STUDY IN CHINA GLOBAL (SCG)作品原文
巴金 《木匠老陈》
生活的经验固然会叫人忘记许多事情。但是有些记忆过了多少时间的磨洗也不会消灭。
故乡里那些房屋，那些街道至今还印在我的脑子里。我还记得我每天到学堂去总要走过的木匠老陈的铺子。
木匠老陈那时不过四十岁光景，脸长的像驴子脸，左眼下面有块伤疤，嘴唇上略有几根胡须。大家都说他的相貌丑，但是同时人人称赞他的脾气好。
他平日在店里。但是他也经常到相熟的公馆里去做活，或者做包工，或者做零工。我们家里需要木匠的时候，总是去找他。我就在这时候认识他。他在我们家里做活，我只要有空，就跑去看他工作。
我那时注意的，并不是他本人，倒是他的那些工具；什么有轮齿的锯子啦，有两个耳朵的刨子啦，会旋转的钻子啦，像图画里板斧一般的斧子啦。这些奇怪的东西我以前全没有看见过。一块粗糙的木头经过了斧子劈，锯子锯，刨子刨，就变成了一方或者一条光滑整齐的木板，再经过钻子、凿子等等工具以后，又变成了各种各样的东西；像美丽的窗格，镂花的壁板等等细致的物件，都是这样制成的。
老陈和他的徒弟的工作使我的眼界宽了不少。那时我还在家里读书，祖父聘请了一位前清的老秀才来管教我们。老秀才不知道教授的方法，他只教我们认一些字，呆板地读一些书。此外他就把我们关在书房里，端端正正地坐在凳子上，让时间白白地流过去。过惯了这种单调的生活以后，无怪乎我特别喜欢老陈了。
老陈常常弯着腰，拿了尺子和墨线盒在木板上面画什么东西。我便安静地站在旁边专心地望着，连眼珠也不转一下。他画好墨线，便拿起锯子或者凿子来。我有时候觉得有些地方很奇怪，不明白，就问他，他很和气地对我一一说明。他的态度比那个老秀才的好得多。
家里人看见我对老陈的工作感到这么大的兴趣，并不来干涉我，却嘲笑地唤我做老陈的徒弟，父亲甚至开玩笑地说要把我送到老陈那里学做木匠。但这些嘲笑都是好意的，父亲的确喜欢我。因此有一个时候我居然相信父亲真有这样的想法，而且我对老陈说过要跟他学做木匠的话。
“你要学做木匠？真笑话！有钱的少爷应该读书，将来好做官！穷人的小孩才做木匠，”老陈听见我的话，马上就笑起来。
“为什么不该学做木匠？做官有什么好？修房子，做家具，才有趣啊！我做木匠，我要给自己修房子，爬到上面去，爬得高高的，”我看见他不相信我的话，把它只当做小孩子的胡说，我有些生气，就起劲地争论道。
“爬得高，会跌下来，”老陈随口说了这一句，他的笑容渐渐地收起来了。
“跌下来，你骗我！我就没有见过木匠跌下来。”
老陈看我一眼，依旧温和地说：“做木匠修房子，常常拿自己性命来拼。一个不当心在上面滑了脚，跌下来，不跌成肉酱，也会得一辈子的残疾。”他说到这里就埋下头，用力在木板上推他的刨子，木板查查地响着，一卷一卷的刨花接连落在地上。他过了半晌又加了一句：“我爹就是这样子跌死的。”
我不相信他的话。一个人会活活地跌死！我没有看见过，也没有听见人说过。既然他父亲做木匠跌死了，为什么他现在还做木匠呢？我简直想不通。
“你骗我，我不信！那么你为什么还要做木匠？难道你就不怕死！”
“做木匠的人这样多，不见得个个都遭横死。我学的是这行手艺，不靠它吃饭又靠什么？”他苦恼地说。然后他抬起头来看我，他的眼角上嵌着泪珠。他哭了！
我看见他流眼泪，不知道怎么办才好，就跑开了。
不久祖父生病死了，我也进了学堂，不再受那个老秀才的管束了。祖父死后木匠老陈不曾到我们家里来过。但是我每天到学堂去都要经过他那个小小的铺子。
有时候他在店里招呼我；有时候他不在，只有一两个徒弟在那里钉凳子或者制造别的对象。他的店起初还能维持下去，但是不久省城里发生了巷战，一连打了三天，然后那两位军阀因为别人的调解又握手言欢了。老陈的店在这个时候遭到“丘八”的光顾，他的一点点积蓄都给抢光了，只剩下一个空铺子。这以后他虽然勉强开店，生意却很萧条。我常常看见他哭丧着脸在店里做工。他的精神颓丧，但是他仍然不停手地做活。我听说他晚上时常到小酒馆里喝酒。
又过了几个月他的店终于关了门。我也就看不见他的踪迹了。有人说他去吃粮当了兵，有人说他到外县谋生去了。然而有一天我在街上碰见了他。他手里提着一个篮子，里面装了几件木匠用的工具。
“老陈，你还在省城！人家说你吃粮去了！”我快活地大声叫起来。
“我只会做木匠，我就只会做木匠！一个人应该安分守己，”他摇摇头微微笑道，他的笑容里带了一点悲哀。他没有什么大改变，只是人瘦了些，脸黑了些，衣服脏了些。
“少爷，你好好读书，你将来做了官，我来给你修房子，”他继续笑说。
我抓住他的袖子，再也说不出一句话来。他告辞走了。他还告诉我他在他从前一个徒弟的店里帮忙。这个徒弟如今发达了，他却在那里做一个匠人。
以后我就没有再看见老陈。我虽然喜欢他，但是过了不几天我又把他忘记了。等到公馆里的轿夫告诉我一个消息的时候，我才记起他来。
那个轿夫报告的是什么消息呢？
他告诉我：老陈同别的木匠一起在南门一家大公馆里修楼房，工程快要完了，但是不晓得怎样，老陈竟然从楼上跌下来，跌死了。
在那么多的木匠里面，偏偏是他跟着他父亲落进了横死的命运圈里。这似乎是偶然，似乎又不是偶然。总之，一个安分守己的人就这样地消灭了。
英文译文
Carpenter Lao Chen
Ba Jin
Lots of things are apt to fade from memory as one’s life experiences accumulate. But some memories will withstand the wear and tear of time.
Those houses and streets in my home town still remain engraved on my mind. I still can recall how every day on my way to school I would invariably walk past Carpenter Lao Chen’s shop.
Carpenter Lao Chen was then only about forty years old, with a longish face like that of a donkey, a scar under his left eye, and a wispy moustache on his upper lip. People said he looked ugly, yet they praised him for his good temper.
He usually worked in his own shop. But from time to time he was employed by some rich people he knew well to work at their residences, either as a hired hand on contract or as an oddjobber. Whenever my family needed a carpenter, he was always the man we wanted. That was how I got to know him. While he was in our home, I would come out to watch him work in my spare time.
What attracted my attention, however, was not the man himself, but the tools he used, such as the saw with toothed blade, the plane with two ear-like handles, the revolving drill — things entirely strange to me. A piece of coarse wood, after being processed with the hatchet, saw and plane, would become pieces of smooth and tidy wood, square or rectangular in shape. After further treatment with the chisel, drill, etc., they would end up as various kinds of exquisite articles, such as beautiful window lattices, ornamental engravings on wooden partitions.
The work which Lao Chen and his apprentices did was a real eye-opener to me. I was then studying at home under the tutorship of an old scholar of Qing Dynasty whom my grandfather had engaged. The old scholar knew nothing about teaching methods. All he did was make me learn some Chinese characters and do some dull reading. Apart from that, he had me cooped up in my study and sit bolt upright doing nothing while time was slipping through my fingers. Because of this monotonous life, it was no wonder that I developed a particular liking for Carpenter Lao Chen.
He was often bent over drawing something on a plank with a ruler and an ink marker. And I would stand by and watch quietly and intently, my eyes riveted on him. After making the line with the ink marker, he would pick up the saw or the chisel. Sometimes, when something puzzled me, I would ask him questions out of curiosity, and he would explain patiently everything in detail. He was much more agreeable than the old scholar.
My folks, however, showed no sign of disapproval when they found me so much interested in Lao Chen’s work, but only teasingly called me an apprentice of his. Father even said jokingly that he was going to apprentice me to Lao Chen. All that was the well- meaning remarks of an affectionate father. Once I even believed that father had meant what he said, and I even told Lao Chen that that was exactly what I had in mind.
“You want to learn carpentry?” said Lao Chen immediately with a smile. “No kidding! A wealthy young master like you should study and grow up to be a government official! Only poor people’s kids learn carpentry.”
Somewhat annoyed by the way he shrugged off my words as childish nonsense, I argued heatedly, “Why not become a carpenter? What’s the good of being a government official? It’s great fun to build houses and make furniture. If I’m a carpenter, I’ll climb high up, very high up, to build a house for myself.”
“You may fall down if you climb high,” said he casually, the smile on his face fading away.
“Fall down? You’re fooling me! I’ve never seen a carpenter fall down.”
Shooting a glance at me, he continued with undiminished patience.
“A carpenter often has to risk his own life in building a house. One careless slip, and you fall down. You’ll be disabled for life, if not reduced to pulp.”
Thereupon, he bent his head and forcefully pushed his plane over a plank, the shavings of which fell continuously onto the ground amidst the screeching sound. Then he added after a moment’s silence.
“That’s how my father died.”
I just could not bring myself to believe it. How could a man die like that? I had never seen it happen, nor had I ever heard of it. If his father had died of an accident as a carpenter, why should Lao Chen himself still be carpenter now? I just couldn’t figure it out.
“You’re fooling me. I don’t believe you! How come you’re still a carpenter? Can you be unafraid of death?”
“Lots of guys are in this trade,” he went on gloomily. “it doesn’t follow that everybody meets with such a violent death. Carpentry is my trade. What else could I rely on to make a living?”
He looked up at me, some teardrops visible from the corners of his eyes. He was crying!
I was at a loss when I saw him in tears, so I went away quietly.
Not long afterwards. My grandpa fell ill and died, and I was enrolled in a school, on longer under the control of the old scholar. Lao Chen never came again to work in our household after grandpa’s death. But every day on my way to school, I would pass his small shop.
Sometimes he beckoned me from his shop. Sometimes he was absent, leaving a couple of his apprentices there hammering nails into a stool or making some other articles. At first, he could somehow scrape along. Soon street fighting broke out in the provincial capital, lasting three days until the dispute between two warlords was settled through the mediation of third party. In the course of fighting, soldiers looted Lao Chen’s shop until it was empty of everything. After that, nevertheless, he still managed to keep his shop open though business was bad. I often saw him working in his shop with a saddened look on his face. Dejected as he was, he worked on as usual. I heard that he often went drinking at a small wine shop in the evening.
Several months later, his shop closed down for good and I lost all trace of him. Some said he had gone soldiering, others said he had gone to another county to seek a livelihood. One day, however, I ran into him in the street. He was carrying a basket filled with some carpenter’s tools.
“Lao Chen,” I yelled out in joy, “you’re still here in the provincial capital! People say you’re joined up!”
“I’m good at noting else but carpentry! One should be content with one’s lot,” he shook his head, wearing a faint smile with a touch of sorrow. There was not much change in him except that he was thinner, his face darker and his clothes more dirty.
“Young master,” he continued smilingly, “you should study hard. Let me build a house for you come day when you’re a government official.”
I took hold of his sleeve, unable to utter a word. He said goodbye to me and went away. He had told me that he was now working at the shop of former apprentice of his. The apprentice was doing quite well while Lao Chen was now his hired hand.
Thenceforth I never saw Lao Chen again. Much as I liked him, I soon forgot him. It was not until the sedan-chair bearer of a rich household passed on me the news that I remembered him again.
What news did the sedan-chair bearer tell me?
He told me: tighter with other carpenters, was building a mansion for a rich household at the southern city gate. When it was nearing completion, it suddenly came to pass that he fell off building and died.
Why did Lao Chen, of all carpenters, die such a violent death like his father? All that seems accidental, and also seems predestined. In short, an honest man has thus passed out of existence.
