久慣做賊 We Are Not Old Hands at This
行者請唐僧坐在上首,他三人各執兵器喝道:「毛賊!你們一起有多少人?做了幾年買賣?打劫了有多少東西?可曾殺傷人口?還是初犯,卻是二犯、三犯?」眾賊開口道:「爺爺饒命。」行者道:「莫叫喚,從實供來。」眾賊道:「老爺,我們不是久慣做賊的,都是好人家子弟。只因不才,吃酒賭錢、宿娼頑耍,將父祖家業,盡花費了,一向無幹,又無錢用。訪知銅臺府城中寇員外家貲財豪富,昨日合夥,當晚乘夜雨昏黑,就去打劫。劫的有些金銀服飾,在這路北下山凹裡正自分贓,忽見老爺們來,內中有認得是寇員外送行的,必定身邊有物;行者请唐僧坐在上首,他三人各执兵器喝道:「毛贼!你们一起有多少人?做了几年买卖?打劫了有多少东西?可曾杀伤人口?还是初犯,却是二犯、三犯?」众贼开口道:「爷爷饶命。」行者道:「莫叫唤,从实供来。」众贼道:「老爷,我们不是久惯做贼的,都是好人家子弟。只因不才,吃酒赌钱、宿娼顽耍,将父祖家业,尽花费了,一向无干,又无钱用。访知铜台府城中寇员外家赀财豪富,昨日合伙,当晚乘夜雨昏黑,就去打劫。劫的有些金银服饰,在这路北下山凹里正自分赃,忽见老爷们来,内中有认得是寇员外送行的,必定身边有物;
逐句解 Line by line
Monkey settled the Tang monk in the seat of honour, and the three of them stood with their weapons and barked, "Small-time thieves! How many are there in your band? How many years have you been in this trade? How much have you taken in your robberies? Have you ever killed anybody? Is this a first offence, or a second, or a third?"
上首 — the seat of honour, the upper place. Tripitaka is put where a presiding magistrate sits. Five questions in a fixed order, and it is the order a real interrogation used: strength of the gang, length of career, value taken, deaths, previous convictions. Monkey has heard this done before, or the book has. ⚠ 可曾 — have you ever. The second character here means ever, and the chain mistakes it for the surname that is written the same way. Curiously it only goes wrong inside this one frame: the five other places this chapter uses the character, in not yet and never did, all come out right unaided.
The robbers opened their mouths and said, "Your honours, spare our lives." Monkey said, "Stop howling. Out with it truthfully."
從實供來 — out with it truthfully. Again the courtroom word: state it under questioning. Monkey is running this exactly as a magistrate would, down to the vocabulary. 爺爺饒命 — your honours, spare our lives. The robbers switch instantly into the same cringing form of address the Kou brothers used before the prefect. Everybody in this chapter knows how to talk to a court.
The robbers said, "Old master, we are not long-practised thieves. We are all of us sons of decent families. It was only through our own worthlessness — drinking and gambling, whoring and idling — that we ran through the whole of our fathers' and grandfathers' estates. We had been at nothing for a long while and had no money left to spend."
好人家子弟 — sons of decent families. The book gave us this already, in the third sentence of the chapter, and it is now confirmed out of their own mouths. 不才 — worthlessness. It is a formal word, the sort a man uses of himself in a letter, and it sits oddly and rather touchingly in a robber's confession on a roadside. Notice they are not asking for sympathy. Every clause is an admission. This is what an honest confession sounds like, and it is worth comparing with the sworn complaint two thousand characters back, which was false in one respect and true in all the others.
"We had it on inquiry that Squire Kou's household inside the walls of Tongtai was enormously rich, so yesterday we banded together, and that evening, under cover of the dark and the rain, we went off to rob it."
Their account matches the narrator's exactly — the inquiry, the wealth, the band, the night, the rain. Nothing is added and nothing is left out. ⚠ It also matches the Kou son's sworn complaint almost word for word. Both describe men who found out the house was rich and went there under cover of a storm. The only difference between the true account and the false one is which men are being described, and that difference is invisible in the language.
"What we robbed was some gold and silver and clothing, and we were just splitting the takings in a fold of the hills north of the road here, when we suddenly saw your honours coming. Some among us recognised you as the ones Squire Kou saw off, and reckoned you were bound to have goods about you."
⚠ 分贓 — splitting the takings. The first character is the verb for dividing, which is the commoner of its two readings. The other belongs to a share as a thing you get one of, and that is what it means in the robbers' own earlier phrase about putting the horse in the pot. Two words of one character in one chapter, and the chain gets each of them wrong in the other one's direction. Neither is anywhere else in the novel. 認得 — recognised. The verb and the character after it have fused into one word for knowing somebody by sight, and the second half keeps its full weight.
This is the longest passage in the chapter and it is a confession, given freely, that turns out to be completely accurate. Everything the robbers say matches what the reader watched happen: the inquiry, the band, the rain, the gold and silver, the division in the hills.
Set it beside the sworn complaint the Kou sons made in a real court and the comparison is uncomfortable. That document was also detailed, also plausible, also constructed from things that had really happened. The two accounts use the same vocabulary because they describe the same crime. Nothing about the language of either tells you which one is true.
The one thing that separates them is that these men were there. The book has put a true confession and a false accusation of the same event about two thousand characters apart, made them sound alike, and left the reader to notice that the only reliable difference is knowledge — which is precisely what a court cannot see.
There is also a small, real sadness in the confession. They are sons of decent families who drank and gambled their inheritances away and had nothing left to do. Not one of them is a demon, and the word one of them reaches for to describe himself is the formal self-deprecation a gentleman would use in a letter.