Rickshaw Boy: A Novel (5 page)

Late at night Xiangzi was still awake. Hope buoyed his spirits; fear made him jittery. He tried to sleep but couldn’t, and lay on his bed of straw feeling as if his arms and legs had left his body. He was surrounded by an eerie silence, the stars above the only witnesses to his pounding heart. The silence was broken by the sorrowful brays of a camel. The camels were very near. It was a good sound, like the crow of a rooster before dawn, simultaneously forlorn and comforting.

He heard cannon fire, distant but unmistakable. He didn’t dare move, but then he heard an uproar in the camp. He held his breath. This was his chance. He knew that the soldiers had to retreat and that they’d head back into the mountains. His time with them had taught him that they fought like bees trapped inside a room, flying blindly into walls. The soldiers would react to the sound of cannon fire by running away, so he had to be ready to make his move. Slowly he began to crawl along the ground, holding his breath as best he could as he searched for the camels. He knew they wouldn’t be any help, but, like him, they were prisoners, and that ought to elicit a bit of mutual sympathy. Pandemonium reigned in camp. He found the camels kneeling on the ground and looking like a cluster of hillocks in the dark, the only sound their raspy breathing, as if peace reigned all around. That lifted his courage. He crouched down beside one of the camels, like a porter hiding behind a sandbag, where he was struck by an idea: the cannon fire was coming from the south, and even if they weren’t shooting at anything, they were warning everyone that there was no passage. What that meant was that the soldiers had to retreat into the mountains, and they’d not be taking the camels. So the animals’ fate was tied up with his. If the soldiers were not willing to abandon the animals, he had no chance. But if they forgot the camels, he could escape. By putting his ear to the ground, he could tell if anyone was coming his way. His heart was racing.

He had no idea how long he waited there, but no one came for the camels. Time to take a chance. He sat up and peered between the two humps. Nothing to see but darkness. He ran. Whatever happened, good or bad, it was time to flee.

CHAPTER THREE

X
iangzi had run twenty or thirty steps when he stopped. He couldn’t leave those camels. All he had in the world now was his life, and he’d have happily picked up a length of rope if he could have found one. Even something that worthless would have brought him a sense of well-being; in other words, with that in his hand, he’d at least have something. Escaping was essential, but what good was a man’s life stripped bare of everything else? He had to take the animals with him, though he had no idea if they might come in handy; but they were, after all, something, and something quite big.

He began pulling the camels to their feet. Clueless as to how to handle them, he wasn’t frightened; he’d come from the countryside, where he’d spent a good deal of time around domestic animals. Slowly, very slowly, they stood up. He had no time to worry whether or not they were tied together, and as soon as he realized he could get one camel to follow him, he started walking—one or all of them, it didn’t matter.

He regretted the impulse as soon as he started out. Being accustomed to carrying heavy loads, camels walk slowly. And they aren’t just slow—they are cautious, fearful of slipping. Any water puddle or patch of mud can result in a sprain or a cracked knee. The value of a camel rests only in its legs. A damaged leg can put it out of commission. Meanwhile, Xiangzi was fleeing for his life.

Years of pulling a rickshaw had honed Xiangzi’s sense of direction. But that did little to calm his confused state of mind. Finding the camels had at first made them the focus of his thoughts. But once he had them on their feet, he realized he didn’t know for sure where he was. It was so dark and he was so anxious that, even if he knew how to travel by the stars, he wouldn’t put his trust in them, since they—it seemed to him—were more anxious than he. They seemed to bump into each other in the dark sky, and he forced himself to stop looking up. Head down, he kept walking, slowly, his anxiety growing. He began to ponder his situation: since I’m walking with camels, I need to get away from the mountain paths and find a road. It’s a straight line from Moshi Pass—if that’s where I am—to Yellow Village. That means a real road and no detours. The words “no detours” carried considerable weight to a man who made his living pulling a rickshaw. But the road offered no possibility of concealment. What if he encountered another gang of soldiers? And even if he didn’t, did he look like someone who tended camels, given the tattered army clothes, his dirty face, and his long, unruly hair? No, not in a million years! What he looked like was a deserter. A deserter! It wouldn’t be so bad if soldiers caught him, but if villagers spotted him, he could look forward to being buried alive! That thought made him tremble. The sound of the camels walking behind him gave him a scare. His only chance of getting away was to abandon the camels, since they were holding him back. Maybe so, but he held on to the rope that was fixed to the lead camel’s nose. Let’s go, keep walking. We’ll wind up somewhere and deal with whatever’s waiting for us there. If I make it out alive, I’ve got camels to show for it. If I don’t, those are the breaks.

He slipped out of his army clothes, tore off the tunic collar, and plucked off the last two conspicuous brass buttons and flung them into the darkness. They fell without a sound. Then he draped the collarless, buttonless shirt over his shoulders and tied the sleeves together in front of his chest, as if he were carrying a bundle on his back. That made him look less like a soldier on the run. Finally, he rolled the pant cuffs up just under his knees. He knew he still didn’t look much like a camel herder, but at least people wouldn’t spot him right off as a deserter. His dirty face and sweat-soaked body probably gave him the appearance of a coal miner. Ideas did not come to Xiangzi quickly, but when they came, they were well formed and immediately put into practice. The night was so dark that no one could have seen him, and there wasn’t a pressing need for him to act right away; but he couldn’t wait, since he did not know what time it was. For all he knew, daybreak wasn’t far off. He was avoiding mountain paths, so once the sun came out, he’d have no place to hide. If he traveled during the day, he’d have to convince people that he was a coal miner. That’s what he thought, so that’s what he did, and it made him feel better, as if the danger had passed and he’d soon be back in Beiping. He had to make his way into the city, and soon; with no money and no food, time was his worst enemy. Another idea came to him: he’d save energy, which would help stave off hunger, if he rode one of the camels. But he wasn’t sure he could manage. The ride would be steady enough, but he’d first have to find a way to get the camel to kneel. Nothing was more important than time, and that would be more trouble than it was worth. Besides, if he was up there, he couldn’t see the ground in front; if the camel stumbled, it would take him with it. No, just keep walking.

He had a sense that he was on a highway but could not be sure exactly where he was or in which direction he was walking. The late night, the exhaustion of many days, and the risks of running away made him uneasy in mind and body. After walking awhile, his steps steady and slow, his body began to demand sleep. As a chill penetrated the darkness, uncertainties multiplied. He kept looking down at the ground, which seemed to his eye to undulate, though every even step belied that vision; extreme caution and the tricks his mind was playing on him disturbed him to the point of visible agitation. Might as well stop looking down, he thought, and concentrate on what’s ahead. He shuffled forward, feet dragging on the ground. He couldn’t see a thing, as if all the darkness in the world were waiting there for him. Each step in the darkness took him into more of the same; the camels followed without making a sound.

As he grew accustomed to the dark, his mind seemed to stop functioning and he could no longer keep his eyes open. Was he still walking, or had he stopped? All he sensed was a wavelike motion in his head, like black ocean swells; the darkness attached itself to his mind, unsettled, flustered, confused. Suddenly he was jolted awake, as if something had occurred to him, maybe a sound, he couldn’t be sure. He opened his eyes, and he knew at once that he was still walking—the momentary thought was gone. Nothing was happening anywhere around him. His heart lurched for a second before he calmed down. Keep your eyes open, he told himself, and no wild thoughts. Getting into the city as quickly as possible is all that matters. But his mind would not cooperate. His eyelids kept drooping, and he knew he had to think of something quick to stay awake. If he could lie down, he could sleep for three days. Think, he said, think. His head was reeling, his body was uncomfortably wet, his scalp itched, his feet were sore, and his mouth was dry and bitter-tasting. The best he could come up with was self-pity, but even that seemed impossible, since his head was empty; he no sooner had thoughts about himself than he forgot them, like a dying candle that won’t light. Enveloped by darkness, he felt as if he were floating inside a black cloud. Though he was aware of his existence and that he was walking forward, there was no evidence of where he was headed. He was like a man tossed about on the open sea, no longer able to believe in himself. Never in his life had he felt so bewildered, so downhearted, so very alone. Never one to place much importance on friends, he feared nothing, no matter what it was, so long as he was out in the light of day, with the sun shining down on him. Even now he felt no fear, but the inability to make necessary decisions was more than he could bear. If the camels had been as intransigent as, say, mules, he might well have focused his attention on them. But they were so obedient they began to get on his nerves, and as his mind wandered, he was not even sure they were still behind him, and that gave him a scare. He was ready to believe that the hulking beasts had somehow gone off in a different direction in the darkness without his knowing it, like a melting ice block pulled behind him.

At some point along the way he sat down. If he were to die yet retain memory after death, he would be unable to recall how he’d come to be sitting on the ground, or why. He sat there for five minutes—or maybe it was an hour, he didn’t know. Neither did he know if he’d sat down and fallen asleep or if he’d fallen asleep and then sat down. Probably the latter, since by then he was so exhausted he could have slept standing up.

He woke up abruptly, not the normal return to wakefulness but with a start, as if transported to another world. It was still pitch-dark. He heard a rooster crow, clear as a bell, almost as if something had pierced his brain. He was wide awake. The camels, what about the camels? That was his first and only thought. The rope was still in his hand; the camels were there beside him. What a relief! He did not feel like getting up. He was sore all over, too sore to stand. But he didn’t dare go back to sleep. He had to think, think hard, come up with something. And it was at this moment that he recalled his rickshaw. “What right?” he shouted.

It was an empty shout that served no purpose. He stood up and felt one of the camels. How many were there? He didn’t know. He went from one to the next—three, he counted. Not too many, too few. He concentrated on them. Unsure of what to do with three camels, he had a vague thought that his future was tied to them.

“Why not sell them and use the money to buy a new rickshaw?” He nearly jumped in the air. But he didn’t, probably because he was embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of something so natural, so easy to accomplish, before this. In the end, happiness won out over shame. He knew what he was going to do. Hadn’t he heard a rooster crow only a few minutes before? Well, even when they do that at two in the morning, daybreak cannot be far off. And where there were roosters, there had to be a village. Maybe Northern Xin’an. The people there raised camels, so he mustn’t waste any time. If he reached the village before sunup, he could dispose of his camels, go immediately into the city, and buy a rickshaw. With war raging all around, they must be selling them cheap. That thought crowded out all others. Selling his camels would be easy.

Xiangzi’s spirits rose. His soreness was gone. If he could have exchanged his camels for a hundred acres of farmland or a string of pearls, he would not have been nearly as happy. Standing up straight, he got his camels up off the ground and started walking. He had no idea what a camel sold for these days, but he’d heard that in the past, before trains came to town, a camel was worth three dabao, or fifty ounces of silver. They’re strong and they eat less than mules. Three dabao was probably out of the question, but he had hopes of getting eighty or a hundred yuan, enough to buy a rickshaw.

The sky was turning light, starting up ahead of him, which meant he was heading east. Even if he was on the wrong road, he’d still be heading east. The mountains were to the west, the city to the east. He knew that much. The darkness was retreating all around, and though no colors were visible, the fields and distant trees were coming into view in the haze. The stars were vanishing, as the sky filled with a layer of gray that resembled clouds but could have been mist—still fairly dark, but rising higher and higher. Finally he mustered the courage to look up. The smell of grass grew stronger and he heard bird songs. Now that he could distinguish shapes, his ears, his eyes, his mouth, and his nose were back in working order. He looked down and saw that he could make out parts of his body, a reminder of the sorry shape he was in. At least he had proof that he was alive. Like waking from a bad dream, he was struck by the thought of how joyful it was to be alive. After briefly examining himself, he turned to look at his camels. They were as sorry-looking as he, and as wonderful. They were molting, pinkish-gray skin showing through in clumps, the sloughed-off hide hanging from parts of their bodies; pulling it off would have required little effort. They looked like big, lumbering beggars. The long necks were the most wretched-looking: long, hairless, curved, un-graceful, stretched out in front like frustrated dragons. But Xiangzi did not find them disgusting, no matter how disreputable they might appear. They were, after all, living creatures. He was, he felt, the luckiest man alive, for the heavens had sent him three treasures that he could swap for a rickshaw. Things like that did not happen every day. He laughed out loud.