Read Online The Real Story of Ah-Q by Lu Xun - Free Book Online Page A

on one object alone, as if he held in his hands the single heir to an ancient house; all else was shut out. His only thought was to place this elixir inside his son, and enjoy its blessings. The sun was now fully risen, painting in light the road home, and the faded gold characters of a battered old plaque at the junction behind: ‘Crossing of the Ancient — Pavilion’.

II
     
    By the time Shuan returned home, the main room at the tea-house had been cleaned and tidied, its rows of tables polished to an almost slippery shine. No customers, only his son, sitting eating at one of the inner tables, fat beads of sweat rolling off his forehead, thick jacket stuck to his spine, the hunched ridges of his shoulder blades almost joined in an inverted V. A frown furrowed Shuan’s forehead. His wife rushed out from behind the cooking range, wide-eyed, a faint tremble to her lips.
    ‘Did you get it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    The two of them returned to the stove and, after a brief discussion, Hua Dama left the room, returning shortly afterwards with an old lotus leaf, which she spread out on a table. Shuan opened out the lantern paper and rewrapped the crimson bun in the lotus leaf, by which point the younger Shuan had finished his breakfast.
    ‘Stay there,’ his mother called quickly out to him. ‘Don’t come over here.’
    After firing up the stove, Shuan stuffed the jade green parcel and the torn red-and-white lantern paper inside. A reddish-black flame flared up, filling the room with a curious fragrance.
    ‘Smells good! What treats have you got in there?’ The hunch-back had arrived. All day, every day he spent in the teahouse, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Today, he had chosen the corner table nearest the street. Everyone ignored him. ‘Crispy rice?’ Still no reply. Shuan hurried over to pour him some tea.
    ‘Come in here!’ Hua Dama called her son into the back room, where he sat down on the bench in the middle. His mother brought him a round, pitch-black object on a plate.
    ‘Eat up,’ she told him softly. ‘It’ll make you better.’
    The boy picked it up and studied it. The strangest thing: as if it were his own life he were holding between finger and thumb. He broke it carefully open: a jet of white steam escaped from within the burnt crust, leaving behind two halves of a white steamed bun. Soon enough, the whole thing was swallowed down, its taste forgotten, leaving only an empty plate before him. His parents stood to either side, watching, an odd gleam to their eyes – as if they wanted to pour something into him, and take something out in return. His heart started to pound. He pressed his hands to his chest; another coughing fit began.
    ‘Go and have a nap – then you’ll feel better.’
    Her son obediently coughed himself to sleep. Once his breathing had steadied, Hua Dama lightly covered him with a patched quilt.

III
     
    The teahouse was now full. Dark circles under his eyes, Shuan moved busily between customers, filling their cups from his copper kettle.
    ‘Are you all right?’ a man with a grey beard asked. ‘Not ill, are you?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘Really?’ his interlocutor murmured. ‘You look cheerful enough, I suppose.’
    ‘He’s just busy. If his son – ’
    A man with a fleshy, overbearing face rushed in, interrupting the hunchback’s diagnosis. He wore a dark brown shirt, unbuttoned and bunched carelessly at the waist with a broad black belt.
    ‘Has he had it?’ he shouted at Shuan. ‘Is he better? You’re a lucky man, Shuan! Lucky I keep my ear to the ground…’
    One hand on his kettle, the other clamped by his side, Shuan listened respectfully, his face split wide open into a smile. Everyone else followed his example. Smiling just as brightly, Shuan’s wife – her own eyes shadowed by exhaustion – bustled out with a bowl and tea leaves. Once she had added an olive, Shuan poured on the hot water.
    ‘He’ll be better before you know it! Guaranteed!’