Rickshaw Boy: A Novel by She Lao

ease, clearing his mind of the dejection he’d suffered for days. The sound of his footfalls and the shafts of the rickshaw helped him forget all his problems. He opened his shirt to let the breeze cool his chest. That was so invigorating he felt that he could just keep running, as far and as fast as his legs would take him, and die with no regrets. He was nearly flying down the street, overtaking one rickshaw after another. As he passed Tiananmen, his feet were like springs; they barely touched the ground before springing back up again. Behind him, the wheels were turning so fast they seemed to lift off the ground, the spokes a blur. Man and vehicle were swept along by strong gusts of wind. Fanned by the cool air, Mr. Cao dozed off; otherwise, he would have told Xiangzi to slow down. But Xiangzi was sure that a good sweat would help him sleep soundly that night, undisturbed by his thoughts.
    They were approaching Beichang Street. The north side lay in the shadows of acacia trees by the red walls. Xiangzi was about to slow down when he stumbled on something. The wheels of his rickshaw hit the bump as he flew headlong to the ground, snapping one of the shafts in the process. “What the…” Mr. Cao was thrown from the rickshaw before he could finish. Without a word, Xiangzi scrambled to his feet. Nimbly sitting up where he fell, this time Mr. Cao got the words out: “What happened?”
    A pile of paving stones had been unloaded in the middle of the street without a red warning light.
    “Are you hurt?” Xiangzi asked.
    “No. I can walk home,” Mr. Cao said, having regained his composure. “Bring the rickshaw along.” He groped among the stones to see if he’d dropped anything.
    Xiangzi felt the broken shaft. “It’s not a bad break,” he said. “Please, get back on. I can still pull you.” He dragged the rickshaw away from the paving stones. “Please, sir, get back on.”
    Though he’d rather not have, the pleading tone in Xiangzi’s voice convinced Mr. Cao that it was the right thing to do.
    When they reached the street lamp at the Beichang Street intersection, Mr. Cao saw that his right hand was bleeding. “Xiangzi, stop!”
    Xiangzi turned to look. His face was bloody.
    Mr. Cao was nearly speechless. “Hurry, hurry and…” Xiangzi didn’t know what to make of that, except to start running again. Which he did, not stopping till they were back home.
    The first thing Xiangzi saw after bringing the rickshaw to a stop was Mr. Cao’s injured hand. He ran into the yard to tell the mistress.
    “Don’t worry about me,” Mr. Cao said, as he followed him into the yard. “See to yourself first.”
    As Xiangzi looked himself over, the aches and pains surfaced. Both knees and his right elbow were badly skinned. What he thought was sweat on his face turned out to be blood. Unable to act, or even think, he sat down on the stone steps and gazed blankly at the black-lacquered rickshaw with its broken shaft. Two white splintered pieces of wood spoiled its look, like a paper figurine with stalks of millet where the legs are supposed to be. He gaped at the white ends.
    “Xiangzi!” Gao Ma, the Caos’ maidservant, called out.
    “Where are you?”
    He sat without moving, his eyes glued to the splintered ends, as if they had pierced his heart.
    “What are you up to, hiding from me like that? You’ve given me a real scare. The master wants you.” Gao Ma was in the habit of interjecting her feelings into whatever she was talking about, which led to confusion yet was quite touching. A widow in her early thirties, she was neat and clean, direct and honest, hardworking and conscientious. Previous households had found her boastful, opinionated, often sneaky, and a bit mysterious. But the Caos liked their servants to be clean, straight-talking people, and were not bothered by minor eccentricities, which is why she’d been with them for two or three years; where they went, she went. “The master wants you,” she