Читать книгу Wang the Ninth - B. L. Putnam Weale - Страница 6

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In the morning the unaccustomed roar and noise of the city gate woke up the sleeping child. No comforting father's voice, however, answered its first stirrings and cries; so after a while the philosophic instinct of the race asserted itself and the boy lay quiet, his astonished eyes taking in everything around him.

In the small bare room there was no living thing save a cat of nondescript colour sitting on a box and licking its paws. The broken paper depending from the lattice-work of the windows, however, flapped to and fro cheerfully and briskly; and the rising sun which was peeping through the gaps in the paper seemed ready to invade the whole room. In one corner were the two baskets and the litter of blacksmith's tools which had travelled so far. Close by was a huge primitive musket and a belt stuffed full of the formidable cartridges of a forgotten period. But the wheelbarrow had vanished and so had the father.

Staring blankly at all this—particularly at the colossal firearm—the child finally half-rolled and half-tumbled to the earthen floor from the low k'ang on which it had been put to sleep the night before and began tottering towards the door.

This it managed to open. Then very fearfully it peeped out as if it had opened a veritable Pandora's box.

Instead of trouble, however, the child saw outside a bare waste, and beyond many people and many carts passing endlessly along a raised roadway on which were also posted all sorts of vendors loudly calling their wares. The rumble and clatter of the carts, and the cries of the vendors never ceased: they seemed a veritable brook of life which went on for ever. Enchanted by this animation little Wang remained stockstill, wondering what would happen next. Curiosity consumed him: he observed every detail with powers of observation only given to the exceptional. There was nothing that escaped his quick, tireless black eyes. What a wonderful world he had been brought to!

Presently an old man carrying a portable kitchen on a pole stopped quite close by; and depositing his paraphernalia started advertising what he had for sale in a thin raucous voice, putting one finger into an ear as he called so as to sense the quality of his tune from the vibrations. Children and women came slowly out of neighbouring houses; then, after a pause, one or two decided to eat and edged up to the old man with money in their hands.

Little Wang, nothing loth, cautiously joined them. He was so small that he stood there for a long time totally unobserved, looking at each disappearing mouthful with envious eyes, and wondering what he should do to be fed like these lucky ones. Presently the old man, having finished his work, turned to him.

"And you?" he inquired in a matter-of-fact way, treating the child as if he were a grown-up.

"I, too, am hungry," announced little Wang gravely.

At this everybody laughed spontaneously as if something very witty had been said; but the child only stood there frowning, showing traces of the resolute character which so quickly developed by not flinching at an inch.

"You are hungry!" echoed the old man quizzically, "well, well—that is as it should be. When one is small it is always so: only with age does the appetite lessen. And where is the money your mother gave you that I may feed you?"

Little Wang shook his head.

"I have no money and no mother," he replied. Then gaining courage he added brusquely. "But give me to eat?"

He held out a hand, watching the vendor narrowly.

"Oh, oh," laughed the old man, "you would eat free! Things are indeed coming to a pass when I who am poor beyond estimate am forced to feed all who come near me.... Still here—" With a flourish of his big copper ladle he dipped very deeply into his cauldron, as if generous feelings possessed him, bringing out notwithstanding the smallest possible amount of his hot mess by means of a quick turn of the handle. Then he partly filled a small coarse bowl, passing it to the child with the manner of the tradesman. Long experience had taught him that the farthing owed him would come back to him soon enough,—with much interest.

"Well, is it good?" he remarked approvingly when the sturdy child had swallowed down every drop with wolfish rapidity. "I see you could eat more. But I must have my money first. I, too, live from day to day." He turned to the others. "Whose child is this?"

A woman with a baby in her arms edged up:

"A man arrived, so I have heard, in the middle of the night and found a place to sleep with one of the militia. He had a child in a basket, it was also said. This must be him."

The small boy stood there crossly twisting his fingers because he was still hungry, and also because he hated being the object of such attentions. Everybody was looking at him now with curiosity, wondering at his independence and his lack of fear and asking questions.

Quickly he answered, hating to tell anything and concealing much. Presently, bending down on the ground, he began playing with some little stones, not paying any further attention to the scene around him. The other children observed his antics with curious eyes: this ugly, strong, tiny boy, who had appeared during the night and who seemed to belong to nobody, strangely fascinated them.

After a long interval one of them approached him, and a little timidly offered him a piece of flour-cake. Little Wang took it without a word of thanks and bolted it down like a savage young thing, resuming his playing as soon as he had finished.—Then another, not to be outdone, gave him a little from his little bowl of congee, and squatting down beside him tried to talk to him in small baby words. The women and the old man drifted away, but all the children remained and were joined by others, who imitated what the newcomer was doing. Little Wang was making a regular pattern on the ground with his stones, working out a design from something he had once seen and not forgotten, so absorbed that he paid no attention to anything else.

The others continued to imitate him—disputing who should have the place next to him. Little Wang, by reason of that mysterious quality which sets one man over others, was already beginning to assert his leadership which he soon made legendary in the neighbourhood.