Now he is running out of breath, and can hear the rasp of his own lungs between the blows of the switch. Why doesn’t Baoyu moan or cry out? If he did, Jia Zheng could end the beating. Even by his silence he defies Jia Zheng, refusing to acknowledge the effect of the blows, and so Jia Zheng must go on beating him. Only by the unevenness of his breathing, and the awkward stance of his body, does he reveal that he is in pain. It is Baoyu’s fatal weakness that his stubbornness is spent on being recalcitrant, never for any worthwhile purpose.
With a sort of clinical distance, Jia Zheng sees blood soaking through the seat of Baoyu’s pants, the thin material clinging where the skin has broken underneath. His right arm aches. He switches the bamboo to his left hand. It feels awkward, but he keeps on hitting, though he feels his strength is reaching its limit. He swings more and more wildly, pausing only to wipe the sweat from his eyes.
By now, he wishes desperately that the boy will cry out. Even though the fabric of his clothes is worn through in places, and the switch strikes raw, bloody skin, he still will not make a sound. Jia Zheng’s heart feels overwhelmed by despair that Baoyu will never change, and it is this despair that drives his blows. His heart is pounding. His arm is on fire. The sweat pours off him.
A tiny whimper escapes Baoyu. Jia Zheng lets the switch fall from his hand as Baoyu crumples to the ground.
16
Daiyu walks down the shore of the lake towards Baoyu’s apartments. That morning when she and Baochai arrived at Lady Jia’s for breakfast, they found the household in disarray over Baoyu’s beating. Neither Granny nor Uncle Zheng had appeared. Xifeng had supervised the serving of breakfast as usual, but seemed distracted, in momentary expectation of the doctor’s arrival. Mrs. Xue had sat silently, barely eating or raising her eyes from her bowl, as if to make her presence as unobtrusive as possible. Only by overhearing the Two Springs whispering did Daiyu understand the vague outlines of what had happened: Uncle Zheng had given Baoyu a terrible beating, so bad that he had passed out.
She hesitates at the bamboo trellis before Baoyu’s front gate, wondering whether it is too forward to go to Baoyu’s apartments uninvited. Still, she crosses the forecourt planted with plantains and crab apples, her breath, quick from shyness, forming a plume in the cold air.
The front room is empty except for Baoyu, who is lying awkwardly on his stomach under a quilt on the kang, and his body servant Pearl. His head is turned to the side so that it faces the door. His eyes are shut, but they open at her entrance. He is almost unrecognizable, his once radiant face deathly pale, with dark circles under his eyes. She is surprised by the sting of tears in her own eyes. She blinks them away. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not too bad.” His voice sounds weak.
“Does it hurt very badly?”
“A little.”
She thinks he is lying. “I don’t want to disturb you. I just wanted to see how you were, and to tell you how—how sorry I am. What does the doctor say?”
“He says there isn’t any lasting damage. Only”—he musters a smile—“it will be impossible for me to go back to school until my backside heals enough for me to sit down.”
“Did he give you any medicine?”
“He gave me a decongestant to disperse the bad blood, and something for pain so I can sleep better.”
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt much.”
“Just a little, when I’m trying to fall asleep.”
“I’m sure you must be tired, so I won’t disturb you any longer.”
His mouth curves again in a ghost of his old smile. “Do you suppose I’m going to let you go now that I’ve finally gotten you to visit again? Stay and talk to me.”
“You can’t possibly want to make the effort to talk at a time like this.”
“You’re wrong. It takes me away from my aches and pains to have you to talk to.” He shifts his head slightly so that he can direct his words to his maid sewing on the kang. “Pearl, why don’t you go to the bedroom and rest? You barely slept last night. My cousin is here to keep me company.”
Daiyu suspects he is sending the maid away so the two of them can talk in private. Her suspicion is confirmed by the slightly offended air with which Pearl puts away her sewing and crawls off the kang. “Be sure not to talk too long. Master Baoyu needs his rest,” she says, sniffing a little.
“Come and sit beside me,” Baoyu says.
Realizing that it will strain his neck and voice more if she sits farther away, she climbs onto the kang beside him. “Can I get you anything? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“No, just talk to me.”
“Why did your father beat you like that?”
His face darkens. “It was something to do with Granny’s maid Silver. Huan told him something that wasn’t true, and my father chose to believe it.”
“Didn’t you tell him the truth, then?”
His eyes meet hers challengingly. “I refused to tell him what really happened. He should trust me. If he chooses to think the worst of me …”
“But how can he know if you don’t explain?”
“What good would that do? Do you think he would believe me?” His eyes blaze with anger and despair, before shifting away from her gaze. “Besides, I had done something wrong. I deserved to be punished.” He falls silent, his face somber and remote.
She looks at him doubtfully, wondering what exactly he had done. She is indignant on his behalf, and at the same time pained by the hostility and distrust between Baoyu and his father. Uncle Zheng has always struck her as kindly beneath his reserve. It is hard for her to imagine him losing all control over his temper. She remembers, however, the sardonic edge in his voice when he talks to Baoyu. She is beginning to understand why he is so frustrated with his son. Baoyu cares nothing for state affairs, the isms and ideologies that govern other men, including her father. Instead he follows his own chivalric code, as intricate and fine as old brocade.
“Tell me about your mother,” she says. “I’ve never heard anything about her.”
“She died more than seven years ago. Sometimes, I’m afraid I am starting to forget what she looked like. I remember how soft and dry her hands were, without the tiniest trace of oil or sweat on them. They smelled of jasmine. When I was upset, all I wanted to do was hold her hands, and then I would feel better.”
She laughs to hide the tears that come to her eyes. “Yes, that was how it was with my mother. When I was little and couldn’t fall asleep, she would make up stories, about my favorite toys, or people we knew, like the tofu seller, or a spirit who lived in the well …”
“Just like you made up a story about the jade.”
“Her stories were far better. She was usually so gentle and patient, but she had a hot temper, too. There was a bully on our street who terrorized all the smaller children. Once, she caught him dangling me by the ankles over the canal. She was so livid that she dragged him by the ear all the way back to his house. She told his parents that if they didn’t beat him, she would.”
She laughs, but the memory makes it even harder for her to keep back her tears. He pulls his arm out from under the quilt, grimacing a little at the movement, and takes her hand.
“You miss her terribly,” he says.
She nods, stifling a sob. “You must miss your mother, too.”
“Mine died much longer ago. Besides, she was different after my brother died.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain. She seemed to stop caring about anything. She stopped running the household, or paying much attention to Tanchun or Huan or me. It was as if she had no interest in living anymore.”
“My parents had a son, four years younger than me, but he died when he was three years old. After he died, it was the same way with my mother, but she came to herself after a year or two.”
“It was different with Zhu. Both my parents thought he was absolutely perfect. They worshipped him. He was hardworking, and respe
ctful, and well-mannered, and he passed the Exams.” She thinks she can hear the faintest note of derision in his voice. Then he falls silent, his eyes slipping away from hers.
“Didn’t you love him, then?” Having lost her younger brother, she was always jealous of people with brothers and sisters, and assumed that siblings loved and cherished each other. At Rongguo she has seen that it is far otherwise.
“Of course I loved him.” He raises his eyes to hers again. “But when he died, I was just reaching the age when I was starting to go out in society more, and I saw that he wasn’t exactly how he presented himself to our parents. He was intelligent, and it was true that he studied hard. Because he had passed the Exams, my parents never paid any attention to what he did outside the house. Actually, he gambled and drank, and kept a mistress. Not that those things are so terrible, but it was important to him to maintain his perfect image before our parents.
“Lian knew. His friend Feng Ziying’s older brother was one of Zhu’s cronies. He never told, either. After Zhu died, Lian scraped together some money to pay off his gambling debts and give his mistress something.”
She is shocked, recalling the reverent tone in which Zhu’s name is always mentioned. “This household is filled with secrets.”
“I hate it,” he says, turning his face away from her towards the wall. She has never heard him speak so bitterly. “You know, that’s why I don’t mind Huan. He hates me, but at least he makes no pretense about it. Everyone else …”
He is silent for a long time. Daiyu says, “Do you remember my mother at all from when you were a little boy?”
He turns back to look at her. “How could I? I’m only a few years older than you. I was probably barely two when she went south with Uncle Lin. I remember our great-aunt the Imperial Concubine, though. The last time she came to visit before she died I must have been around ten.”
“What was she like?”
“I remember we were up at dawn waiting for her, and then it turned out that she wasn’t supposed to come till evening, only no one had bothered to tell us. Then, just as the sun was setting, she arrived with an army of eunuchs. We weren’t allowed to be alone with her for a minute. Even when she was supposed to be allowed an ‘informal chat’ with Granny, there were three or four eunuchs in the room, and she didn’t dare speak freely in front of them.
“I had the impression that she was trying not to cry. She was only allowed to stay a few hours. And then when she was being carried off in her golden palanquin, I was standing on my tiptoes to get a last glimpse of her. There were two tracks of tears, one beneath each eye, through the powder on her face. She didn’t seem to dare to wipe them for fear of drawing attention to them …”
“Why was she so unhappy at the Palace?”
“I can only guess—but imagine how restricted and confined her life must have been, a hundred times worse than it is for you girls here. And then to be kept away from everyone she trusted and cared about—”
Pearl comes in. “Master Baoyu, it’s time for your medicine.” She does not attempt to disguise her displeasure at how long Daiyu has stayed. “You really must rest now. Remember the doctor told you not to overtire yourself.”
Daiyu scrambles off the kang. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”
“Nonsense. It did me good to have you talk to me,” Baoyu says.
Daiyu slips out of the room, chilled by Baoyu’s account of the Imperial Concubine. Entering the Palace and being elevated was the highest honor a woman could aspire to. She had never dreamed that it might offer so little happiness. As she turns onto the path along the lake, she sees Jia Huan skipping stones from the bank.
He turns at the sound of her steps.
“What are you doing here?” she says. “I thought you weren’t allowed in here anymore.”
“I snuck in,” he says, with his queer mixture of sulkiness and vulnerability. He shies a stone at the water. Instead of skipping, it sinks into the dark water with a plop. “What are you doing on this side of the lake? Visiting Baoyu, I suppose.”
She catches the note of malice in his voice. “You should be happy. Your father nearly beat Baoyu to a pulp.”
“What makes you think it had anything to do with me?”
“What did you tell him about Silver?”
Huan’s eyes shift away from hers.
“And what you told your father wasn’t even true,” she adds.
“Who knows what really happened? Silver wouldn’t say anything. So I guessed,” he admits sullenly.
“Why do you want to get him in trouble anyway? He hasn’t done you any wrong—”
“What do you mean?” Huan bursts out. “You see the way that everyone treats me, and the way they treat him—”
“That isn’t his fault.”
“Isn’t it? When he’s always showing off, and trying to make me look bad—”
“That isn’t true at all,” she cries. “He protects you and stands up for you even when you injure him! He knew that you dropped that candle on his face on purpose. And still he defended you and insisted it was an accident.”
Huan’s face looks startled. “What do you mean?” He catches himself. “It was an accident.”
“I saw the look on your face. I knew that you did it on purpose.”
He stares at her. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks after a moment.
“I don’t know.” She tries to think back to the incident, just a few weeks after her arrival at Rongguo. “I was too flustered. And then I was going to say something, but Baoyu insisted it was an accident. Later, when I said you’d done it on purpose, all he said was not to tell anyone, so you wouldn’t get in trouble.”
Again, he stares at her wordlessly. She can tell how struck he is; maybe he even regrets the way he had slandered Baoyu. She turns away.
“Wait a minute.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you—for not tattling on me.” His face is flushed, and he is biting his lower lip.
“It’s nothing. Baoyu is the one you should thank.”
He looks as if he would like to say more, but she continues down the path towards Lady Jia’s. Her mind is filled with her encounters with the two half brothers, and she wants to talk to Snowgoose. She could tell Baochai, of course, but it would not be as satisfying. Baochai is too diplomatic to ever speak ill of anyone in the household. Baochai has been so kind to her that Daiyu feels guilty that the two of them have not become better friends. That night she had comforted Baochai from her nightmare, she was sure they would become close; but with daylight, Baochai’s old reserve had returned.
No one is in the front room when she arrives at Lady Jia’s apartments. She tiptoes down the hall to Lady Jia’s bedroom and pokes her head through the door curtain.
“Who’s there?” She hears Lady Jia’s voice, sharp and suspicious, from the dimness of the kang.
Wishing she could run away, she says, “It’s me, Daiyu.”
“What do you want?”
“I was looking for Snowgoose.” All of a sudden, she feels shy and awkward. She realizes that since coming to Rongguo this is the first time she has been alone with Granny, without any of the maids around.
“What do you need from her?”
“I—I just wanted to talk to her.”
There is a silence. “Peculiar taste for a young girl, wanting to spend time with a maid, when she has her cousins to play with,” Lady Jia mutters at last.
“I like to spend time with my cousins, too,” Daiyu stammers.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Come massage my legs. I’m aching all over. I was up half the night worrying about Baoyu. I sent Snowgoose to get a tisane, but she must be dawdling somewhere.”
Daiyu advances reluctantly. The few times she has entered the room, she has always hated how dark and stuffy it is. No matter how often the maids scrub and sweep, they can never get rid of the smell of dust and decay that seems to emanate from the old trunks and wardrobes. She kne
els on the kang beside Granny and tentatively rubs her legs.
“Harder!”
She applies more pressure to the loose flesh of Granny’s calves.
“Now pound them.”
Daiyu chops the edges of her hands against Lady Jia’s shins.
“The thighs, too. Harder!”
She moves up and down Lady Jia’s legs, pounding as hard as she can, certain that she will hurt the old lady. However, the blows seem to please Lady Jia. She shuts her eyes with a sigh. The exertion soon tires Daiyu, and she starts to lose her breath. She forces herself to continue, but her breath catches raggedly in her throat and she coughs so hard that she doubles over, covering her mouth with her hands.
“I didn’t know you were sick,” Lady Jia says disapprovingly.
“I’m not,” Daiyu says, panting. “I usually get a cough in the fall. It will go away in a few weeks. It’s worse this year because I’m not used to the climate here. Should I keep rubbing your legs?”
“No. You can’t do it properly anyway. And I should think that anything would be better than the climate down there, like a swampy jungle—”
“It’s beautiful—lush and green …”
Granny makes a skeptical sound. After a brief silence, she asks, almost grudgingly, “How did Min like it down there?”
“She loved it.” Daiyu peers at Lady Jia’s face, unable to see her expression in the gloom. “You never talk about my mother. What was she like when she was a little girl?”
There is a long pause. At last Lady Jia says, “She was the merriest child, always chattering and laughing. She was headstrong, like Baoyu, but so sweet and pretty that no one could resist her.”
Daiyu listens eagerly, but then the incongruity strikes her: If Granny had been so fond of her mother, why hadn’t her mother remained close to her family?
“She was so stubborn,” Lady Jia continues. “Once she threw a tantrum because she wanted to wear the same red shoes every day. How she kicked and screamed!” There is another pause. “You remind me of her.”
The Red Chamber Page 12
