Chinese Literature

Public Education Centre for an hour on war-time precautions. The topics he wrote about were many, one imparted knowledge about dumdum bullets, another discussed Japan’s economic crisis. Mr. Chen always inclined his head respectfully whenever he met Mr. Li.

Old Pan, the school principal, had mentioned Mr.-Chen several times to Mr. Li:

“He has the best spirit among the teachers here. He is enthusiastic

about his work and not at all stuck-up. And he knows his stuff on social problems. ... Wouldn’t you like to talk to him?”

“T think Mr. Chen is living a hard life, and a very dull one at that.” Mr. Li paused for a while. He smiled out of the corners of his mouth. “T suppose you are fond of those kind of people because your life is exactly the same.”

He was actually right in that. Old Pan had sat in the principal’s chair of this middle school for nineteen years. Recently he had even sent his family away to the countryside and now spent all his time at the school doing the same things day in and day out. Perhaps it was only this kind of life that did go well with the grey school buildings and the grey sky. And the seven or eight teachers who lived in the school dormitory led the same sort of monotonous life... .

One Saturday evening, Mr. Li simply could not stand all this dreariness any more. He appeared in the principal’s room like a man walking in his sleep.

“Old Pan, there is a queer disease about your place—lI’ve caught it already! Monotony or the grey disease, you may call it.... I am bored to distraction. ... lLet’s go out and drink some wine!”

“All right,’ Old Pan nodded gently. “Only I dare not drink, with my heart trouble. ... Shall I ask somebody else to keep you company? How about asking Mr. Chen along?”

‘Does he drink?”

The principal shook his head with a forced smile and then said, rather apologetically :

“In our school . . . hm, there’s perhaps only old Mr. Chang who can drink a few cups... .”

“Get him to come with us then, eh? Is he an interesting person?”

“Interesting?” Old Pan gave a laugh. “Hight words will describe him: His sayings are insipid; his appearance is repulsive.’

Then Old Pan gave an appraisal of old Mr. Chang from a school principal’s viewpoint. The old man might be quite a scholar. He wrote beautiful enough calligraphy. But he definitely was not a good teacher of Chinese. He strictly forbade the students to write in the modern vernacular. When once a student used the modern term “purpose” in an essay, Mr. Chang furiously struck out the two written characters denoting the idea.

Old Pan struck his knees with his palms,

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