The Red Chamber (48 page)

And then, almost too quickly for him to absorb, their ordeal is over. The warden reads them some documents, though his head is aching too badly for him to listen properly. Their names are written down on a roster, and suddenly they are out in the streets in a wagon that Pan has hired to bring them home. Baoyu holds on to the side to steady himself, marveling at the freshness of the air and the expanses of space around him. He had lost track of time in prison, but now he senses, from the quality of the light and heat, that it is the end of spring. The sunlight is
too intense for his eyes, and he shades them with his hand. Now they are approaching a busier part of town. The people on the streets strike him as belonging to a different and unfamiliar species. There are children shouting and chasing one another, peddlers standing in front of their shops hawking their wares. Their voices are too loud, just as the shapes and colors of objects seem too vivid. He sees stacks of
zongzi
, the pyramids of rice wrapped in bamboo leaves that are eaten in honor of Qu Yuan’s suicide, and realizes that it must almost be the Double Fifth, the Dragon Boat Festival.

Now they are lurching down a familiar street. “Are we going to Rongguo?” he asks.

“No, it’s still Imperial Property,” Pan says over his shoulder. “They are renting an apartment south of Rongguo. It was rather small, so I rented the rooms next door for them as well when I got back to the Capital.”

They draw into a small alley, and now the driver is pulling up the horses. As Pan helps Jia Zheng and Baoyu out of the wagon, a door bursts open and Tanchun and Xichun and Baochai and Mrs. Xue pour out to greet them. Tanchun is hugging and weeping over him and his father and Huan, while Xichun clings to Jia Lian. Baochai and Mrs. Xue embrace his father. Then Mrs. Xue turns to hug him, while Baochai gives him a formal bow, barely meeting his eye. Her coldness fills him with unease. She must still consider herself betrothed to him; that is why she treats him with such formality.

Granny Jia comes out of the apartment, supported by Xifeng. Granny embraces his father, but he cannot take his eyes off Xifeng. What has happened to her? Her complexion has taken on a strange, clay-like cast, and the whites of her eyes are a muddy yellow. She has lost so much weight that he can see the shape of her jawbone clearly. Haven’t the others noticed the change in her? He looks at Lian, who is still speaking to Xichun and does not approach his wife. Surely, he thinks, Lian will take pity on her and not treat her too harshly about the loans. He takes Xifeng’s hands. “Where is Qiaojie?”

A quiver runs over her sallow face. “She died last winter.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He squeezes her hands, and feels her thin fingers trembling in his own. “And Ping’er?”

He realizes from her face that he has again blundered into a painful subject.

“Granny insisted that we sell her,” she says.

Time had stood still for him in prison. Only now, at Xifeng’s words,
does he realize how much has happened in his absence, what losses and partings have rent the family. Unbidden, a line from Zhuangzi comes to him:
xuwu piaomiao, rensheng zaishi, nanmian fengliu yunsan
. “This life, this insubstantial tissue of vanity, floats like a cloud on the wind.”

Now Granny is embracing him. While he feels joy at seeing his sister and cousins, he is still angry at how Granny had treated Daiyu. He submits to her putting her arms around him, and stroking his hair. Abruptly, she draws her hand away. “Good Heavens! You’re crawling with lice, and your head is as hot as fire!”

“Yes, let’s let Baoyu rest. He isn’t well. We must call a doctor,” Jia Zheng says, putting his arm around Baoyu’s shoulders and supporting him into the house. Realizing how exhausted he is from the journey from prison, Baoyu allows himself to be led to the
kang
. He sinks down on some cushions, as the others begin to talk about which doctor to send for, and about bathing and getting new clothes for the prisoners.

As he looks around the unfamiliar apartment, watching everyone bustle about, he is so struck by the absence of Daiyu that he wants to cry out in pain. How can everyone else chatter and laugh, rejoicing in the return of the prisoners, without remembering those who are missing? Unable to contain himself, he says, “Does anyone know what happened to Cousin Lin after the confiscation?”

Xifeng gives a guilty start, seems about to speak, and then shuts her mouth. There is an awkward silence.

His father is the first to break it. He looks around, blinking, as if this is the first time that he notices Daiyu’s absence. “I had assumed she was here with the rest of you.” He looks at Lady Jia. “Where is she?”

Granny’s face is inscrutable. “She disappeared from Rongguo during the confiscation. I think she must have felt we mistreated her, so she ran away the first chance she got.”

Jia Zheng is shocked. “Disappeared! Where could she have run to? And anything could have happened to her during the confiscation! She could have been taken up by the soldiers as a servant, or worse! Didn’t you make any sort of inquiry?”

“How could we possibly have looked for her then? We had enough to worry about—”

“Still, a young girl, alone in the Capital, without anyone to protect her,” his father says, obviously distressed.

“We must do something to find her, Father,” Baoyu breaks in eagerly. “We can make inquiries with the Embroidered Jackets. Probably she was
mistaken for a maid and sent to some other household. We can find out where the other maids were sent and—”

“I know what happened to Daiyu,” someone says quietly. Even without turning his head, he knows it is Baochai, from her calm voice, with its almost too precise articulation of consonants. He looks at her, and sees that two spots of red burn on her otherwise pale face, but her expression is as composed as always. She turns her back towards him, facing his father, as if making clear that she is addressing Jia Zheng and not Baoyu.

“What happened to her?” Jia Zheng asks.

“She went to live with Snowgoose’s family.”

At Baochai’s words, Baoyu’s heart is filled with relief, and gratitude towards Snowgoose. It was like Snowgoose, so generous beneath her brisk manner, to have made sure that Daiyu was all right.

“How do you know?” Xifeng asks Baochai.

“Snowgoose came here once, after the confiscation. She came to ask for some ginseng for Daiyu,” Baochai says.

“She was ill, then?” Baoyu exclaims, at the same moment Mrs. Xue says, “Why didn’t you ever tell us?”

Baochai does not speak for a moment. Then she goes on, her voice as steady as before. “She had consumption. I went to see her once in the Twelfth Month, and she was coughing terribly, and spitting up blood.”

He feels his entire body grow as cold and heavy as stone. “Consumption!” he cries. Daiyu’s mother had died of consumption. “Well, we must bring her here, and have the best doctors look at her. I’m sure that with the best care—”

Finally, Baochai turns and looks at him. Her face is still inscrutable, but is it possible that he hears a tiny tremor in her voice? “It’s too late. I went to see her again at the end of the First Month. She was dead.”

He recoils as at a physical blow. “Dead!”

“Yes. I’d given Snowgoose’s brother some money. He had taken her body down south to bury her in Suzhou.”

His first feeling is burning hatred for Baochai. He wants to strike her face, as cold and empty as a platter. He has always suspected that she tattled on Daiyu and made Lady Jia turn against her. Daiyu’s death should be laid at her door. Only after a moment does it sink into his stricken brain that Baochai must have repented of what she had done. That was why she had paid for Daiyu’s body to be buried in Suzhou.

And why does he blame Baochai? Wasn’t it his own fault? He had seduced Daiyu, sneaking into her bedroom to see her night after night.
He had promised to marry her. Even though Baochai had tattled, his own actions had turned Lady Jia against Daiyu. Daiyu had probably died believing that he had abandoned and betrayed her. Can it be true that he will never have a chance to tell her how much he loved her, how not a day went by in prison that he had not dreamed of her and planned how to spend his life with her?

All his regrets will not bring her back. With a dull shudder, he sinks back down on the
kang
. He closes his eyes and feels the weight of his grief crushing his heart.

3

For all that afternoon, Xifeng has kept out of Lian’s way. She knew, from the instant she saw him climbing out of the wagon, that he was still furious at her. The fact that he had not ended up serving the full sentence had not slaked his anger. She saw it in the rigidity with which he held his body, in the way he pointedly avoided meeting her eyes. He did not acknowledge her presence in any way, looking right through her as she hurried forward to greet him. She turned aside to greet Huan, hoping that in the bustle of the prisoners’ homecoming his coldness would go unnoticed. All through the afternoon, in order to distract attention from the fact that he was not speaking to her, she made herself as lively and busy as possible. She had presided over the making of the dinner, laughing and joking about the menu. Pan promised to lend the Jias whatever they needed, and she bought fish and meat in honor of the prisoners’ return. She bought material with which to make new clothes for the prisoners, asking everyone what colors and fabrics she should get. Then she had set out her work on the
kang
in the front room, ostentatiously rolling out the bolts of cloth, and pinning and cutting the paper patterns. Lian never even gave her a glance. She should be grateful, she told herself, that he had chosen not to humiliate her by repudiating her in front of the entire family.

Now it is evening, and she can no longer avoid facing him alone. Pan has rented the apartment next door so that the family will have more room. She and Lian, as the only married couple, have been allotted one of the bedrooms for themselves. She sits on the
kang
rapidly sewing a pair of trousers, the dread in her stomach like a lump of iron. She hears footsteps outside the door. Lian comes in.

“Look!” she says brightly, holding up the trousers. “I’ll probably have them finished for you tomorrow.”

He does not respond or look at her. She puts down the trousers and stands up. “What did Dr. Wang say about Baoyu?”

To her relief, he answers after a moment, still without looking in her direction. “He said it seems to be malaria. Baoyu’s body seems to get hot and then cold. His spleen is enlarged and full of fire.”

“But malaria can be cured, can’t it?”

Lian sits down on the edge of the
kang
, and uses his toes to push off his worn and filthy shoes. He grunts. “The doctor left some medicine, but Baoyu wouldn’t take it.”

“Wouldn’t take it? Why not?”

Lian does not answer. Momentarily distracted from her own worries, Xifeng wonders whether Baoyu is so upset by the news of Daiyu’s death that he does not want to be cured. “I feel terrible about Daiyu,” she says. “I should have tried harder to find out what became of her …” Seeing that Lian is not listening, she trails off. He stands up and begins to take off his robe.

“Here, let me help you.” She hurries over.

He steps away. “I can do it myself.”

“Then let me help you with your socks.” She kneels before his feet and strips off his dirty and holey socks. She picks up his shoes, examining the worn soles. “These are in terrible shape. I should throw them out, don’t you think? I can start making you a new pair tomorrow.”

He does not answer.

She picks up the robe that he has let fall on the
kang
. “We had better be careful where we put these. Are you sure you don’t have lice or fleas? I have half a mind to burn everything that you’re wearing. Or I suppose that we could just wash it in boiling water …”

He still does not say anything, just strips down to his patched and stained trousers and tunic. She does not want him to get in bed wearing those clothes from prison. She hurries over to him with a vest she has borrowed from Granny, who is broad-shouldered, and one of her own looser pairs of trousers. “Here. Why don’t you wear these? They’re clean.”

Ignoring her, he goes over to the basin of water she has heated for him. Instead of taking a proper bath, he sticks his head into the basin. He rubs a handful of soap into his wet hair, then rinses his face and head. When he dries off, he leaves streaks of dirt on the towel. She wants to ask him to wash more thoroughly, but does not dare. He goes to the window, opens it, and throws the water out into the street. He shuts and bolts the window, then goes to the
kang
, where she has laid out two sets of bedding side by side in the middle. He takes one of the sets of bedding and moves it to the farthest edge of the
kang
. Then he blows out the light.

She stands there in the darkness, listening to him climb between the quilts. She can count herself lucky, she reminds herself, that he has
not yelled at her or struck her. She should just undress and go to sleep. Yet still she stands there in the darkness listening to his breathing. She knows that he is not the kind of person to relent towards her as time goes by. If she leaves matters like this, the gulf between them, their estrangement, will become permanent, immovable.

Slowly she undresses, shivering in the cool night air, laying her clothes in a neat pile on the corner of the
kang
. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can discern him lying there in the faint light from the window. She climbs onto the
kang
beside him, and kneels there.

“I—I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about those loans,” she begins in a small voice. “I never thought they would get you in trouble.”

For about a minute he says nothing. When he eventually speaks, it is clear from his voice that he has been lying there seething, that he can barely control his pent-up rage. “And yet, when the Embroidered Jackets were dragging me away, you didn’t say a word.”

“What could I have said? Even if I had told them that I made the loans, they would still have arrested you.”