Such
a Warrior
Lu
Xun 1925
Tr.
Huiwen Zhang 2012
There has to be such a sort of warrior
—
No longer ignorant as African natives who
nonetheless bear shiny rifles; nor beaten as the Chinese Green Troops who
nonetheless wear pistols. He has no
armor that prays to cow-hide and scrap-iron for help; he has only himself, but
seizing what barbarians use: a single-throw spear.
He walks into a formation of nothingness,
where all that encounter him face him with the same nod. He is aware that this nod is precisely the
enemy’s weapon, a weapon that kills without spilling blood; numerous warriors have
been nullified here, just the same as cannon balls: they render the brave
unable to engage their power.
But he hoists the spear.
They all vow in the same voice that
their hearts are in the center of their chests, unlike the rest of left-side-hearted
humankind. They all place on their
chests a heart-protecting bronze mirror, in order to testify their firm faith
that the heart is in the center of the chest.
But he hoists the spear.
He smiles, aims to the side for a single
throw that does strike right into the den of their hearts.
All collapse to the ground; yet left
behind is only a garment, inside of which, nothingness. The thing of nothingness has fled away in triumph,
for at this moment the warrior stands convicted of slaughtering the
philanthropists and their like.
But
he hoists the spear.
He walks in vast strides through the
formation of nothingness, encountering anew the same nod, every kind of banner,
every form of garment…
But he hoists the spear.
He, after all, ages, wilts, and
perishes in the formation of nothingness.
He, after all, is no longer a warrior.
The thing of nothingness, however, triumphant.
Under such circumstances, no one
hears the war cry: peace.
Peace...
But he hoists the spear!
