up. Chilled, Mr Lin could see that the situation was beyond repair. All he could do was to take a grip on himself and walk out of the bank. At last he understood that the fighting in distant Shanghai would influence his little shop too. It certainly was going to be hard to get through this New Year: the Shanghai collector was pressing him for money; the bank wouldn't wait until after the New Year; Shousheng still hadn't come back and there was no telling how he was getting on. So far as Mr Lin's outstanding accounts in town were concerned, last year he had only collected eighty per cent. From the looks of things this year there was no guarantee of even that much. Only one road seemed open to Mr Lin: "Business Temporarily Closed -- Balancing Books!" And this was equivalent to bankruptcy. There hadn't been any of his own money invested in the shop for a long time. The day the books were balanced and the creditors paid off, what would be left for him probably wouldn't be enough to stand between his family and nakedness!
The more he thought, the worse Mr Lin felt. Crossing the bridge, he looked at the turbid water below. He was almost tempted to jump and end it all. Then a man hailed him from behind.
"Mr Lin, is it true there's a war on in Shanghai? I hear that a bunch of soldiers just set up outside the town's east gate and asked the Merchants Guild for a 'loan.' They wanted twenty thousand right off the bat. The Merchants Guild is holding a meeting about it now!"
Mr Lin hurriedly turned around. The speaker was Old Chen who had two hundred dollars loaned to the shop -- another of Mr Lin's creditors.
"Oh --" retorted Mr Lin with a shiver. Quickly he crossed the bridge and ran home.
4
For dinner that evening, beside the usual one meat dish and two vegetable dishes, Mrs Lin had bought a favourite of Mr Lin's -- a platter of stewed pork. In addition, there was a pint of yellow wine. A smile never left Miss Lin's face, for business in the shop was good, her new silk dress was finished, and they were fighting back against the Japanese in Shanghai. Mrs Lin's hiccups were especially sparse -- about one every ten minutes.
Only Mr Lin was sunk in gloom. Moodily drinking his wine, he looked at his daughter, and looked at his wife. Several times he considered dropping the bad news in their midst like a bombshell, but he didn't have that kind of courage. Moreover, he still hadn't given up hope, he still wanted to struggle; at least he wanted to conceal his failure to make ends meet.
And so when the Merchants Guild passed a resolution to pay the soldiers five thousand dollars and asked Mr Lin to contribute twenty, he consented without a moment's hesitation. He decided not to tell his wife and daughter the true state of affairs until the last possible minute. The way he calculated it was this: He would collect eighty per cent of the debts due him, he would pay eighty per cent of the money he owed. Anyhow, he had the excuse that there was fighting in Shanghai, that remittances couldn't be sent. The difficulty was that there was a difference of about six hundred dollars between what people owed him and what he had to pay to others. He would have to take drastic measures and cut prices heavily. The idea was to scrape together some money to meet the present problem, then he would see. Who could think of the future in times like these? If he could get by now, that would be enough.
That was how he made his plans. With the added potency of the pint of yellow wine, Mr Lin slept soundly all night, without even the suggestion of a bad dream.
It was already six thirty when Mr Lin awoke the next morning. The sky was overcast and he was rather dizzy. He gulped down two bowls of rice gruel and hurried to the shop. The first thing to greet his eye was the Shanghai collector, sitting with a stern face, waiting for his "answer." But what shocked Mr Lin particularly was the shop across the street. They too had pasted red and green strips all over their windows, they too were having a "Big Sale 10% Discount!" Mr Lin's perfect plan of the night before was completely snowed under by those red and green streamers of his competitor.
"What kind of a joke is this, Mr Lin? Last night you didn't give a reply. That boat leaves here at eight o'clock and I have to make connections with the train. I simply must catch that eight o'clock boat! Please hurry --" said the Shanghai collector impatiently. He brought his clenched fist down on the table.
Mr Lin apologized and begged his forgiveness. Truly, it was all because of the fighting in Shanghai and not being able to send remittances. After all, they had been doing business for many years. Mr Lin pleaded for a little special consideration.
"Then am I to go back empty-handed?"
"Why, why, certainly not. When Shousheng returns, I'll give you as much as he brings. I'm not a man if I keep so much as half a dollar!" Mr Lin's voice trembled. With an effort he held back the tears that brimmed to his eyes.
There was no more to be said; the Shanghai collector stopped his grumbling. But he remained firmly seated where he was. Mr Lin was nearly out of his wits with anxiety. His heart thumped erratically. Although he had been having a hard time the past few years, he had been able to keep up a front. Now there was a collector sitting in his shop for all the world to see. If word of this thing spread, Mr Lin's credit would be ruined. He had plenty of creditors. Suppose they all decided to follow suit? His shop might just as well close down immediately. In desperation, several times he invited the Shanghai gentleman to wait in the back room where it was more comfortable, but the latter refused.
An icy rain began to fall. The street was cold and deserted. Never had it appeared so mournful at New Year's time. Signboards creaked and clattered in the grip of a north wind. The icy rain seemed likely to turn into snow. In the shops that lined the street, salesmen leaning on the counters looked up blankly.
Occasionally, Mr Lin and the collector from Shanghai exchanged a few desultory words. Miss Lin suddenly emerged through the swinging doors and stood at the front window watching the cold hissing rain. From the back room, the sound of Mrs Lin's hiccups steadily gathered intensity. While trying to be pleasant to their visitor, Mr Lin looked at his daughter and listened to his wife's hiccups, and a wave of depression rose in his breast. He thought how all his life he had never known any prosperity, nor could he imagine who was responsible for his being reduced to such dire straits today.
The Shanghai collector seemed to have calmed down somewhat. "Mr Lin," he said abruptly, in a sincere tone, "You're a good man. You don't go in for loose living, you're obliging and honest in your business practices. Twenty years ago, you would have gotten rich, but things are different today. Taxes are high, expenses are heavy, business is slow -- it's an accomplishment just to get along."
Mr Lin sighed and smiled in wry modesty.
After a pause, the Shanghai collector continued, "This year the market in this town was a little worse than last, wasn't it? Places in the interior like this depend on the people form the countryside for business, but the peasants are too poor. There's really no solution.... Oh, it's nine o'clock! Why hasn't your collection clerk come back yet? Is he reliable?"
Mr Lin's heart gave a leap. For the moment, he couldn't answer. Although Shousheng had been his salesman for seven or eight years and had never made a slip, still, there was no absolute guarantee! And besides he was overdue. The Shanghai collector laughed to see Mr Lin's doubtful expression, but his laugh had an odd ring to it.
At the window, Miss Lin whirled and cried urgently, "Papa, Shousheng is back! He's covered with mud!"
Her voice had a peculiar sound too. Mr Lin jumped up, both alarmed and happy. He wanted to run out and look, but he was so excited that his legs were weak. By then Shousheng had already entered, truly covered with mud. The clerk sat down, panting for breath, unable to say a word. The situation looked bad. Frightened out of his wits, Mr Lin was speechless too. The Shanghai collector frowned. After a while, Shousheng managed to gasp: "Very dangerous! They nearly got me!"
"Then the boat was robbed?" the agitated Mr Lin took a grip on himself and blurted.
"There wasn't any robbing. They were grabbing coolies for the army. I couldn't make the boat yesterday afternoon; I got a sampan this morning. After we sailed, we heard they were waiting at this end to grab the boat, so we came to port further down the river. When we got ashore, before we had come half a li, we bumped into an army pressgang. They grabbed the clerk from the clothing shop, but I ran fast and came back by a short cut. Damn it! It was a close call!"
Shousheng lifted his jacket as he talked and pulled from his money belt a cloth-bound packet which he handed to Mr Lin.
"It's all here," he said. "That Huang Shop in Lishi is rotten. We have to be careful of customers like that next year.... I'll come back after I have a wash and change my clothes."
Mr Lin's face lit up as he squeezed the packet. He carried it over to the cashier's cage and unbound the cloth wrapping. First he added up the money due on the list of debtors, then he counted what had been collected. There were eleven silver dollars, two hundred dimes, four hundred and twenty dollars in banknotes, and two bank demand drafts -- for the equivalent of fifty and sixty-five taels of silver respectively, at the official rate. If he turned the whole lot over to the Shanghai collector, it would still be more than a hundred dollars short of what he owed the wholesale house.
Deep in contemplation, Mr Lin glanced several times out of the corner of his eye at the Shanghai collector who was silently smoking a cigarette. At last he sighed, and as though cutting off a piece of his living flesh, placed the two bank drafts and four hundred dollars in cash befor