Chinese Literature

job, for he considered it quite proper under the circumstances to accept such a minor position.

“Ava!” Old Pan said, half jokingly and half seriously. “You condescend to teach in our school! I am really overwhelmed with the honour... .”

Mr. Li stood up and said solemnly:

“What nonsense! ... The present I-mo is no longer what he was before. The I-mo of the past followed the poet Tao Chien who led the life of a literary recluse; but the I-mo of the present will emulate Mo Ti with his philosophy of service for the country and the people. 1 want to work. I want to suffer. Millions of people are suffering now, while I—I. ... Im fact, even the life of a middle school teacher cannot be considered hard. I would be willing to teach even in a primary school!”

Old Pan assigned a small house in the school garden, formerly used by people who needed quiet and rest, for Mr. Li to live in, and Mr. Li began his new life. He joined the literature and art group of the school as one of its directors. He wrote a few articles for a little weekly magazine issued by this group. He also intended to do some picturespictures to suit propaganda purposes.

‘We must propagandize everyone,” he said to the students agitatedly, his hands twitching nervously. ‘‘We must show the whole world that China is straightforward, tolerant and peace-loving, while our enemy is a cruel beast. We must make everybody understand that we are struggling not only for the continued existence of our country, but also for maintaining the dignity of mankind.”

He walked back and forth uneasily in the classroom, as if he were looking for something. He concentrated all his strength in his right hand, now clenching his fist, now stretching the fingers again. His cheeks were burning and in his nose there was a queer tickling as if he were going to cry.

Several of the students were watching him intently. He glanced at them, and his eyes met theirs. A mute clash. He walked to the window and looked out for about five minutes to avoid another visual encounter.

The weather here was always bad. Dark clouds hung overhead like a leaden plate. In the school garden bare branches, adorned only with

_ some crows, were trembling in the cold wind. Inside the room, it was

already very dark although it was not yet five o’clock, but outside there was still a cold, grey-greenish light in the sky which made one shiver in spite of oneself.

Suddenly Mr. Li’s thoughts wandered to his native place; he thought

_how he used to stand for a while by the window of his study and look out at his charming, little garden when he felt tired from his work. He _ could remember that the moss in the gold-fish pond had stayed green, - even through the winter,

161

SSS SSS ms