Chinese Literature

are self-defence units organized by the people themselves. N aturally they are not willing to stand by and have their own places ravaged before their eyes.”

“Hm, self-defence! Hm! Do they have big guns? Are they as well armed as the Japanese troops? .. . Self-defence! Self-defence indeed! All they actually do is to create disturbances wherever they are!”

“So your idea is that our people should become obedient slaves to the Japanese and traitors to China!” thought Mr. Li, but he did not say these words to old Mr. Chang. He suddenly remembered an article “On a Certain Kind of Traitors” he had seen in that little periodical. Whoever wrote that must have had this old man in mind. Now that Mr. Li himself had heard the old man’s arguments, he thought that article very powerful and pertinent.

Impatiently Mr. Li lighted a cigarette. Impatiently he sat down on a chair. His fingers trembled with indignation and his cheeks burned. He considered it his duty to refute this man Chang from the standpoint of a human being at least. He wanted to teach this man some common sense, tell him the facts, explain to him What blows our guerillas had dealt the enemy, how they had turned his rear into another frontline, and how useless it was for the Japanese to occupy a few big cities. He felt it didn’t matter even if he used harsh words. Perhaps he should lecture this old fool Severely with words like: You should know this is a difficult period, and everyone, as long as he is Chinese, as long as he wants to be called a human being and not a beast, should struggle with clenched teeth... .

But he did not open his mouth. He was not used to quarrelling with others on such topics. And besides, these were not words he had thought up himself. People might sneer when they heard him and say: “Ha, Mr. Li is only parroting others!”

‘He also remembered Voltaire had said that the first person who compared a woman to a flower was a genius and that the second person who did the same thing was an idiot. The ideas he wanted to express were contained in that article, very lucidly and very adequately.

“That weekly magazine . . . Mr. Chang, do you ever read Tbe

“T don’t understand things written in modern vernacular !”’

After that retort, both of them fell silent. Mr. Li wanted to leave, but he felt it was not quite the polite thing to do. So he kept looking at the door now and then, hoping that some one ‘would come in to end the embarrassing situation. Suddenly he noticed Mr. Chang was staring at the cigarette in his hand. He got the hint, took out his case and offered the other a smoke.

The old man lighted a cigarette and took one pull at it. Then, holding it at a distance, he squinted to read the name of the brand. His tense, ruddy face gradually relaxed. But he held on to the cigarette firm-

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