Rickshaw Boy

by Lao She

Genres: General Fiction; Classics; Cultural Heritage; Historical Fiction

Synopsis

Rickshaw Boy is the story of Xiangzi, an honest and serious country boy who works as a rickshaw puller in Beiping (Beijing). A man of simple needs whose greatest ambition is to one day own his own rickshaw, Xiangzi is nonetheless thwarted, time and again, in his attempts to improve his lot in life.

A popular and influential work of 20th-century Chinese literature, Rickshaw Boy presents an unflinchingly honest portrait of life on the margins of society, intertwining dark comedy and tragedy.

Release date: September 7, 2010

Publisher: HarperCollins e-books

Print pages: 320

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

I’d like you to meet a fellow named Xiangzi, not Camel, because, you see, Camel is only a nickname. After I’ve told you about Xiangzi, we’ll deal with his relationship with camels, and be done with it.

The city of Beiping has several classes of rickshaw men: first are those who are young, energetic, and fleet-footed; they rent handsome rickshaws, put in a whole day, and are free to come and go as they please. They stake out a spot at a rickshaw stand or by a manor gate and wait for people who are looking for speed. If luck is with them, they can land a fare right off, earning as much as a silver dollar or two. But if luck passes them by, and they don’t make enough to pay for that day’s rental, well, so what? This group of running brothers has two ambitions: one is to land a job as a private hire; the other is to buy one’s own rickshaw, to own one outright. Then it makes no difference if they get paid by the month or pick up odd fares, since the rickshaws are theirs.

The second class includes men who are slightly older and who, for health reasons, cannot run as fast, or whose family situation will not allow them to go all day without a fare. For the most part, their rickshaws are in good shape, if not particularly new. Since they manage to keep up appearances, they can still demand a respectable fee for their services. Some of these brothers work a full day, others only half a day. The half-day workers generally choose the night shift, even in the summers and winters, since they have the energy to handle it. Working at night requires special care and skill, so there’s more money to be made.

Men over forty or younger than twenty have little chance of falling into either of these classes. They rent beat-up rickshaws and don’t dare work at night, which means they must set out early in the morning and work till three or four in the afternoon in hopes of earning enough to pay for that day’s rent and food. Given the poor condition of their rickshaws, speed is out of the question, so they wind up earning less for running more. Most of their fares come from hauling melons, fruit, and produce to market; the pay is low, but at least they can run at their own pace.

Some of the under-twenty men start out at the age of eleven or twelve, and few become top runners after the age of twenty, as they’ll have suffered too many injuries to maintain decent health. They can pull a rickshaw all their lives and still not make the grade. Those over forty will have been at it for at least a decade, which takes its toll; settling for mediocrity, they gradually become resigned to the knowledge that one day they will collapse and die in the street. Their style of running, their shrewd bargaining abilities, and the deft use of shortcuts or circuitous routes help them relive the glories of their past, which is why they turn up their noses at younger men. But past glory has no effect on their current dismal prospects. And so they sigh as they wipe the sweat from their brows. But the suffering of these veterans pales in comparison with another group of pullers, men who never imagined they would one day have to scrape out a living by pulling a rickshaw. Not until the line between life and death has blurred for them do they finally pick up the shafts of a rickshaw. Laid-off policemen and school janitors, peddlers who have squandered their capital, and out-of-work laborers who have nothing more to sell and no prospects for work grit their teeth, swallow their tears, and set out on this road to oblivion. Having mortgaged their youth, they are reduced to spilling the blood and sweat derived from coarse corn cakes on the city streets. They have little strength, scant experience, and no friends; even their laboring brothers avoid them. They pull run-down rickshaws whose tires go flat several times a day, and must beg forgiveness from passengers who, if they’re lucky, will give them fifteen cents for a ride.

Yet another class of rickshaw men owes its distinction to the peculiarities of environment and intelligence. Those native to Xiyuan and Haidian naturally ply their trade in the Western Hills or around the universities at Yanjing and Tsinghua; those from Anding Gate stick to the Qinghe and Beiyuan districts; while those outside of Yongding Gate work in the area of Nanyuan. Interested only in long hauls, these men disdain the short, penny-ante business. But even they are no match for their long-distance brethren in the Legacy Quarter, who take passengers from the diplomatic sector all the way to the Jade Fountain, the Summer Palace, and the Western Hills. Stamina is only one reason why most pullers will not compete for this business, for this group of men can deal with their foreign passengers in their own languages: when a British or French soldier says he wants to go to the Summer Palace or the Yonghe Monastery or the Eight Alleys red-light district, they understand. And they will not pass this skill on to their rivals. Their style of running is also unique: at a pace that is neither particularly fast nor too slow, they run with their heads down, not deigning to look left or right as they keep to the sides of the roads, aloof and self-assured. Since they serve foreigners, they do not wear the numbered jackets required of other rickshaw men. Instead, they dress in long-sleeved white shirts, black or white loose-fitting trousers tied at the ankles with thin bands, and black cloth-soled “double-faced” shoes—clean, neat, smart-looking. One sight of this attire keeps other pullers from competing for fares or trying to race them. They might as well be engaged in a trade all their own.

 

Now with this overview of the rickshaw trade, let’s see where Xiangzi fits in, in order to place—or at least attempt to place—him as precisely as a cog in a machine. Before he gained the nickname Camel, he was a relatively independent rickshaw man. That is to say, he belonged to the young, vigorous set and owned his own rickshaw. He was master of his own fate—an altogether high-class rickshaw man.

That was no small accomplishment. Only after a year, then two years, and then as many as three or four years—shedding one drop, two drops, unknown thousands of drops of sweat—did he manage to buy a rickshaw. By gritting his teeth through wind and rain and scrimping on food and tea, he finally put enough aside to buy it, a tangible reward for his struggles and his suffering, like a medal for valor. In the days when he was pulling a rental rickshaw, he ran from morning to night, from east to west and from north to south, spinning like a top, and never his own man. But his eyes did not falter and his heart would not waver, as he thought of the rickshaw waiting for him, one that would guarantee his freedom and independence, one that counted as his arms and legs. Owning a rickshaw meant never having to suffer mistreatment or do the bidding of people who rented them out. Relying on his strength and his own rickshaw, all he needed to do to make a living was to stay alert.

Hard work never bothered Xiangzi, nor was he affected by any of the excusable yet reprehensible bad habits so common among other rickshaw men. A combination of intelligence and diligence ensured that his dream would come true. If he’d been born into a better family or received a decent education, he’d never have been reduced to joining the rubber tire crowd; no matter what trade he’d taken up, he’d have made the most of his opportunities. Unfortunately, he had no choice, so, all right, he’d prove himself in the trade he was saddled with. Had he been consigned to hell, he’d have been one of the good demons. Born and raised in the countryside, he had come to the city at the age of eighteen, after losing his parents and the few acres of land they had worked. He brought with him a country boy’s powerful physique and honesty. At first he survived by working at a variety of backbreaking jobs, and it had not taken him long to discover that pulling a rickshaw was an easier way to make a living. At the other jobs his wages were fixed; pulling a rickshaw offered more variety and opportunities, and you never knew when and where you might do better than you thought. Naturally, he realized that chance alone was not enough, that a good-looking, fast-moving man and rickshaw were essential. People knew a high-quality product when they saw it. After thinking it over, he concluded that he had most of what it takes: strength and youth. What he lacked was experience. You don’t start out at the top, with the best equipment. But that was not going to hold Xiangzi back. With his youth and strength, ...