Kong Yiji

 

The layout of Luzhen’s taverns is unique. In each， facing you as you enter， is a bar in the shape of a carpenter’s square where hot water is kept ready for warming rice wine. When men come off work at midday and in the evening they spend four coppers on a bowl of wine—or so they did twenty years ago； now it costs ten—and drink this warm， standing by the bar， taking it easy. Another copper will buy a plate of salted bamboo shoots or peas flavoured with aniseed to go with the wine， while a dozen will buy a meat dish； but most of the customers here belong to the short-coated class，few of whom can afford this. As for those in long gowns， they go into the inner room to order wine and dishes and sit drinking at their leisure.

 

At the age of twelve I started work as a pot-boy in Prosperity Tavern at the edge of the town. The boss put me to work in the outer room， saying that I looked too much of a fool to serve long-gowned customers. The shortcoated customers there were easier to deal with， it is true， but among them were quite a few pernickety ones who insisted on watching for themselves while the yellow wine was ladled from the keg， looked for water at the bottom of the wine-pot， and personally inspected the pot’s immersion into the hot water. Under such strict surveillance， diluting the wine was very hard indeed. Thus it did not take my boss many days to decide that this job too was beyond me. Luckily I had been recommended by somebody influential， so he could not sack me. Instead I was transferred to the dull task of simply warming wine.

 

After that I stood all day behind the bar attending to my duties. Although I gave satisfaction at this post， I found it somewhat boring and monotonous. Our boss was a grim-faced man， nor were the customers much pleasanter， which made the atmosphere a gloomy one. The only times when there was any laughter were when Kong Yiji came to the tavern. That is why I remember him.

 

孔乙己

 

鲁镇的酒店的格局，是和别处不同的：都是当街一个曲尺形的大柜台，柜里面预备着热水，可以随时温酒。做工的人，傍午傍晚散了工，每每花四文铜钱，买一碗酒，——这是二十多年前的事，现在每碗要涨到十文，——靠柜外站着，热热的喝了休息；倘肯多花一文，便可以买一碟盐煮笋，或者茴香豆，做下酒物了，如果出到十几文，那就能买一样荤菜，但这些顾客，多是短衣帮，大抵没有这样阔绰。只有穿长衫的，才踱进店面隔壁的房子里，要酒要菜，慢慢地坐喝。

 

我从十二岁起，便在镇口的咸亨酒店里当伙计，掌柜说，样子太傻，怕侍候不了长衫主顾，就在外面做点事罢。外面的短衣主顾，虽然容易说话，但唠唠叨叨缠夹不清的也很不少。他们往往要亲眼看着黄酒从坛子里舀出，看过壶子底里有水没有，又亲看将壶子放在热水里，然后放心：在这严重监督之下，羼水也很为难。所以过了几天，掌柜又说我干不了这事。幸亏荐头的情面大，辞退不得，便改为专管温酒的一种无聊职务了。

 

我从此便整天的站在柜台里，专管我的职务。虽然没有什么失职，但总觉有些单调，有些无聊。掌柜是一副凶脸孔，主顾也没有好声气，教人活泼不得；只有孔乙己到店，才可以笑几声，所以至今还记得。

 

Kong Yiji was the only long-gowned customer who used to drink his wine standing. A big， pallid man whose wrinkled face often bore scars， he had a large， unkempt and grizzled beard. And although he wore a long gown it was dirty and tattered. It had not by the look of it been washed or mended for ten years or more. He used so many archaisms in his speech that half of it was barely intelligible. And as his surname was Kong， he was given the nickname Kong Yiji from kong， yi， ji， the first three characters in the old-fashioned children’s copybook. Whenever he came in， everyone there would look at him and chuckle. And someone was sure to call out：

 

“Kong Yiji！ What are those fresh scars on your face？”

 

Ignoring this， he would lay nine coppers on the bar and order two bowls of heated wine with a dish of aniseed-peas. Then someone else would bawl：

 

“You must have been stealing again！”

 

“Why sully a man’s good name for no reason at all？” Kong Yiji would ask， raising his eyebrows.

 

“Good name？ Why， the day before yesterday you were trussed up and beaten for stealing books from the Ho family. I saw you！”

 

At that Kong Yiji would flush， the veins on his forehead standing out as he protested， “Taking books can’t be counted as stealing.... Taking books ... for a scholar ... can’t be counted as stealing.” Then followed such quotations from the classics as “A gentleman keeps his integrity even in poverty，” together with a spate of archaisms which soon had everybody roaring with laughter， enlivening the whole tavern.

 

From the gossip that I heard， it seemed that Kong Yiji had studied the classics but never passed the official examinations and， not knowing any way to make a living， he had grown steadily poorer until he was almost reduced to beggary. Luckily he was a good calligrapher and could find enough copying work to fill his rice bowl. But unfortunately he had his failings too： laziness and a love of tippling. So after a few days he would disappear， taking with him books， paper， brushes and inkstone. And after this had happened several times， people stopped employing him as a copyist. Then all he could do was resort to occasional pilfering. In our tavern， though， he was a model customer who never failed to pay up. Sometimes， it is true， when he had no ready money， his name would be chalked up on our tally-board； but in less than a month he invariably settled the bill， and the name Kong Yiji would be wiped off the board again.

 

孔乙己是站着喝酒而穿长衫的唯一的人。他身材很高大；青白脸色，皱纹间时常夹些伤痕；一部乱蓬蓬的花白的胡子。穿的虽然是长衫，可是又脏又破，似乎十多年没有补，也没有洗。他对人说话，总是满口之乎者也，教人半懂不懂的。因为他姓孔，别人便从描红纸上的“上大人孔乙己”这半懂不懂的话里，替他取下一个绰号，叫作孔乙己。孔乙己一到店，所有喝酒的人便都看着他笑，有的叫道，“孔乙己，你脸上又添上新伤疤了！”他不回答，对柜里说，“温两碗酒，要一碟茴香豆。”便排出九文大钱。他们又故意的高声嚷道，“你一定又偷了人家的东西了！”孔乙己睁大眼睛说，“你怎么这样凭空污人清白……”“什么清白？我前天亲眼见你偷了何家的书，吊着打。”孔乙己便涨红了脸，额上的青筋条条绽出，争辩道，“窃书不能算偷……窃书！……读书人的事，能算偷么？”接连便是难懂的话，什么“君子固穷”，什么“者乎”之类，引得众人都哄笑起来：店内外充满了快活的空气。

 

听人家背地里谈论，孔乙己原来也读过书，但终于没有进学，又不会营生；于是愈过愈穷，弄到将要讨饭了。幸而写得一笔好字，便替人家钞钞书，换一碗饭吃。可惜他又有一样坏脾气，便是好喝懒做。坐不到几天，便连人和书籍纸张笔砚，一齐失踪。如是几次，叫他钞书的人也没有了。孔乙己没有法，便免不了偶然做些偷窃的事。但他在我们店里，品行却比别人都好，就是从不拖欠；虽然间或没有现钱，暂时记在粉板上，但不出一月，定然还清，从粉板上拭去了孔乙己的名字。

 

After Kong Yiji had drunk half a bowl of wine， his flushed cheeks would stop burning. But then someone would ask：

 

“Kong Yiji， can you really read？”

 

When he glanced back as if such a question were not worth answering，they would continue， “How is it you never passed even the lowest official examination？”

 

At once a grey tinge would overspread Kong Yiji’s dejected， discomfited face， and he would mumble more of those unintelligible archaisms. Then everyone there would laugh heartily again， enlivening the whole tavern.

 

At such time I could join in the laughter with no danger of a dressingdown from my boss. In fact he always put such questions to Kong Yiji himself， to raise a laugh. Knowing that it was no use talking to the men，Kong Yiji would chat with us boys. Once he asked me：

 

“Have you had any schooling？”

 

When I nodded curtly he said， “Well then， I’ll test you. How do you write the hui in aniseed-peas？”

 

Who did this beggar think he was， testing me！ I turned away and ignored him. After waiting for some time he said earnestly：

 

“You can’t write it， eh？ I’ll show you. Mind you remember. You ought to remember such characters， because you’ll need them to write up your accounts when you have a shop of your own.”

 

It seemed to me that I was still very far from having a shop of my own；in addition to which， our boss never entered aniseed-peas in his accountbook. Half amused and half exasperated， I drawled， “I don’t need you to show me. Isn’t it the hui written with the element for grass？”

 

Kong Yiji’s face lit up. Tapping two long fingernails on the bar，he nodded. “Quite correct！” he said. “There are four different ways of writing hui. Do you know them？”

 

孔乙己喝过半碗酒，涨红的脸色渐渐复了原，旁人便又问道，“孔乙己，你当真认识字么？”孔乙己看着问他的人，显出不屑置辩的神气。他们便接着说道，“你怎的连半个秀才也捞不到呢？”孔乙己立刻显出颓唐不安模样，脸上笼上了一层灰色，嘴里说些话；这回可是全是之乎者也之类，一些不懂了。在这时候，众人也都哄笑起来：店内外充满了快活的空气。

 

在这些时候，我可以附和着笑，掌柜是决不责备的。而且掌柜见了孔乙己，也每每这样问他，引人发笑。孔乙己自己知道不能和他们谈天，便只好向孩子说话。有一回对我说道，“你读过书么？”我略略点一点头。他说，“读过书，……我便考你一考。茴香豆的茴字，怎样写的？”我想，讨饭一样的人，也配考我么？便回过脸去，不再理会。孔乙己等了许久，很恳切的说道，“不能写罢？……我教给你，记着！这些字应该记着。将来做掌柜的时候，写账要用。”我暗想我和掌柜的等级还很远呢，而且我们掌柜也从不将茴香豆上账；又好笑，又不耐烦，懒懒的答他道，“谁要你教，不是草头底下一个来回的回字么？”孔乙己显出极高兴的样子，将两个指头的长指甲敲着柜台，点头说，“对呀对呀！……回字有四样写法，你知道么？”我愈不耐烦了，努着嘴走远。孔乙己刚用指甲蘸了酒，想在柜上写字，见我毫不热心，便又叹一口气，显出极惋惜的样子。

 

But my patience exhausted， I scowled and moved away. Kong Yiji had dipped his finger in wine to trace the characters on the bar. When he saw my utter indifference his face fell and he sighed.

 

Sometimes children in the neighbourhood， hearing laughter， came in to join in the fun and surrounded Kong Yiji. Then he would give them aniseedpeas， one apiece. After eating the peas the children would still hang round，their eyes fixed on the dish. Growing flustered， he would cover it with his hand and bending forward from the waist would say， “There aren’t many left， not many at all.” Straightening up to look at the peas again， he would shake his head and reiterate， “Not many， I do assure you. Not many， nay，not many at all.” Then the children would scamper off， shouting with laughter.

 

That was how Kong Yiji contributed to our enjoyment， but we got along all right without him too.

 

One day， shortly before the Mid-Autumn Festival I think it was， my boss who was slowly making out his accounts took down the tally-board.“Kong Yiji hasn’t shown up for a long time，” he remarked suddenly. “He still owes nineteen coppers. ” That made me realize how long it was since we had seen him.

 

“How could he？” rejoined one of the customers. “His legs were broken in that last beating up. ”

 

“Ah！”said my boss.

 

“He’d been stealing again. This time he was fool enough to steal from Mr. Ding， the provincial-grade scholar. As if anybody could get away with that！ ”

 

“So what happened？”

 

“What happened？ First he wrote a confession， then he was beaten. The beating lasted nearly all night， and they broke both his legs.”

 

“And then？”

 

“Well， his legs were broken.”

 

有几回，邻舍孩子听得笑声，也赶热闹，围住了孔乙己。他便给他们茴香豆吃，一人一颗。孩子吃完豆，仍然不散，眼睛都望着碟子。孔乙己着了慌，伸开五指将碟子罩住，弯腰下去说道，“不多了，我已经不多了。”直起身又看一看豆，自己摇头说，“不多不多！多乎哉？不多也。”于是这一群孩子都在笑声里走散了。

 

孔乙己是这样的使人快活，可是没有他，别人也便这么过。

 

有一天，大约是中秋前的两三天，掌柜正在慢慢的结账，取下粉板，忽然说，“孔乙己长久没有来了。还欠十九个钱呢！”我才也觉得他的确长久没有来了。一个喝酒的人说道，“他怎么会来？……他打折了腿了。”掌柜说，“哦！”“他总仍旧是偷。这一回，是自己发昏，竟偷到丁举人家里去了。他家的东西，偷得的么？”“后来怎么样？”“怎么样？先写服辩，后来是打，打了大半夜，再打折了腿。”“后来呢？”“后来打折了腿了。”“打折了怎样呢？”“怎样？……谁晓得？许是死了。”掌柜也不再问，仍然慢慢的算他的账。

 

“Yes， but after？”

 

“After？...Who knows？ He may be dead.”

 

My boss asked no further questions but went on slowly making up his accounts.

 

After the Mid-Autumn Festival the wind grew daily colder as winter approached， and even though I spent all my time by the stove I had to wear a padded jacket. One afternoon， when the tavern was deserted， as I sat with my eyes closed I heard the words：

 

“Warm a bowl of wine.”

 

It was said in a low but familiar voice. I opened my eyes. There was no one to be seen. I stood up to look out. There below the bar， facing the door，sat Kong Yiji. His face was thin and grimy—he looked a wreck. He had on a ragged lined jacket and was squatting 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 boss leaned over the bar to ask， “Is that Kong Yiji？ You still owe nineteen coppers. ”

 

“That...I’ll settle next time.” He looked up dejectedly. “Here’s cash. Give me some good wine.”

 

My boss， just as in the past， chuckled and said：

 

“Kong Yiji， you’ve been stealing again！”

 

But instead of stout denial， the answer simply was：

 

“Don’t joke with me.”

 

“Joke？ How did your legs get broken if you hadn’t been stealing？”

 

“I fell，” whispered Kong Yiji. “Broke them in a fall.” His eyes pleaded with the boss to let the matter drop. By now several people had gathered round， and they all laughed with the boss. I warmed the wine， carried it over， and set it on the threshold. He produced four coppers from his ragged coat pocket， and as he placed them in my hand I saw that his own hands were covered with mud—he must have crawled there on them. Presently he finished the wine and， to the accompaniment of taunts and laughter， slowly pushed himself off with his hands.

 

中秋过后，秋风是一天凉比一天，看看将近初冬；我整天的靠着火，也须穿上棉祅了。一天的下半天，没有一个顾客，我正合了眼坐着。忽然间听得一个声音，“温一碗酒。”这声音虽然极低，却很耳熟。看时又全没有人。站起来向外一望，那孔乙己便在柜台下对了门槛坐着。他脸上黑而且痩，已经不成样子；穿一件破夹祅，盘着两腿，下面垫一个蒲包，用草绳在肩上挂住；见了我，又说道，“温一碗酒。”掌柜也伸出头去，一面说，“孔乙己么？你还欠十九个钱呢！”孔乙己很颓唐的仰面答道，“这……下回还清罢。这一回是现钱，酒要好。”掌柜仍然同平常一样，笑着对他说，“孔乙己，你又偷了东西了！”但他这回却不十分分辩，单说了一句“不要取笑！”“取笑？要是不偷，怎么会打断腿？”孔乙己低声说道，“跌断，跌，跌……”他的眼色，很像恳求掌柜，不要再提。此时已经聚集了几个人，便和掌柜都笑了。我温了酒，端出去，放在门槛上。他从破衣袋里摸出四文大钱，放在我手里，见他满手是泥，原来他便用这手走来的。不一会，他喝完酒，便又在旁人的说笑声中，坐着用这手慢慢走去了。

 

A long time went by after that without our seeing Kong Yiji again. At the end of the year， when the boss took down the tally-board he said， “Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers.” At the Dragon-Boat Festival the next year he said the same thing again. But when the Mid-Autumn Festival arrived he was silent on the subject， and another New Year came round without our seeing any more of Kong Yiji.

 

Nor have I ever seen him since—no doubt Kong Yiji really is dead.

 

Mar-19

 

自此以后，又长久没有看见孔乙己。到了年关，掌柜取下粉板说，“孔乙己还欠十九个钱呢！”到第二年的端午，又说“孔乙己还欠十九个钱呢！”到中秋可是没有说，再到年关也没有看见他。

 

我到现在终于没有见——大约孔乙己的确死了。

 

一九一九年三月。