give up poling boats for the time being and should not go into the city. But he insisted on going into the city—on rolling[1] into the city—and when he got there they got hold of him and cut off his queue. Formerly he had a nice, silky, black queue and now he looks like neither monk nor priest. It is all well and good for the jailbird to bring this upon himself, but what have we done? What are we going to do? You walking corpse of a jailbird!"
The villagers had by now hurried through their meal and were gathered around Seven Pounds' table. Conscious of the fact that he was something of a personage. Seven Pounds felt acutely the shame of being scolded by one's wife in public. He raised his head and gently remonstrated, "It is very well for you to say these things now, but, at the time, you . . . "
"You walking corpse of a jailbird!"
Among the onlookers Sister Eighteen was the most kindhearted. With her two-year-old son in her arms—he was born after the death of her husband—she was standing beside Sister Seven Pounds. She felt sorry for Seven Pounds and tried to put in a word for him, saying, "Sister Seven Pounds, let him be. People are not gods, so who is to foresee what is to come? And did you not say at the time, Sister Seven Pounds, that it was not so bad, after all, to be without a queue? Besides, there has been no official proclamation by his honor the magistrate."
Before she had heard it all, Sister Seven Pounds was already red around the ears. She pointed her chopsticks at Sister Eighteen's nose and said, "What are you talking about, Sister Eighteen? As far as I can see I am the same person now as
- ↑ To describe some one as "rolling" like an egg, particularly a turtle's egg, or to tell him to "roll away," is very uncomplimentary.
