庚寅冬,予自小港欲入蛟川城,命小奚以木简束书从。时西日沉山,晚烟萦树,望城二里许,因问渡者:“尚可得南门开否?”渡者熟视小奚,应曰:“徐行之,尚开也,速进则阖。”予愠为戏,趋行及半,小奚仆,束断书崩,啼。未即起,理书就束,而前门已牡下矣。
予爽然,思渡者言近道。天下之以躁急自败,穷暮而无所归宿者,其犹是也夫,其犹是也夫!
林语堂 译:
The Ferryman’s Wisdom
Chou Yung
In the winter of 1650, I was going into the city of Chiaochuan from
the Little Harbor, accompanied by a boy carrying a big load of
books, tied with a cord and
strengthened with a few pieces of board. It was toward sunset and
the country was covered with haze. We were about a mile from the
city. “Will we be in time to get into the city before the gates are
closed?” I asked the ferryman. “You will if you go slowly. But if
you run, you will miss it,” replied the ferryman, casting a look at
the boy. But we walked as fast as possible. About halfway, the boy
fell down. The cord broke and the books fell on the ground. The boy
sat crying. By the time we had
retied the package and reached the city gate, it was already
closed.
I thought of
that ferryman. He had wisdom.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.

Clik here to view.
