A wealthy young master like you should study and grow up to be a government official!
Only poor people’s kids learn carpentry.”
Somewhat annoyed by the c=way he shrugged off my words as childish nonsense, I
argued heatedly, “Why not become a carpenter? What’s the good of being a government
official? It’s great fun to build houses and make furniture. If I’m a carpenter, I’ll climb
high up, very high up, to build a house for myself.”
“You may fall down if you climb high,” said he casually, the smile on his face fading
away.
“Fall down? You’re fooling me! I’ve never seen a carpenter fall down.”
Shooting a glance at me, he continued with undiminished patience.
“A carpenter often has to risk his own life in building a house. One careless slip, and
you fall down. You’ll be disabled for life, if not reduced to pulp.”
Thereupon, he bent his head and forcefully pushed his plane over a plank, the
shavings of which fell continuously onto the ground amidst the screeching sound. Then he
added after a moment’s silence.
“That’s how my father died.”
I just could not bring myself to believe it. How could a man die like that? I had never
seen it happen, nor had I ever heard of it. If his father had died of an accident as a carpenter,
why should Lao Chen himself still be carpenter now? I just couldn’t figure it out.
“You’re fooling me. I don’t believe you! How come you’re still a carpenter? Can you
be unafraid of death?”
“Lots of guys are in this trade,” he went on gloomily. “it doesn’t follow that
everybody meets with such a violent death. Carpentry is my trade. What else could I rely
on to make a living?”
He looked up at me, some teardrops visible from the corners of his eyes. He was
crying!
I was at a loss when I saw him in tears, so I went away quietly.
Not long afterwards. My grandpa fell ill and died, and I was enrolled in a school, on
longer under the control of the old scholar. Lao Chen never came again to work in our
household after grandpa’s death. But every day on my way to school, I would pass his
small shop.
Sometimes he beckoned me from his shop. Sometimes he was absent, leaving a
couple of his apprentices there hammering nails into a stool or making some other articles.
At first, he could somehow scrape along. Soon street fighting broke out in the provincial
capital, lasting three days until the dispute between two warlords was settled through the
mediation of third party. In the course of fighting, soldiers looted Lao Chen’s shop until it
was empty of everything. After that, nevertheless, he still managed to keep his shop open
though business was bad. I often saw him working in his shop with a saddened look on his
face. Dejected as he was, he worked on as usual. I heard that he often went drinking at a ☉☉網☉
small wine shop in the evening.
Several months later, his shop closed down for good and I lost all trace of him. Some
said he had gone soldiering, others said he had gone to another county to seek a livelihood.
One day, however, I ran into him in the street. He was carrying a basket filled with some
carpenter’s tools.
“Lao Chen,” I yelled out in joy, “you’re still here in the provincial capital! People say
you’re joined up!”
“I’m good at noting else but carpentry! One should be content with one’s lot,” he
shook his head, wearing a faint smile with a touch of sorrow. There was not much change
in him except that he was thinner, his face darker and his clothes more dirty.
“Young master,” he continued smilingly,” “you should study hard. Let me build a
house for you come day when you’re a government official.”
I took hold of his sleeve, unable to utter a word. He said goodbye to me and went
away. He had told me that he was now working at the shop of former apprentice of his.
The apprentice was doing quiet well while Lao Chen was now his hired hand.
Thenceforth I never saw Lao Chen again. Much as I liked him, I soon forgot him. It