世新中文 ‧ 中國文學名著英譯選讀教室

The Silhouette of His Back

It has been more than two years since the last time I saw my father, and the memory that has stayed with me the longest is the silhouette of his back.

It was during the winter of that year; Grandmother had just died, and father’s temporary appointment with the government had been terminated. Truly those were days when “calamities never come in ones.” I traveled from Beijing to Xuzhou, planning to return home with my father for the funeral. When I reached Xuzhou I met my father, and I noticed that his garden was in complete disarray. I thought again of Grandmother and was unable to hold back the flow of tears. Father said, “Things are as they are; you shouldn’t be sad for happily there is nothing Heaven that is hopeless.”

On our return home, by selling and pawning our things, Father was able to clear up his debts; then he borrowed money to pay for the funeral. During those days the situation in our home was a pathetic one, partly because of the funeral and partly because of Father’s unemployment. After the funeral ceremonies were completed, Father set out for Nanjing to look for work, and since I intended to return to Beijing to study, we took to the road together.

When we reached Nanjing a friend invited us to go on an excursion, so we stopped over for a day. At noon on the next day we had to cross the river to Pukou in order to board the afternoon train headed north. Owing to his busy schedule, Father had originally decided not to see me off and had asked a hotel attendant whom he knew well to accompany me. He enjoined the attendant time and again to be extremely attentive. But in the end he could not dispel his anxieties, fearing that the attendant would to be unreliable; he was unable to make up his mind for some time. Actually, at the time I was already twenty years old and had journeyed to and from Beijing two or three time already, so it wasn’t such a major affair. He vacillated for a while, then finally decided that he would see me off after all. I tried to persuade him, two or three times, that he need not go, but he simply said, “No matter, having them go isn’t a good idea.”

We cross the river and entered the train station. I bought my ticket while he busied himself with the luggage, of which there was so much that he found it necessary to offer a tip to a porter before we could pass on. He then busied himself with bartering over the charges. In those days I thought I was as smart as one could be, and, feeling that his speech wasn’t all that elegant, it was necessary for me to interject some words of my own. Finally, however, he arrived at an agreed price and escorted me to the train. He located a seat next to the car door for me, over which I draped the purple fur-lined overcoat that he had had made for me. He instructed me to be careful during the trip, to be on my guard at night, and to avoid drafts. And he also charged the attendant with taking good care of me. I was laughing to myself over his absurdness; all they’re concerned with is money, so asking them for favors is absolutely useless！ What’s more, was it possible that a fellow as old and mature as I was would be unable to take care of himself? Ai！ As I think back in it now, I was really too smart for my own good then！

I said, “Papa, you go on now.” He glanced out of the train car and said, “I’ll go and buy you some oranges. You wait here; don’t go anywhere.” I could see there were several peddlers waiting for customers over beyond the railing of a distant platform. To get to that platform you had to cross the tracks by jumping down and then clambering back up the other side. Father was a stout man, so crossing over three would be no mean task. At first I wanted to go myself, but he wouldn’t allow it, so all I could do was let him go. I watched him hobble over to the tracks in his black cloth cap, black cloth gown, and dark blue outer jacket, and slowly easy himself down without too much trouble. But when he had crossed the tracks and was trying to climb up to the other platform, that was no easy matter. He grabbed hold of it with two hands, then hoisted up both of his legs, his stout body listing to the left and showing the great strain he was exerting. It was then that I noticed the silhouette of his back, and tears promptly coursed down my cheeks. I hurriedly wiped away the tears, afraid that he might notice, and afraid also that others might be watching. When I looked out from the train car again he was already on his way back, carrying a load of deep-colored oranges. To cross the railroad tracks he first tossed the oranges to the ground and slowly lowered himself down, then picked up the oranges and started out again. When he made it over to this side I quickly went over and gave him a hand. Then the two of us walked back onto the train, and he dropped the whole load of oranges on top of my leather overcoat. Then he brushed the mud off his clothes, his mind having taken on a relaxed mood. After a moment he said, “Well, I’m going now; write when you get there.” My gaze followed him as he walked away. He took several steps, then turned around to me and said, “Go on in, there’s no one inside.” When the silhouette of his back had merged with those of the people coming and going, when I could no longer spot him, I went back in and sat down. Once again tears welled up in my eyes.

These past few years my father’s and my paths have failed to cross, and our family situation has worsened each day. From his youth he had struck out on his own and had supported his family by himself, performing several important jobs. How could he have envisioned such ruinous times in his advanced years? He was a witness to unhappy times, so naturally could not help giving vent to his feelings, and trifling family matters often around his anger. His attitude toward me gradually came to differ from earlier days. But not having seen me in the past two years, he has come to lose sight of my shortcomings, and thinks only of seeing me and my son.

After I came to Beijing he wrote me a letter in which he said, “My health is good, but I am bothered by a rather painful shoulder that makes it difficult to raise my chopsticks or lift a pen; probably the hour of my passing is not far away.” When I read to this point, through the shining translucence of my tears I saw once again the silhouette of that stout back covered with a dark blue outer jacket and black cloth gown. Ai！ I do not know when I shall be able to meet him again.

1925