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药

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药

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一

秋天的后半夜，月亮下去了，太陽还没有出，只剩下一片乌蓝的天；除了夜游的东西，什么都睡着。华老栓忽然坐起身，擦着火柴，点上遍身油腻的灯盏，茶馆的两间屋子里，便弥满了青白的光。

“小栓的爹，你就去么？”是一个老女人的声音。里边的小屋子里，也发出一阵咳嗽。

“唔。”老栓一面听，一面应，一面扣上衣服；伸手过去说，“你给我罢。”

华大妈在枕头底下掏了半天，掏出一包洋钱⑵，交给老栓，老栓接了，抖抖的装入衣袋，又在外面按了两下；便点上灯笼，吹熄灯盏，走向里屋子去了。那屋子里面，正在窸窸窣窣的响，接着便是一通咳嗽。老栓候他平静下去，才低低的叫道，“小栓……你不要起来。……店么？你娘会安排的。”

老栓听得儿子不再说话，料他安心睡了；便出了门，走到街上。街上黑沉沉的一无所有，只有一条灰白的路，看得分明。灯光照着他的两脚，一前一后的走。有时也遇到几只狗，可是一只也没有叫。天气比屋子里冷多了；老栓倒觉爽快，仿佛一旦变了少年，得了神通，有给人生命的本领似的，跨步格外高远。而且路也愈走愈分明，天也愈走愈亮了。

老栓正在专心走路，忽然吃了一惊，远远里看见一条丁字街，明明白白横着。他便退了几步，寻到一家关着门的铺子，蹩进檐下，靠门立住了。好一会，身上觉得有些发冷。

“哼，老头子。”

“倒高兴……。”

老栓又吃一惊，睁眼看时，几个人从他面前过去了。一个还回头看他，样子不甚分明，但很像久饿的人见了食物一般，眼里闪出一种攫取的光。老栓看看灯笼，已经熄了。按一按衣袋，硬硬的还在。仰起头两面一望，只见许多古怪的人，三三两两，鬼似的在那里徘徊；定睛再看，却也看不出什么别的奇怪。

没有多久，又见几个兵，在那边走动；衣服前后的一个大白圆圈，远地里也看得清楚，走过面前的，并且看出号衣⑶上暗红的镶边。——一阵脚步声响，一眨眼，已经拥过了一大簇人。那三三两两的人，也忽然合作一堆，潮一般向前进；将到丁字街口，便突然立住，簇成一个半圆。

老栓也向那边看，却只见一堆人的后背；颈项都伸得很长，仿佛许多鸭，被无形的手捏住了的，向上提着。静了一会，似乎有点声音，便又动摇起来，轰的一声，都向后退；一直散到老栓立着的地方，几乎将他挤倒了。

“喂！一手交钱，一手交货！”一个浑身黑色*的人，站在老栓面前，眼光正像两把刀，刺得老栓缩小了一半。那人一只大手，向他摊着；一只手却撮着一个鲜红的馒头⑷，那红的还是一点一点的往下滴。

老栓慌忙摸出洋钱，抖抖的想交给他，却又不敢去接他的东西。那人便焦急起来，嚷道，“怕什么？怎的不拿！”老栓还踌躇着；黑的人便抢过灯笼，一把扯下纸罩，裹了馒头，塞与老栓；一手抓过洋钱，捏一捏，转身去了。嘴里哼着说，“这老东西……。”

“这给谁治病的呀？”老栓也似乎听得有人问他，但他并不答应；他的精神，现在只在一个包上，仿佛抱着一个十世单传的婴儿，别的事情，都已置之度外了。他现在要将这包里的新的生命，移植到他家里，收获许多幸福。太陽也出来了；在他面前，显出一条大道，直到他家中，后面也照见丁字街头破匾上“古□亭口”这四个黯淡的金字。

二

老栓走到家，店面早经收拾干净，一排一排的茶桌，滑溜溜的发光。但是没有客人；只有小栓坐在里排的桌前吃饭，大粒的汗，从额上滚下，夹袄也帖住了脊心，两块肩胛骨高高凸出，印成一个陽文的“八”字。老栓见这样子，不免皱一皱展开的眉心。他的女人，从灶下急急走出，睁着眼睛，嘴唇有些发抖。

“得了么？”

“得了。”

两个人一齐走进灶下，商量了一会；华大妈便出去了，不多时，拿着一片老荷叶回来，摊在桌上。老栓也打开灯笼罩，用荷叶重新包了那红的馒头。小栓也吃完饭，他的母亲慌忙说：“小栓——你坐着，不要到这里来。”一面整顿了灶火，老栓便把一个碧绿的包，一个红红白白的破灯笼，一同塞在灶里；一阵红黑的火焰过去时，店屋里散满了一种奇怪的香味。

“好香！你们吃什么点心呀？”这是驼背五少爷到了。这人每天总在茶馆里过日，来得最早，去得最迟，此时恰恰蹩到临街的壁角的桌边，便坐下问话，然而没有人答应他。“炒米粥么？”仍然没有人应。老栓匆匆走出，给他泡上茶。

“小栓进来罢！”华大妈叫小栓进了里面的屋子，中间放好一条凳，小栓坐了。他的母亲端过一碟乌黑的圆东西，轻轻说：

“吃下去罢，——病便好了。”

小栓撮起这黑东西，看了一会，似乎拿着自己的性*命一般，心里说不出的奇怪。十分小心的拗开了，焦皮里面窜出一道白气，白气散了，是两半个白面的馒头。 ——不多工夫，已经全在肚里了，却全忘了什么味；面前只剩下一张空盘。他的旁边，一面立着他的父亲，一面立着他的母亲，两人的眼光，都仿佛要在他身上注进什么又要取出什么似的；便禁不住心跳起来，按着胸膛，又是一阵咳嗽。

“睡一会罢，——便好了。”

小栓依他母亲的话，咳着睡了。华大妈候他喘气平静，才轻轻的给他盖上了满幅补钉的夹被。

三

店里坐着许多人，老栓也忙了，提着大铜壶，一趟一趟的给客人冲茶；两个眼眶，都围着一圈黑线。

“老栓，你有些不舒服么？——你生病么？”一个花白胡子的人说。

“没有。”

“没有？——我想笑嘻嘻的，原也不像……”花白胡子便取消了自己的话。

“老栓只是忙。要是他的儿子……”驼背五少爷话还未完，突然闯进了一个满脸横肉的人，披一件玄色*布衫，散着纽扣，用很宽的玄色*腰带，胡乱捆在腰间。刚进门，便对老栓嚷道：

“吃了么？好了么？老栓，就是运气了你！你运气，要不是我信息灵……。”

老栓一手提了茶壶，一手恭恭敬敬的垂着；笑嘻嘻的听。满座的人，也都恭恭敬敬的听。华大妈也黑着眼眶，笑嘻嘻的送出茶碗茶叶来，加上一个橄榄，老栓便去冲了水。

“这是包好！这是与众不同的。你想，趁热的拿来，趁热的吃下。”横肉的人只是嚷。

“真的呢，要没有康大叔照顾，怎么会这样……”华大妈也很感激的谢他。

“包好，包好！这样的趁热吃下。这样的人血馒头，什么痨病都包好！”

华大妈听到“痨病”这两个字，变了一点脸色*，似乎有些不高兴；但又立刻堆上笑，搭讪着走开了。这康大叔却没有觉察，仍然提高了喉咙只是嚷，嚷得里面睡着的小栓也合伙咳嗽起来。

“原来你家小栓碰到了这样的好运气了。这病自然一定全好；怪不得老栓整天的笑着呢。”花白胡子一面说，一面走到康大叔面前，低声下气的问道，“康大叔——听说今天结果的一个犯人，便是夏家的孩子，那是谁的孩子？究竟是什么事？”

“谁的？不就是夏四奶奶的儿子么？那个小家伙！”康大叔见众人都耸起耳朵听他，便格外高兴，横肉块块饱绽，越发大声说，“这小东西不要命，不要就是了。我可是这一回一点没有得到好处；连剥下来的衣服，都给管牢的红眼睛阿义拿去了。——第一要算我们栓叔运气；第二是夏三爷赏了二十五两雪白的银子，独自落腰包，一文不花。”

小栓慢慢的从小屋子里走出，两手按了胸口，不住的咳嗽；走到灶下，盛出一碗冷饭，泡上热水，坐下便吃。华大妈跟着他走，轻轻的问道，“小栓，你好些么？——你仍旧只是肚饿？……”

“包好，包好！”康大叔瞥了小栓一眼，仍然回过脸，对众人说，“夏三爷真是乖角儿，要是他不先告官，连他满门抄斩。现在怎样？银子！——这小东西也真不成东西！关在劳里，还要劝劳头造反。”

“阿呀，那还了得。”坐在后排的一个二十多岁的人，很现出气愤模样。

“你要晓得红眼睛阿义是去盘盘底细的，他却和他攀谈了。他说：这大清的天下是我们大家的。你想：这是人话么？红眼睛原知道他家里只有一个老娘，可是没有料到他竟会这么穷，榨不出一点油水，已经气破肚皮了。他还要老虎头上搔痒，便给他两个嘴巴！”

“义哥是一手好拳棒，这两下，一定够他受用了。”壁角的驼背忽然高兴起来。

“他这贱骨头打不怕，还要说可怜可怜哩。”

花白胡子的人说，“打了这种东西，有什么可怜呢？”

康大叔显出看他不上的样子，冷笑着说，“你没有听清我的话；看他神气，是说阿义可怜哩！”

听着的人的眼光，忽然有些板滞；话也停顿了。小栓已经吃完饭，吃得满头流汗，头上都冒出蒸气来。

“阿义可怜——疯话，简直是发了疯了。”花白胡子恍然大悟似的说。

“发了疯了。”二十多岁的人也恍然大悟的说。

店里的坐客，便又现出活气，谈笑起来。小栓也趁着热闹，拚命咳嗽；康大叔走上前，拍他肩膀说：

“包好！小栓——你不要这么咳。包好！”

“疯了。”驼背五少爷点着头说。

四

西关外靠着城根的地面，本是一块官地；中间歪歪斜斜一条细路，是贪走便道的人，用鞋底造成的，但却成了自然的界限。路的左边，都埋着死刑和瘐毙的人，右边是穷人的丛冢。两面都已埋到层层叠叠，宛然阔人家里祝寿时的馒头。

这一年的清明，分外寒冷；杨柳才吐出半粒米大的新芽。天明未久，华大妈已在右边的一坐新坟前面，排出四碟菜，一碗饭，哭了一场。化过纸⑸，呆呆的坐在地上；仿佛等候什么似的，但自己也说不出等候什么。微风起来，吹动他短发，确乎比去年白得多了。

小路上又来了一个女人，也是半白头发，褴褛的衣裙；提一个破旧的朱漆圆篮，外挂一串纸锭，三步一歇的走。忽然见华大妈坐在地上看他，便有些踌躇，惨白的脸上，现出些羞愧的颜色*；但终于硬着头皮，走到左边的一坐坟前，放下了篮子。

那坟与小栓的坟，一字儿排着，中间只隔一条小路。华大妈看他排好四碟菜，一碗饭，立着哭了一通，化过纸锭；心里暗暗地想，“这坟里的也是儿子了。”那老女人徘徊观望了一回，忽然手脚有些发抖，跄跄踉踉退下几步，瞪着眼只是发怔。

华大妈见这样子，生怕他伤心到快要发狂了；便忍不住立起身，跨过小路，低声对他说，“你这位老奶奶不要伤心了，——我们还是回去罢。”

那人点一点头，眼睛仍然向上瞪着；也低声吃吃的说道，“你看，——看这是什么呢？”

华大妈跟了他指头看去，眼光便到了前面的坟，这坟上草根还没有全合，露出一块一块的黄土，煞是难看。再往上仔细看时，却不觉也吃一惊；——分明有一圈红白的花，围着那尖圆的坟顶。

他们的眼睛都已老花多年了，但望这红白的花，却还能明白看见。花也不很多，圆圆的排成一个圈，不很精神，倒也整齐。华大妈忙看他儿子和别人的坟，却只有不怕冷的几点青白小花，零星开着；便觉得心里忽然感到一种不足和空虚，不愿意根究。那老女人又走近几步，细看了一遍，自言自语的说，“这没有根，不像自己开的。——这地方有谁来呢？孩子不会来玩；——亲戚本家早不来了。——这是怎么一回事呢？”他想了又想，忽又流下泪来，大声说道：

“瑜儿，他们都冤枉了你，你还是忘不了，伤心不过，今天特意显点灵，要我知道么？”他四面一看，只见一只乌鸦，站在一株没有叶的树上，便接着说，“我知道了。——瑜儿，可怜他们坑了你，他们将来总有报应，天都知道；你闭了眼睛就是了。——你如果真在这里，听到我的话，——便教这乌鸦飞上你的坟顶，给我看罢。”

微风早经停息了；枯草支支直立，有如铜丝。一丝发抖的声音，在空气中愈颤愈细，细到没有，周围便都是死一般静。两人站在枯草丛里，仰面看那乌鸦；那乌鸦也在笔直的树枝间，缩着头，铁铸一般站着。

许多的工夫过去了；上坟的人渐渐增多，几个老的小的，在土坟间出没。

华大妈不知怎的，似乎卸下了一挑重担，便想到要走；一面劝着说，“我们还是回去罢。”

那老女人叹一口气，无精打采的收起饭菜；又迟疑了一刻，终于慢慢地走了。嘴里自言自语的说，“这是怎么一回事呢？……”

他们走不上二三十步远，忽听得背后“哑——”的一声大叫；两个人都悚然的回过头，只见那乌鸦张开两翅，一挫身，直向着远处的天空，箭也似的飞去了。

一九一九年四月。

□注释

⑴本篇最初发表于一九一九年五月《新青年》第六卷第五号。按：篇中人物夏瑜隐喻清末女革命党人秋瑾。秋瑾在徐锡麟被害后不久，也于一九○七年七月十五日遭清zheng府杀害，就义的地点在绍兴轩亭口。轩亭口是绍兴城内的大街，街旁有一牌楼，匾上题有“古轩亭口”四字。

⑵洋钱：指银元。银元最初是从外国流入我国的，所以俗称洋钱；我国自清代后期开始自铸银元，但民间仍沿用这个旧称。

⑶号衣：指清朝士兵的军衣，前后胸都缀有一块圆形白布，上有“兵”或“勇”字样。

⑷鲜红的馒头：即蘸有人血的馒头。旧时迷信，以为人血可以医治肺痨，刽子手便借此骗取钱财。

⑸化过纸：纸指纸钱，一种迷信用品，旧俗认为把它火化后可供死者在“－阴－间”使用。下文说的纸锭，是用纸或锡箔折成的元宝。　
　　

from 鲁迅《药》 April 1919

MEDECINE

I

It was autumn, in the small hours of the morning. The moon had gone down, but the sun had not yet risen, and the sky appeared a sheet of darkling blue. Apart from night-prowlers, all was asleep. Old Chuan suddenly sat up in bed. He struck a match and lit the grease-covered oil lamp, which shed a ghostly light over the two rooms of the tea-house.

"Are you going now, dad?" queried an old woman's voice. And from the small inner room a fit of coughing was heard.

"H'm."

Old Chuan listened as he fastened his clothes, then stretching out his hand said, "Let's have it."

After some fumbling under the pillow his wife produced a packet of silver dollars which she handed over. Old Chuan pocketed it nervously, patted his pocket twice, then lighting a paper lantern and blowing out the lamp went into the inner room. A rustling was heard, and then more coughing. When all was quiet again, Old Chuan called softly: "Son! . . Don't you get up! . . . Your mother will see to the shop."

Receiving no answer, Old Chuan assumed his son must be sound asleep again; so he went out into the street. In the darkness nothing could be seen but the grey roadway. The lantern light fell on his pacing feet. Here and there he came across dogs, but none of them barked. It was much colder than indoors, yet Old Chuan's spirits rose, as if he had grown suddenly younger and possessed some miraculous life-giving power. He lengthened his stride. And the road became increasingly clear, the sky increasingly bright.

Absorbed in his walking, Old Chuan was startled when he saw distinctly the cross-road ahead of him. He walked back a few steps to stand under the eaves of a shop, in front of its closed door. After some time he began to feel chilly.

"Uh, an old chap."

"Seems rather cheerful. . . ."

Old Chuan started again and, opening his eyes, saw several men passing. One of them even turned back to look at him, and although he could not see him clearly, the man's eyes shone with a lustful light, like a famished person's at the sight of food. Looking at his lantern, Old Chuan saw it had gone out. He patted his pocket—the hard packet was still there. Then he looked round and saw many strange people, in twos and threes, wandering about like lost souls. However, when he gazed steadily at them, he could not see anything else strange about them.

Presently he saw some soldiers strolling around. The large white circles on their uniforms, both in front and behind, were clear even at a distance; and as they drew nearer, he saw the dark red border too. The next second, with a trampling of feet, a crowd rushed past. Thereupon the small groups which had arrived earlier suddenly converged and surged forward. Just before the cross-road, they came to a sudden stop and grouped themselves in a semi-circle.

Old Chuan looked in that direction too, but could only see people's backs. Craning their necks as far as they would go, they looked like so many ducks held and lifted by some invisible hand. For a moment all was still; then a sound was heard, and a stir swept through the on-lookers. There was a rumble as they pushed back, sweeping past Old Chuan and nearly knocking him down.

"Hey! Give me the cash, and I'll give you the goods!" A man clad entirely in black stood before him, his eyes like daggers, making Old Chuan shrink to half his normal size. This man thrust one huge extended hand towards him, while in the other he held a roll of steamed bread, from which crimson drops were dripping to the ground.

Hurriedly Old Chuan fumbled for his dollars, and trembling he was about to hand them over, but he dared not take the object. The other grew impatient and shouted: "What are you afraid of? Why not take it?" When Old Chuan still hesitated, the man in black snatched his lantern and tore off its paper shade to wrap up the roll. This package he thrust into Old Chuan's hand, at the same time seizing the silver and giving it a cursory feel. Then he turned away, muttering, "Old fool. . . ."

"Whose sickness is this for?" Old Chuan seemed to hear someone ask; but he made no reply. His whole mind was on the package, which he carried as carefully as if it were the sole heir to an ancient house. Nothing else mattered now. He was about to transplant this new life to his own home, and reap much happiness. The sun had risen, lighting up the broad highway before him, which led straight home, and the worn tablet behind him at the cross-road with its faded gold inscription: "Ancient Pavilion."

II

When Old Chuan reached home, the shop had been cleaned, and the rows of tea-tables shone brightly; but no customers had arrived. Only his son sat eating at a table by the wall. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, his lined jacket clung to his spine, and his shoulder blades stuck out so sharply, an inverted V seemed stamped there. At this sight, Old Chuan's brow, which had been clear, contracted again. His wife hurried in from the kitchen, with expectant eyes and a tremor to her lips:

"Get it?"

"Yes."

They went together into the kitchen, and conferred for a time. Then the old woman went out, to return shortly with a dried lotus leaf which she spread on the table. Old Chuan unwrapped the crimson-stained roll from the lantern paper and transferred it to the lotus leaf. Little Chuan had finished his meal, but his mother exclaimed hastily:

"Sit still, Little Chuan! Don't come over here."

Mending the fire in the stove, Old Chuan put the green package and the red and white lantern paper into the stove together. A red-black flame flared up, and a strange odour permeated the shop.

"Smells good! What are you eating?" The hunchback had arrived. He was one of those who spend all their time in tea-shops, the first to come in the morning and the last to leave. Now he had just stumbled to a corner table facing the street, and sat down. But no one answered his question.

"Puffed rice gruel?"

Still no reply. Old Chuan hurried out to brew tea for him.

"Come here, Little Chuan!" His mother called him into the inner room, set a stool in the middle, and sat the child down. Then, bringing him a round black object on a plate, she said gently:

"Eat it up . . . then you'll be better."

Little Chuan picked up the black object and looked at it. He had the oddest feeling, as if he were holding his own life in his hands. Presently he split it carefully open. From within the charred crust a jet of white vapour escaped, then scattered, leaving only two halves of a steamed white flour roll. Soon it was all eaten, the flavour completely forgotten, only the empty plate being left. His father and mother were standing one on each side of him, their eyes apparently pouring something into him and at the same time extracting something. His small heart began to beat faster, and, putting his hands to his chest, he began to cough again.

"Have a sleep; then you'll be all right," said his mother.

Obediently, Little Chuan coughed himself to sleep. The woman waited till his breathing was regular, then covered him lightly with a much patched quilt.

III

The shop was crowded, and Old Chuan was busy, carrying a big copper kettle to make tea for one customer after another. There were dark circles under his eyes.

"Aren't you well, Old Chuan? . . . What's wrong with you?" asked one greybeard.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? . . . No, I suppose from your smile, there couldn't be . . ." the old man corrected himself.

"It's just that Old Chuan's busy," said the hunchback. "If his son. . . ." But before he could finish, a heavy-jowled man burst in. Over his shoulders he had a dark brown shirt, unbuttoned and fastened carelessly by a broad dark brown girdle at his waist. As soon as he entered, he shouted to Old Chuan:

"Has he eaten it? Any better? Luck's with you, Old Chuan. What luck! If not for my hearing of things so quickly. . . ."

Holding the kettle in one hand, the other straight by his side in an attitude of respect, Old Chuan listened with a smile. In fact, all present were listening respectfully. The old woman, dark circles under her eyes too, came out smiling with a bowl containing tea-leaves and an added olive, over which Old Chuan poured boiling water for the newcomer.

"This is a guaranteed cure! Not like other things!" declared the heavy-jowled man. "Just think, brought back warm, and eaten warm!"

"Yes indeed, we couldn't have managed it without Uncle Kang's help." The old woman thanked him very warmly.

"A guaranteed cure! Eaten warm like this. A roll dipped in human blood like this can cure any consumption!"

The old woman seemed a little disconcerted by the word "consumption," and turned a shade paler; however, she forced a smile again at once and found some pretext to leave. Meanwhile the man in brown was indiscreet enough to go on talking at the top of his voice until the child in the inner room was woken and started coughing.

"So you've had a great stroke of luck for your Little Chuan! Of course his sickness will be cured completely. No wonder Old Chuan keeps smiling." As he spoke, the greybeard walked up to the man in brown, and lowered his voice to ask:

"Mr. Kang, I heard the criminal executed today came from the Hsia family. Who was it? And why was he executed?"

"Who? Son of Widow Hsia, of course! Young rascal!"

Seeing how they all hung on his words, Mr. Kang's spirits rose even higher. His jowls quivered, and he made his voice as loud as he could.

"The rogue didn't want to live, simply didn't want to! There was nothing in it for me this time. Even the clothes stripped from him were taken by Red-eye, the jailer. Our Old Chuan was luckiest, and after him Third Uncle Hsia. He pocketed the whole reward—twenty-five taels of bright silver—and didn't have to spend a cent!"

Little Chuan walked slowly out of the inner room, his hands to his chest, coughing repeatedly. He went to the kitchen, filled a bowl with cold rice, added hot water to it, and sitting down started to eat. His mother, hovering over him, asked softly:

"Do you feel better, son? Still as hungry as ever?"

"A guaranteed cure!" Kang glanced at the child, then turned back to address the company. "Third Uncle Hsia is really smart. If he hadn't informed, even his family would have been executed, and their property confiscated. But instead? Silver! That young rogue was a real scoundrel! He even tried to incite the jailer to revolt!"

"No! The idea of it!" A man in his twenties, sitting in the back row, expressed indignation.

"You know, Red-eye went to sound him out, but he started chatting with him. He said the great Ching empire belongs to us. Just think: is that kind of talk rational? Red-eye knew he had only an old mother at home, but had never imagined he was so poor. He couldn't squeeze anything out of him; he was already good and angry, and then the young fool would 'scratch the tiger's head,' so he gave him a couple of slaps."

"Red-eye is a good boxer. Those slaps must have hurt!" The hunchback in the corner by the wall exulted.

"The rotter was not afraid of being beaten. He even said how sorry he was."

"Nothing to be sorry about in beating a wretch like that," said Greybeard.

Kang looked at him superciliously and said disdainfully: "You misunderstood. The way he said it, he was sorry for Red-eye."

His listeners' eyes took on a glazed look, and no one spoke. Little Chuan had finished his rice and was perspiring profusely, his head steaming.

"Sorry for Red-eye—crazy! He must have been crazy!" said Greybeard, as if suddenly he saw light.

"He must have been crazy!" echoed the man in his twenties.

Once more the customers began to show animation, and conversation was resumed. Under cover of the noise, the child was seized by a paroxysm of coughing. Kang went up to him, clapped him on the shoulder, and said:

"A guaranteed cure! Don't cough like that, Little Chuan! A guaranteed cure!"

"Crazy!" agreed the hunchback, nodding his head.

IV

Originally, the land adjacent to the city wall outside the West Gate had been public land. The zigzag path running across it, trodden out by passers-by seeking a short cut, had become a natural boundary line. Left of the path were buried executed criminals or those who had died of neglect in prison. Right of the path were paupers' graves. The serried ranks of grave mounds on both sides looked like the rolls laid out for a rich man's birthday.

The Ching Ming Festival that year was unusually cold. Willows were only just beginning to put forth shoots no larger than grains. Shortly after daybreak, Old Chuan's wife brought four dishes and a bowl of rice to set before a new grave in the right section, and wailed before it. When she had burned paper money she sat on the ground in a stupor as if waiting for something; but for what, she herself did not know. A breeze sprang up and stirred her short hair, which was certainly whiter than the previous year.

Another woman came down the path, grey-haired and in rags. Carrying an old, round, red-lacquered basket with a string of paper money hanging from it, she walked haltingly. When she saw Old Chuan's wife sitting on the ground watching her, she hesitated, and a flush of shame spread over her pale face. However, she summoned up courage to cross over to a grave in the left section. where she set down her basket.

That grave was directly opposite Little Chuan's, separated only by the path. As Old Chuan's wife watched the other woman set Out four dishes of food and a bowl of rice, then stand up to wail and burn paper money, she thought: "It must be her son in that grave too." The older woman took a few aimless steps and stared vacantly around, then suddenly she began to tremble and stagger backwards, as though giddy.

Fearing sorrow might send her out of her mind, Old Chuan's wife got up and stepped across the path, to say quietly: "Don't grieve, let's go home."

The other nodded, but she was still staring fixedly, and she muttered: "Look! What's that?"

Looking where she pointed, Old Chuan's wife saw that the grave in front had not yet been overgrown with grass. Ugly patches of soil still showed. But when she looked carefully, she was surprised to see at the top of the mound a wreath of red and white flowers.

Both of them suffered from failing eyesight, yet they could see these red and white flowers clearly. There were not many, but they were placed in a circle; and although not very fresh, were neatly set out. Little Chuan's mother looked round and found her own son's grave, like most of the rest, dotted with only a few little, pale flowers shivering in the cold. Suddenly she had a sense of futility and stopped feeling curious about the wreath.

In the meantime the old woman had gone up to the grave to look more closely. "They have no roots," she said to herself. "They can't have grown here. Who could have been here? Children don't come here to play, and none of our relatives ever come. What could have happened?" She puzzled over it, until suddenly her tears began to fall, and she cried aloud:

"Son, they all wronged you, and you do not forget. Is your grief still so great that today you worked this wonder to let me know?"

She looked all around, but could see only a crow perched on a leafless bough. "I know," she continued. "They murdered you. But a day of reckoning will come, Heaven will see to it. Close your eyes in peace. . . . If you are really here, and can hear me, make that crow fly on to your grave as a sign."

The breeze had long since dropped, and the dry grass stood stiff and straight as copper wires. A faint, tremulous sound vibrated in the air, then faded and died away. All around was deathly still. They stood in the dry grass, looking up at the crow; and the crow, on the rigid bough of the tree, its head drawn in, perched immobile as iron.

Time passed. More people, young and old, came to visit the graves.

Old Chuan's wife felt somehow as if a load had been lifted from her mind and, wanting to leave, she urged the other:

"Let's go."

The old woman sighed, and listlessly picked up the rice and dishes. After a moment's hesitation she started off slowly, still muttering to herself:

"What does it mean?"

They had not gone thirty paces when they heard a loud caw behind them. Startled, they looked round and saw the crow stretch its wings, brace itself to take off, then fly like an arrow towards the far horizon.

LINE DICTIONARY : deleting a word

do it from the sketchpad for handwriting

(better in Android, no bug)