背    影

朱自清

我與父親不相見已有二年餘了,我最不能忘記的是他的背影。

那年冬天,祖母死了,父親的差使也交卸了,正是禍不單行的日子,我從北京到徐州,打算跟父親奔喪回家。到徐州見著父親,看見滿院狼藉的東西,又想起祖母,不禁簌簌地流下眼淚。父親說:「事已如此,不必難過,好在天無絕人之路!」

父親回家變賣典質,父親還了虧空;又借錢辦了喪事。這些日子,家中光景很是慘淡,一半為了喪事,一半為了父親賦閒。喪事完畢,父親要到南京謀事,我也要回到北京唸書,我們便同行。 

到南京時,有朋友約去遊逛,勾留了一日﹔第二日上午便須渡江到浦口,下午上車北去。父親因為事忙,本已說定不送我,叫旅館裡一個熟識的茶房陪我同去。他再三囑咐茶房,甚是仔細。但他終於不放心,怕茶房不妥貼;頗躊躇了一會。其實我那年已二十歲,北京已來往過兩三次,是沒有甚麼要緊的了。他躊躇了一會,終于決定還是自己送我去。我兩三回勸他不必去﹔他只說:「不要緊,他們去不好!」 

我們過了江,進了車站。我買票,他忙著照看行李。行李太多了,得向腳夫行些小費,才可過去。他便又忙著和他們講價錢。我那時真是聰明過份,總覺他說話不大漂亮,非自己插嘴不可。但他終於講定了價錢;就送我上車。他給我揀定了靠車門的一張椅子;我將他給我做的紫毛大衣鋪好坐位。他囑我路上小心,夜裡要警醒些,不要受涼。又囑托茶房好好照應我。我心裡暗笑他的迂;他們只認得錢,托他們直是白托!而且我這樣大年紀的人,難道還不能料理自己麼?唉,我現在想想,那時真是太聰明了。 

我說道:「爸爸,你走吧。」他往車外看了看,說,「我買幾個橘子去。你就在此地,不要走動。」我看那邊月臺的柵欄外有幾個賣東西的等著顧客。走到那邊月臺,須穿過鐵道,須跳下去又爬上去。父親是一個胖子,走過去自然要費事些。我本來要去的,他不肯,只好讓他去。我看見他戴著黑布小帽,穿著黑布大馬褂,深青布棉袍,蹣跚地走到鐵道邊,慢慢探身下去,尚不大難。可是他穿過鐵道,要爬上那邊月臺,就不容易了。他用兩手攀著上面,兩腳再向上縮;他肥胖的身子向左微傾,顯出努力的樣子。這時我看見他的背影,我的淚很快地流下來了。我趕緊拭乾了淚,怕他看見,也怕別人看見。我再向外看時,他已抱了朱紅的橘子往回走了。過鐵道時,他先將橘子散放在地上,自己慢慢爬下,再抱起橘子走。到這邊時,我趕緊去攙他。他和我走到車上,將橘子一股腦兒放在我的皮大衣上。於是撲撲衣上的泥土,心裡很輕鬆似的,過一會說:「我走了,到那邊來信!」我望著他走出去。他走了幾步,回過頭看見我,說:「進去吧,裏邊沒人。」等他的背影混入來來往往的人裡,再找不著了,我便進來坐下,我的眼淚又來了。 

近幾年來,父親和我都是東奔西走,家中光景是一日不如一日。他少年出外謀生,獨立支持,做了許多大事。那知環境卻如此頹唐!他觸目傷懷,自然情不能自己。情郁於中,自然要發之於外;家庭瑣屑便往往觸他之怒。他待我漸漸不同往日。但最近兩年不見,他終於忘卻我的不好,只是惦記著我,惦記著我的兒子。我北來後,他寫了一封信給我,信中說道,「我身體平安,惟膀子疼痛利害,舉箸提筆,諸多不便,大約大去之期不遠矣。」我讀到此處,在晶瑩的淚光中,又看見那肥胖的,青布棉袍,黑布馬褂的背影。唉!我不知何時再能與他相見!

192510月在北京

Back Shadow ("Bei Ying")
[Bei-Ying] a view of somebody’s back; a figure viewed from behind. 

by Zhu ZiQing (1898 - 1948)
[with some comments in brackets from Peter Y. Woo ]

I have not seen my Dad for over two years. I can never forget his back shadow.

That winter Grandma died, and he quit his job. Bad news never come alone. I went from Beijing to Hsuchow [half way between Beijing and home at Yangchow], so that I could go home with him. At Hsuchow I saw all his belongings lying everywhere in his yard, I thought of Grandma, and I could no more hold my tears. Then he said, "Whatever happened have happened, so save your sorrows. Remember Heavens doesn't give dead ends."

So we went home [Yangchow], sold some more valuables for cash. Dad paid back his personal debt, and made new loans for the funeral. Those were depressing days, partly due to the funeral events, and partly due to his jobless state. After the funeral, he had to go to Nanking to work, and I needed to return to my school at Beijing. So we traveled together.

At Nanking a friend took me for a tour of the city, and the next morning I had to take the ferry across the YangTze River to PuKou catching a train going north in the afternoon. Dad was really busy. He said he would not see me off at the Railroad Station, and he asked a known waiter at the hotel, to see me off. Dad gave him many detailed instructions, but still was worrying now and then about the guy not being trustworthy enough. Actually I was already twenty years old, and had traveled to and from Beijing two or three times, so it was no big deal. After some more mullings, Dad finally decided to go with me to the Station. I told him a few times he really did not need to go, but he said, "It's all right this way. Cannot trust them in this."

We crossed the River, then entered the Station. I bought the ticket while he watched over the luggages. They were too bulky, and we had to pay for some coolies to help us take them all in. So Dad was arguing with them about the right price. I was so smart those days. I thought he never said things as well as I could, and I would always barge in with my words. Finally he got a reasonable price, and we got up the train. He chose for me a seat close to the door, and I spread the big purple overcoat that he tailor-made for me, over the chair. He then told me to be watchful all the time, and not catching cold at night. He also asked the waiter to treat me diligently. I was laughing at heart at his dumb ways, for these people cared for nothing except for money, so why waste your breath telling them how to be nice to me! Also I am fully grown up now, and can I not take care of myself? As I think about it now, I really was too smart in those days.

I said, "Dad, you may go." He looked outside the train's window, and said, "Let me buy a few oranges. You stay here, don't move around." I then saw a few street sellers outside the fence, beyond the other railroad platform. To get there he had to jump down to the tracks, cross them, and climb the platform on the other side. Dad was a fat fellow, and it would not be easy for him. I ventured to go, but he would not have it, so I let him go. I saw him wearing a small black cap, a black vest [called a Ma-Gua, a quilted long vest] over his blue quilted robe, tottering towards the platform edge. He lowered himself to the tracks without too much trouble, but after crossing the tracks, climbing up the platform on the other side was not easy at all. He held on to the top with both hands, and lifted his legs to get on the platform. His body leaned leftward, with much effort. Then I saw his back shadow, and my tears could not help coming. I wiped them off quickly, lest he or others would see. The next moment, I saw him coming back, holding on an armful of sparkling oranges.

This time he first lay down the oranges on the platform edge, then climbed down slowly, picked up the oranges, and crossed over this way towards me. Of course I hurried up to pull him up on to our platform. He got up the train with me, lay down all those oranges on my overcoat. Then he brushed off the soil over his clothes, as if feeling very much relieved at heart. After a while he said, "I go now. Write to me when you get there." [Telephone was not common those days.] I saw him get off the train. He walked a few steps, then turned his head at me, and said, "Go in now, for there's nobody inside." [i.e., watch your belongings].

I waited until his back shadow merged with all the people back and forth before me, and could see him no more. Then I went back into the train, and my tears came on again.

During the few previous years Dad and I were each traveling here and there, and situations at home got no better. He started working at a young age, supporting our family alone, and accomplished some significant tasks, yet at old age he could not have easier, nicer, days. He felt sad, and soon could not hold up his frustrations. Little mishaps at home would trigger his temper, and he grew more and more distant from me. After two years of my absence, he again forgets all my failings, and only thinks about me all the time, as well as my son. After I came back to Beijing, he wrote me a letter saying, "My health is all right, but there is much pain at my shoulder, giving me much trouble whether holding a pen [lit. 'brush'] or chopsticks or other things, and perhaps my final day is near . . ." As I was reading his letter, amidst my tears I could see again the back shadow of one wearing his blue quilted robe and black vest. Oh ----- when would I ever see Dad again!