I was more puzzled than ever. Fortunately my mother came in then and said, "He has been away so many years he has forgotten everything." Then turning to me she added, "You ought to remember her. This is Sister Yang from across the way . . . they have a bean-curd shop."
Yes, I remembered now. Out of my childhood memories I recalled the image of a Sister Yang seated all day long in the bean-curd shop across the street. She was nicknamed "Bean Curd Hsi Shih."[1] But she powdered her face then and her cheekbones were not so high, her lips not so thin, and, because she was seated all day long, I had no recollection of her compasslike feet. She was young and attractive then, and it was said that her shop flourished for that reason. However, my child mind was not susceptible to a young woman's charms and she had made no impression on me. Compasses was very indignant and her face assumed a jeering expression at my lapse, which to her must have seemed as unforgivable as a Frenchman's not knowing Napoleon or an American's not knowing Washington.
"So you have forgotten who I am! Well, this is what you call the forgetfulness of the great."
"It is no such thing—I—I," I stood up, stammering with embarrassment.
"Then let me tell you something, Brother Hsun. You are now rich and have no use for this dilapidated furniture. The pieces are too heavy and clumsy to take with you. Give them to me. We are poor and can use those things."
"I am not rich. I have to sell these things in order to . . ."
"What's that you say? You have been appointed a Daotai and yet you say you are not rich. You have three concubines
- ↑ Hsi Shih was the Helen of Chinese antiquity.
