PARTISAN REVIEW
travels about among our people with his necklaces and ties and belts.
He hasn't bread, he hasn't money, and he never sells anything, he
hasn't any hope. . .. What d'you think of him, when you see that
he's such a poor Chinese without any hope?"
"Oh !" my mother replied. "I see many others who are like
that here among us.... Poor Sicilians without hope."
"I know," said I, "but he's Chinese. He's got a yellow face,
slit eyes, a flat nose, prominent cheekbones, and possibly he stinks.
He's more hopeless than
all
the others. He has absolutely nothing.
What d'you think of him?"
"Oh!" my mother answered. "Many people who aren't poor
Chinese have yellow faces, flat noses, and possibly stink. They are
not poor Chinese but poor Sicilians, yet they have nothing."
"But look," I said. "He's a poor Chinese who happens to be
in Sicily, not
in
China, .and he can't even boast of having a good
time with a woman. Now a poor Sicilian could.... "
"Why can't a poor Chinese?" asked my mother.
"Well," I said, "I expect a woman would give nothing to a
poor wayfarer who happened to be Chinese instead of Sicilian."
My mother frowned.
"I wouldn't know," she said.
"You see?" I exclaimed. "A poor Chinese is poorer still than
all the others. What d'you think about him?"
My mother was irritated. "The devil take your Chinese."
"You see?" I exclaimed. "He's poorer than all the rest and
you send him to the devil. And when you've sent him to the devil,
and then think of him, so poor in the world, hopeless and dispatched
to hell, don't you think he's more human, more a member of the
human race than all the rest?"
"The Chinese?" My mother looked at me still irritated.
"The Chinese," I said. "Or even the poor Sicilian who lies
ill
in bed, just like those you give injections to. Isn't he more of a man,
more of the human race?"
"He?" said my mother.
"He," said I.
"More than who?" my mother asked.
"More than the others," I replied. "The one who's
ill....
He's
suffering."
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