The Red Chamber (23 page)

“You don’t even know me,” she says, her voice quivering.

He comes a step closer. All this time he has been standing across the room from her. Now he takes another step. Her heart starts to hammer again.

“You’d better go,” she says.

He continues to walk towards her.

“Someone could come in.”

He goes to the door, bolts it, and then walks towards her again.

“My maid may come back.”

He is only a few steps away from her. She tries to dart past him into the hallway. He catches her before she has gone more than a few steps. She struggles to break free of his hold, but halfheartedly. Now that he is so close, she can smell him. He smells faintly of stale sweat. She notices this objectively, without disgust or judgment. In fact, she finds his scent pleasant, reassuring, like her own smell, after a long day. He is touching her hair, she notices vaguely, as if it is happening to someone else. His touch is gentle and slow, not like Lian’s, as if there is all the time in the world. He says her name.

She tells herself to resist him, to push him away, but somehow she cannot move. She is aware of a grave danger. He is kissing her hairline now, but his caresses, his endearments, fill her with a sense of ominousness. Still, rather than resisting, she throws her arms around his neck. She stares blindly over his shoulder, as he buries his lips in her throat, holding her body against his.

She is falling, and has nothing to hold on to. There is no one to stop her, no one who cares. Not her family in the west, whom she has not laid eyes on since the day she was married. Not the Jias, who make her slave for them, but have no mercy when she falls short. For so long, she relied on Ping’er. But Ping’er is lost to her. She can tell that Ping’er loves Lian, in a way that she never did. And besides, Ping’er’s heart is filled by her coming baby.

Now Yucun is kissing her on the lips. It gives her no pleasure. Since leaving her family and marrying Lian, she has long been turned to stone. Yet she holds Yucun tighter, burying her face in his neck. She is falling, and there is no one to stop her. She lets him lead her into the bedroom.

7

Ordinarily, Baochai and her mother would have spent the month and a half before the arrival of Pan’s bride furnishing and preparing an apartment for the new couple. Because the Xias already own a mansion in the Capital, however, Pan has agreed to live there with Jingui, at least for the time being. The Xues should have hosted the wedding at their house, thus receiving the bride into her new home and family. Given that the couple will marry in the Capital, however, the Jias have offered to host the wedding, which will be small, since nearly all of the Xue and Xia relatives live in the south.

This strikes Baochai as awkward, because the relationship between the Jias and the Xias is tenuous at best; but she cannot come up with a better solution. Finally, Baochai and Mrs. Xue have decided to move in with Pan now that he is setting up a household in the Capital. Pan agrees, but no plans can be made until Jingui arrives, he says, because he is as yet unfamiliar with the layout and arrangements of the new house. In the meantime, none of them, even Pan, has set foot in the house, although they have sent over bridal gifts and furniture.

While each of these deviations from normal procedure can be explained by the circumstances, together they fill Baochai with a deep unease. It is almost as if the social roles have been reversed. Rather than Mrs. Xue receiving Jingui as a daughter-in-law into her own household, it is as if Xue Pan is being given to the Xias. She wonders whether it is generosity or some more selfish motive that leads the Xias to offer their house to the new couple. After all, with no son of their own, they may be eager to annex Pan into their family rather than giving up Jingui to the Xues. Such an arrangement will not be advantageous either to Pan or to Baochai and her mother.

Both Mrs. Xue and Pan are too elated by the approaching wedding to understand her reservations and warnings. Pan is infatuated with his bride. Mrs. Xue, enjoying the long-anticipated role of mother-in-law, is preoccupied with furnishing the bridal suite. “Do you think Jingui would like satin brocade, or gauze, for the bed hangings?” she says.

“I really don’t know, Mother. Do whatever you think is best.”

“Maybe if there’s time, we can do one of each kind. I do want her to be happy with her new apartments. Tell us, again, Pan, what she is like.”

“Don’t ask me,” Pan demurs. “You know I’m no good at describing things.”

“Is there anyone we know that she reminds you of?”

“She’s a little like Xifeng.”

Baochai does not find this comparison reassuring. While she admires Xifeng for her abilities as a manager, her desire for control does not make her easy to get along with, either as a wife or as a daughter-in-law. “In what way is she like Xifeng?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she lively, and fond of joking, like Cousin Xifeng is?” Baochai prompts.

Pan’s brow creases from the effort of reflection. “Not exactly. She is more serious, and—and dignified than Xifeng is.”

“In what way is she like Xifeng, then?” Baochai persists.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose she’s not quiet, like you. She’s more sure of herself, like Cousin Xifeng. That’s what I meant. But she is a hundred times prettier than Cousin Xifeng!”

Baochai hesitates before asking, “Is she fond of having her own way, like Xifeng is?”

Pan bursts out laughing. “Of course not! You must think me a fool, if that’s the sort of girl you think I would want to marry! She’s not like that at all. Quite the contrary! She’s very gentle, always eager to do what would please me the most. You know, since her mother and she have been without a man in the family for so long, they were especially interested in my advice and opinions.”

This speech does not set Baochai’s mind at rest as much as Pan seems to think it should. She says nothing more, and settles back to her sewing, waiting for the bride’s arrival in the Second Month.

Many years ago, when the Xues still lived in Nanjing, an older girl had come to visit and had taken away Baochai’s favorite doll. Her father was alive then; Baochai must have been only four or five. The girl—Baochai could remember nothing about her or her family—had noticed Baochai cuddling the doll and pretending to put it to bed. When she snatched it out of Baochai’s hands, Baochai was more startled than anything else. She at first assumed that the girl meant to play with it for a while and
then give it back. But the girl did not play with it, just put it in her sleeve so that Baochai could not have it. Eventually Baochai got up the nerve to ask for the doll back, but the girl simply turned away and started to play with another of Baochai’s toys. Baochai thought about tattling—her mother and father were sitting in the next room chatting with the little girl’s parents—but she was too polite and too shy, too deeply imbued with her duties as hostess, and said nothing. Eventually, the girl left, with the doll still hidden in her sleeve. It was only that night that Baochai had wept silently in bed, trying to fall asleep without her doll to cuddle. She had never had a favorite toy again.

At the sight of Jingui’s face, when Pan pulls off her red veil, the incident comes back to her after all these years. She recognizes the high cheekbones, the smallish, bright eyes under thin brows, and, especially, the short nose with its pinched nostrils and unusually pointed tip. Of course, Jingui has changed a great deal. She is now a tall young lady, undeniably handsome in her bridal finery, with the sort of willowy figure that Baochai envies. Her eyes are darkened with kohl, and her thin lips are heavily rouged. Yet there is still something about her, some harshness to her expression, some hard, fixed quality to her gaze that reminds Baochai of that girl from so many years ago.

Now as Pan, beaming with pride, leads Jingui to greet Mrs. Xue, she notices that Jingui carries herself confidently, as Pan had said. Jingui flashes a bold smile at her mother-in-law, hardly a blushing bride. Mrs. Xue, so happy that she is nearly crying, embraces her. Jingui receives her caresses with composure, but does not return them. Then Pan leads her to greet Lady Jia and Uncle Zheng. Xia Jingui handles these introductions with the same smiling aplomb. Baochai hears Lady Jia commenting to Mrs. Xue that the new bride is not shy and tongue-tied like so many young ladies these days. Baochai is surprised by Granny Jia’s favorable impression of Jingui. For years it has been drummed into her that young girls should be demure and submissive, barely daring to meet the eyes of their elders. However, she has long ago discovered that behavior that would be considered a grave shortcoming in ordinary people is easily forgiven in those of unusual physical beauty.

Now it is time for Baochai to meet Jingui. She moves forward, smiling, knowing that she must on no account stint on the courtesies. For a moment she wonders whether Jingui will recognize her, but Jingui seems hardly to look at her. She bows as low as possible, saying, “Older sister.” When she rises from her bow, she smiles and takes Jingui’s hand, saying,
“I am so glad that you have come. I hope we will soon be as close as real sisters!”

At her words, Jingui’s attention finally seems to focus on her. Jingui gives no sign of recognition. Instead, her eyes sweep Baochai from head to toe with an appraising look that makes her feel dowdy and clumsy. She wishes she had dressed up more, like the other girls.

“Little sister,” Jingui says, dismissing her with a flick of the eye, before moving on to greet Baoyu.

When Xifeng steps out of Xue Pan’s wedding feast to ask a maid to bring more
samshoo
, someone grabs her and pulls her into the shadow of a pine tree. She knows as soon as he touches her that it is Jia Yucun. All evening at the wedding feast, she has sensed him looking at her. She has had to force herself to keep her eyes severely away.

“Will you stop looking at me? Someone is going to notice—”

Her words are drowned when he kisses her on the mouth.

“Stop it. Someone may see.” She puts her hand up and pushes his lips away, yet she leaves her fingers on his lips, and he kisses them.

“Slip away with me.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Just for a few minutes. Aren’t there any empty rooms anywhere?”

She thinks for a moment. Without a word, she leads him to the other side of the reception hall where there are some unused rooms. This side of the hall is deserted. She fumbles at the heavy ring of keys at her waist, and opens a door.

“Clever girl, to have the key,” he murmurs, kissing her neck.

They step into the room. She shuts the door behind them. They are in pitch blackness. They find each other by feel and sink to the ground. He is on top of her, kissing her, his hands scrabbling against her as if frantic to touch her bare skin. To her surprise, she is just as frantic to touch him. Unlike last time, when she was so numb, she feels every touch of his lips and body, her pleasure so sharp that it is almost pain. He is pulling down her trousers beneath her gown. She feels his hand warm and firm against her bare buttocks. She presses her buttocks against his hand. He slips his finger inside her and she feels how wet she is inside. With a groan, she presses against his shoulders and pushes with her legs so that she is on top of him. She tugs at his trousers, feeling his hardness through the silk.

“What do you want?” he whispers teasingly.

“I want you inside me,” she says, pressing her body against his. She has never spoken to Lian like this.

With a laugh, he pulls down his trousers. She feels his penis rearing up between her legs and lowers herself down on him so quickly that they both gasp. What has gotten into her? she thinks, as she shuts her eyes, feeling heat suffuse her. She feels like she is waking up, coming to life, after the numbness of long misery.

8

“Mother, can I speak to you alone?” Instead of going to the Ministry after breakfast, Jia Zheng pokes his head into Lady Jia’s room.

His mother looks up from the bowl of red date soup she is spooning into her mouth. “Well, what is it?”

He does not speak, looking at Snowgoose, who is rearranging the cushions on the
kang
.

“Well, what?” his mother repeats impatiently.

“I said ‘alone,’ ” he mutters, embarrassed.

“Snowgoose, you will have to go someplace else. Lord Jia doesn’t want you to hear what he has to say,” Lady Jia says.

He burns with stifled resentment at the way she seems to trivialize what he will say, even before she knows what it is. He does not speak until Snowgoose has left the room. “Baoyu’s schoolmaster came to see me at the Ministry yesterday afternoon.”

Interested, she puts her soup down. “What did he say?”

He hesitates, knowing his words will wound her. Deep inside he feels a secret pleasure at giving her evidence that Baoyu is not as wonderful as she has always believed. “He discouraged me from registering Baoyu for the Exams this year. He said that Baoyu will most probably fail, and maybe even make a fool of himself—”

“What nonsense! He’s just prejudiced against Baoyu.”

“Why would he be?”

“Oh, I don’t know! Jealous, perhaps.”

“I’m afraid not. I asked Jia Yucun to come over last night to read Baoyu’s essays and give me a second opinion. He also said the essays showed a very poor grasp of the Eight-Legged form. Also that Baoyu’s attempts to interpret the Classics are so strained as to be almost laughable.”

“Why would you listen to some nobody from the country?” his mother says indignantly.

“He’s now Under-Secretary to the President of the Board of War—”

His mother shakes her head, bewildered. “But I don’t understand. Just a few months ago, we were getting reports about what wonderful progress he was making …”

“The schoolmaster said that he
was
doing well, until about a month before New Year’s, when he suddenly started to not pay attention in class, and not hand in homework. What do you think could have happened?”

Lady Jia is silent for a moment. Finally, she says unpleasantly, “Well, that was around the time you beat him half to death, wasn’t it?”