The Red Chamber (9 page)

“But—” Still Ping’er hesitates. She looks at Xifeng again. “Are you sure?”

Ping’er is giving her another chance, yet Xifeng cannot bring herself to admit her weakness. She is too conscious of the maids moving around her, trying to do their work as silently as possible so they can catch every word. No matter how hard she works running the household, everyone hates her for her strictness. They cannot wait for her to show her vulnerability so they can attack.

She shrugs, feigning indifference. “I don’t mind,” she says. She turns to Lian. “I should think you could get someone a lot prettier and younger than Ping’er. But if that’s what you want, suit yourself.”

Lian smiles at Ping’er, ignoring Xifeng’s jibe. “You heard her. She doesn’t mind.” He takes Ping’er’s hand. “I’ll go and consult an astrologer about a lucky date for the wedding.”

“Why didn’t you tell him that you didn’t want to?” Xifeng says, when she and Ping’er are alone in their own apartment.

Ping’er stares at her. “How could I? I’m only a slave.”

Xifeng knows she is being unfair, expecting Ping’er to stand up to Lian and Granny when she couldn’t do so herself. “I suppose it was too good for you to pass up. From maid to mistress—what a promotion!”

Ping’er starts to cry. “That isn’t fair. Why couldn’t you have just told them ‘no’?”

She cannot explain how Granny had cornered her into discussing Lian’s marriage in front of everyone, offering her money and her own maid to make it impossible for Xifeng to refuse. “How could I?”

“If you had just told them ‘no,’ it would have been the end of the matter—”

“I did say ‘no’ at first, but then—”

“You should have stood your ground.” Ping’er speaks as tauntingly as Xifeng had a few moments before. “But, no, you wanted to seem like the perfect daughter-in-law, Lady Jia’s favorite, whom no one can criticize—”

She slaps Ping’er.

9

“Baochai, good news,” Mrs. Xue cries, when Baochai walks into her apartment after breakfast. “Zheng just told me that Pan’s case is settled!”

“Settled? What happened?”

“All the witnesses said Zhang Hua struck the first blow, so Pan was justified in defending himself. And the doctor said Zhang had suffered from a chronic heart condition, which may have caused his death rather than the beating. So the magistrate decided there was insufficient evidence, and dropped the charges.”

“That’s wonderful!” Baochai says. Underneath the first flood of relief, she is aware of a feeling of disappointment. Is that it? Pan had killed someone. Could he actually escape scot-free? She tries to suppress the feeling, shocked at herself.

“Yes, and all thanks to Zheng,” Mrs. Xue says. “We can never be sufficiently grateful to him.”

She is tired, tired of living in the shadow of Pan’s endless crises and alarms. Surely her mother is, too. “Mother,” she says abruptly.

“Yes?”

“Does it ever occur to you that when other people help Pan get out of these messes, he never faces the consequences of what he does?”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Maybe if he really believed that he would go to jail, he wouldn’t have beaten Zhang Hua up.”

“For shame, Baochai. Do you actually want to see your brother punished? To see him suffer?”

Abashed by her mother’s shocked expression, Baochai wishes that she had not spoken.

In silence, Mrs. Xue settles herself on the
kang
and takes up her sewing. Baochai notices that she is mending one of Pan’s jackets. Baochai slowly gets her workbasket and begins sewing as well.

“I don’t think you understand, Baochai,” her mother says at last. “A person’s nature is inborn. Even when Pan was a baby, he was always in trouble. As soon as he could crawl, he would pull down everything: books, furniture, tablecloths. Once a pot of hot tea tipped on him and
he got horribly scalded—that was how he got that scar on his arm. I thought, finally he would learn his lesson. But as soon as he got better, he kept doing the same thing.

“Then, when he was older, your father would beat him for bullying, or not doing his homework. Pan would cry and promise to reform, but even before the welts healed, he would be back to his old tricks.” Mrs. Xue laughs a little, and Baochai is surprised by the tenderness on her face. “After your father died, I didn’t have the heart to beat him myself. Besides, I knew it wouldn’t be of any use.”

She seems to notice Baochai’s disapproving expression. She smiles, and reaches for Baochai’s hand. “It was just the same with you. Even as a baby, you were just as you are now. I’d never seen or imagined a baby who cried so little. Nothing ever bothered you.

“And then, when you were older, you picked up everything so quickly: sewing, weaving, housework. Your father taught you to read and write, just for fun, and you could read whole passages of the
Three-Word Classic
by the time you were four. How proud and happy your father was!” Mrs. Xue smiles reminiscently. “Pan was already eight or nine, and was still struggling to write his name. Your father and I used to joke about it: how we had one child who would never give us a moment’s peace, and another who would never give us a moment’s trouble.”

Her mother squeezes her hand fondly, and Baochai forces herself to squeeze back. She feels oppressed by the weight of being the perfect daughter. She is almost nineteen, and cannot help but wonder how her own prospects will be affected by Pan’s troubles.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do about Pan,” she says. “It isn’t good for him to be kicking his heels around the Capital with nothing to do. He’ll just get into more trouble.”

“What else can we do?”

“Why don’t we have one of Father’s old clerks take him south this autumn to buy supplies? Old Feng would know how to keep him in line.”

Mrs. Xue looks dubious. “Would he go?”

“He might try to refuse, but surely you can make him go, after all the trouble he has caused.”

“You’re right. Besides, after all this, it might be better for him to be out of the Capital for a while.”

Someone calls from outside the door curtain. “Auntie! Cousin!” Daiyu pokes her head in. “Can I come in and sit with you?” she says, her face wistful.

Baochai laughs at the way that Daiyu is poised there, as if unsure of her welcome. “Come in. What are you afraid of?”

“I didn’t know if you were busy.”

Baochai and her mother climb off the
kang
to greet her. “Of course not,” Mrs. Xue says. “And even if we were, we should be glad to have you visit. Sunset!” she calls.

Sunset appears from one of the back rooms.

“Make Miss Lin some tea. And put out those little cakes the Countess of Zhenguo sent us.”

They draw Daiyu onto the
kang
. Baochai is glad Daiyu has come. She has liked Daiyu from the first. Even though she seems quiet and self-conscious at mealtimes, Baochai senses some quickness, some spark, in her that the other girls lack.

“I am sure you must find the weather here terribly dry and dusty, after being in the south,” Mrs. Xue says.

Daiyu looks curiously at her. “Have you lived in the south before?”

“We’re from Nanjing. We moved to the Capital a few years ago.”

“Nanjing! My parents took me there when I was a little girl. I remember playing near the stone animals at Mingxiao Ling.”

“Mingxiao Ling,” says Baochai. “I remember wanting to play there, too, when I was little.” She turns to her mother, laughing. “But you wouldn’t let me. You said it wasn’t proper to play near an Imperial Mausoleum.”

Daiyu laughs too. “My mother probably told me to stop, too, only I didn’t listen to her. Why did you leave Nanjing to come here?”

Not wanting to explain that they had left because of Pan’s scandals, Baochai casts about for an excuse. Fortunately, her mother says, “After my husband died, we always spent a lot of time here so that I could be with my sister, Lady Wang. She was Baoyu’s mother.”

“I see.” Daiyu smiles at Baochai. “So you are Baoyu’s cousin as well. That means we are cousins, too.” She looks back at Mrs. Xue. “But Baoyu’s mother died years ago, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Xue sighs. “Things were very different here when my sister was alive. When she died, the whole atmosphere of the house changed. Both of Lian’s parents are dead as well. Usually, it’s the mothers who hold a family together.”

At Mrs. Xue’s remark, Daiyu’s eyes fill with tears. Mrs. Xue sees them and puts her arm around Daiyu’s shoulders. “You must miss your mother terribly.”

“I dream of her all the time. I dream that she is still alive, and that we are at home in Suzhou together, washing the dishes or feeding the chickens—and then I wake up and realize she is gone.” Daiyu looks up into Mrs. Xue’s face. “Did you know my mother when she was younger? What was she like?”

“I saw her for the first time when my sister married Zheng. She was wearing a green gown, and was as graceful as a rush swaying in the wind. My sister grew very fond of her before she went south with your father. She always said that Min was so warm and lighthearted …”

Sunset comes in carrying tea and food boxes on a tray. Daiyu stops crying and wipes her face on her sleeve.

“These are marzipan cakes made of ground lotus root and sugared cassia flowers,” Mrs. Xue says, opening the food boxes. “Why don’t you have some? I’m afraid you’ve lost weight since you’ve come here.”

“I doubt that very much. The food here is so rich that I won’t be able to fit into my clothes by the time I go home.”

“You don’t have to worry about that! You’re too thin to begin with,” Baochai says, laughing. “It’s people like me who have to worry!”

“I had hoped it would be easier for you here at Rongguo,” Mrs. Xue says. “That being in a new place would help you think of other things. How do you like having all these new cousins to play with?”

“The truth is, I hardly see them.”

“How can that be?”

“Everyone else lives in the Garden, while I am at Lady Jia’s. I don’t even know what they do all day.”

Baochai realizes that she has been too preoccupied with Pan’s troubles to notice how Daiyu has been excluded. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come live with me?”

A smile crosses Daiyu’s still tear-stained face, as if she cannot believe her good fortune. “Really?”

“Why not?” Baochai is flattered by Daiyu’s eagerness. “I have plenty of room. There is an extra bedroom right down the hall.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Xue exclaims warmly. “The two of you can be company for each other. Baochai has always longed for a sister.”

“Yes, it’s true,” Baochai says. “Because my brother Pan was so much older, I always wanted a little girl to play with.”

“I would love to!” Daiyu says. “But will I be allowed?”

“We’ll have to ask Xifeng. But I don’t see any reason why she would object—”

At that moment they hear a laughing voice in the courtyard. Xifeng comes in carrying a bundle.

Daiyu looks at Baochai.
“ ‘As soon as you speak of General Cao, General Cao appears!’ ”
she quotes with a laugh.

As Mrs. Xue orders Sunset to serve more tea and cakes, Baochai says, “We wanted to ask you whether Cousin Lin could move into my apartments in the Garden with me.”

Xifeng thinks a moment. “I don’t see why not. The only problem is that, since Cousin Lin doesn’t have a maid of her own, Snowgoose has been helping her. If she moves over here, that will hardly be feasible.”

“That’s all right. I have two body servants,” Baochai says. “I’ll let her use one of mine.”

“I wouldn’t think of depriving you of your maid,” Daiyu demurs.

“Nonsense. I don’t need two body servants. There, that’s settled!” Impulsively, Baochai takes Daiyu’s hand and squeezes it.

Xifeng opens her bundle. “These are some clothes I had made for you, Cousin Lin,” she says, smiling. Inside are two jackets, one pomegranate satin lined with ermine, the other leek-green silk lined with gray squirrel. In addition there are a couple of padded skirts, one in slate blue, the other black sprigged with various colored flowers. “It will begin to get cooler in just a few weeks, and I was afraid that your things wouldn’t be warm enough.”

Baochai waits for Daiyu to exclaim at the beauty of the clothes, to make effusive thanks. Instead Daiyu makes no move to touch the clothes, fingering the material of her own rose-sprigged gown. “I brought warmer clothes with me,” she says coldly. “I just haven’t taken them out yet.” Baochai realizes she is offended, taking the gift as a suggestion that her own clothing is inadequate. She has an urge to nudge Daiyu, to whisper to her to take the clothes. Doesn’t she realize how unwise it is to offend someone like Xifeng?

At last Daiyu musters a smile and manages to thank Xifeng quite prettily. But it is too late for her to erase the poor impression she has already created.

10

“Look at this!” Tanchun bursts into laughter, unrolling a scroll from the box that Xifeng has sent over.

Daiyu gazes at the painting, of a fleshy woman in what appears to be a metal gown. She has staring blue eyes and two braids of yellow hair hanging to her waist. “Who is that?”

Baochai comes over, with Xichun behind her. “It’s a picture of a westerner, I think,” Baochai says. “My father saw one once, a girl, when he was visiting the port near Shen. He said that he tried to speak to her in Chinese, and she was actually able to answer.”

“Why is she carrying a sword?” Daiyu asks.

“I think she must be a warrior,” Baochai says. “That’s why her clothes are metal. It’s some sort of armor.”

“Look how pale her eyes are,” Xichun giggles.

“How on earth did Xifeng get hold of something like this?” Baochai says.

“Somebody must have given it to Grandfather,” Tanchun says. “Why don’t you put it up?” she asks Daiyu teasingly.

Daiyu laughs. “No, thank you. I prefer calligraphy.”

Her new bedroom at Baochai’s apartments is littered with furniture and carpets and bedding that Xifeng has sent over. Her girl cousins are helping her set up the room. Freed from the adults’ presence, they are gay and carefree as the girls Daiyu knew in Bottle-Gourd Street. That morning she tried on the clothes Xifeng had given her, unable to take her eyes off the fashionable stranger in the mirror. Among her chattering cousins, she feels like one of them for the first time.