. The puller ran quickly. Just as we approached the South Gate, somebody ran in front of us, got entangled in the rickshaw, and tumbled to the ground.
It was a woman with streaks of white in her hair, and she wore ragged clothes. She had darted suddenly from the side of the street, and directly crossed in front of us. My puller tried to swerve aside, but her tattered jacket, unbuttoned and fluttering in the wind, caught in the shafts. Fortunately, the puller had slowed his pace, otherwise she would have been thrown head over heels, and probably injured. After we halted, the woman still knelt on all fours. I did not think she was hurt. No one else had seen the collision. And it irritated me that the puller had stopped and was apparently prepared to get himself involved in some foolish complication. It might delay and trouble my journey.
“It’s nothing,” I told him. “Move on!”
But either he did not hear me or did not care, for he put down the shafts and gently helped the old woman to her feet. He