“Ten percent a month!” The Abbess opens her eyes wide. “That’s well above the legal rate. You could be charged for usury!”
“I thought this was a private loan, between two people,” Xifeng says coldly. “What does the law have to do with it?”
“Yes, you’re right, of course,” the Abbess says hastily. “It’s just a little high.”
Xifeng shrugs. “If the Countess thinks it’s too high, she can borrow the money from someone else.” She speaks confidently, knowing that it will be difficult for the Countess to borrow that kind of money elsewhere. How many other women in the Capital can get their hands on that kind of cash on such short notice? The Countess can try to pawn some jewels, but then would risk her husband’s or servants’ discovering they were gone.
The Abbess hesitates for a few moments. Then she nods. “All right. I’ll go see the Countess and see what she says.” She looks Xifeng over, her eyes no longer twinkling. “I’ve always heard people say you were stingy, but you were so generous to the Priory I never believed it.”
Xifeng smiles, untroubled by the Abbess’s words. “I don’t see what generosity has to do with it. This is business, not charity.”
After Xifeng sees the Abbess out, she returns to her bedroom. She opens her wardrobe and shifts the piles of clothes onto the kang. She kneels on the ground and wedges the sharp end of a poker into the seam where the back wall meets the wardrobe floor. She jimmies up the bottom panel of the wardrobe. Beneath is a gaping black hole. She leans forward, reaching her hands into the darkness. Her fingers touch the old rice bag, the type they use to send up the harvest from the south, in which she keeps her money. She feels the hard shapes of the silver inside through the fabric, and checks her calculations: if the Countess borrows the money for just two months, Xifeng will be able to more than double her savings.
She hears Lian coming into the front room. He is yelling something about his woolen leggings: Did she remember to pack them? He calls her only when he needs something, never speaks to her for any other reason. She replaces the false panel, shoving the clothes back into the wardrobe. The last thing she wants is for him to realize that she has any money. She slams the wardrobe door, and hurries out to meet him.
Daiyu looks around her emptied room to make sure she has not left anything. As she pads in her bare feet towards the lamp, shivering in her thin underclothes, she checks her trunk, neatly packed by Snowgoose. On the edge of the kang lie the clothes that Xifeng has given her for the journey tomorrow. She is bending over to blow out the lamp when someone hisses her name outside the door curtain.
“Who’s there?” she calls.
“It’s Baoyu.”
So he has come to say good-bye after all. He had not come home for dinner after school, so she had resigned herself to leaving without seeing him. “What is it?”
“I came to say good-bye. Can I come in?”
“Yes.” She snatches up a gown and throws it over her shoulders.
He enters, dressed as if he has just come back from a party, wearing the “peacock gold” cape he was trying on when she first saw him. Granny must have convinced him to wear it after all. It must be snowing outside, for a few unmelted flakes glitter on the glossy black feathers.
He stands there on the threshold of the room staring at her, his breath coming quickly, as if he has hurried to get there. “I didn’t know you were going. I was at the Prince of Beijing’s party, and Tealeaf came to fetch me. He said you were leaving first thing in the morning. Why didn’t I hear anything about this?” To her amazement, he speaks in a tone of accusation. “What were you going to do? Disappear without even saying good-bye?”
Confused by his anger, she feels her color rising. “I only got the letter from my father today.”
“What did it say?” He notices the traveling cloak on the kang. He picks it up, looks at it, and then flings it away. She has never seen him in this kind of mood before.
“Only that he’s sick, and that I must come home at once.” At her own words, fear for her father floods over her. She huddles her arms around her chest and shivers.
“You’re cold. Get under the covers.”
Shs shakes her head. She cannot get into bed with him in the room.
“Holy name, forget propriety!” he says impatiently. “It’s not going to help matters if you catch cold.”
After hesitating a moment, she eases off her robe and slides her legs under the covers. She sits on her pillow with her knees up to her chin, and her quilt tucked up to her neck.
Baoyu unfastens his cloak and lays it on a chair. Underneath, he is even more gorgeous, in a narrow-sleeved robe of crimson damask with a sash of elaborately braided and knotted colored silks. He sits down on the kang beside her bed. She lets herself stay close to him, not forcing herself to draw away. She feels herself glowing with the happiness of his presence, of being alone with him one last time—only she is put off by his abruptness, so unlike his usual suavity. She catches the scent of wine on his breath.
“I was looking forward to spending my New Year’s vacation with you,” he says, in the same tone as before. “Granny hires an opera troupe, and they set up a stage. There’s a banquet in the pavilion, and we guess lantern riddles in the moonlight …”
She has the impression that this is not really what he means to say to her. “Well, perhaps you can use your vacation to study, so you can be sure to pass the Exams in the spring—”
He interrupts her. “Don’t go spoiling our last minutes together with that kind of drivel.”
She shuts her mouth, offended.
He bursts out, “I’m not going to let you go!”
He speaks so passionately that she wonders whether he has drunk too much.
He can read her expression. “I’m not drunk. I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”
Her heart gives a quick, happy flutter, and yet, deeper down, in her belly, there is a movement of fear. Does he speak thoughtlessly, or does he understand the import of his words? She says, as coolly as she can, “Who knows what will happen? I may come to visit again in a few years. Or perhaps you will travel down to your family’s estates in the south.”
He shakes his head vehemently. “In a year or two, you’ll be married. Who knows where you’ll be, or whether your husband will let you come see us.”
“How do you know I’ll be married?” she objects. “My parents always said they weren’t in any hurry to let me go. I don’t think I’ll be betrothed until I’m at least twenty. You will probably be married before I am.”
“I’ll ask Granny to betroth me to you,” he says.
She feels a rush of anger. He is just being flippant after all. “You shouldn’t joke about something like that.”
“I’m not joking.”
Is he just pretending not to understand the gap between them? Is he just teasing her to see how she will react? “Don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re going to marry someone rich and well-connected—”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Granny and Uncle Zheng will care for you.”
Suddenly he puts his arms around her and pulls her against him. His hands are warm on her bare arms, and she feels his breath ruffling her hair. “Kiss me.”
She shakes her head, trying to pull away, but he only draws her closer. “Kiss me,” he says. “We may never see each other again.” She is frightened and embarrassed, yet she feels a queer excitement at his touch. He puts his hand on her chin and pushes it up gently to make her look at him, but she resists. He leans down to her, and she feels his lips on her hairline, on her eyelids. Beneath the soap and shampoo, she catches the odor of his body, with its undertones of animal sweat. It draws her to him, making her want to bury her face in his shoulder. She feels the quickness of his breath, his hands slick with sweat, and understands that he is nervous, too. She stops resisting. His lips move across her cheeks, closer and closer to her lips. She is excited by the roughness of his stubble. On his breath there i
s the slight scent of wine, but stronger than that is the familiar, comforting scent of rice. Stroking her hair, he kisses her mouth now, his lips firm and warm.
“Daiyu!” Baochai’s voice comes from outside the door curtain.
She and Baoyu jerk apart. He scrambles off the kang.
“I thought I heard voices, and came to see why you hadn’t gone to bed yet,” Baochai says. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Daiyu drags on her robe, uncomfortably aware of her disheveled hair and flushed face.
Baochai comes in fully dressed. She must have heard Baoyu’s voice from out in the hallway, yet she stands there looking at him as though surprised by his presence.
Daiyu rushes into an explanation. “Baoyu just came to say good-bye—”
Baochai cuts her off. “It’s so late, and you have a long journey ahead of you. Don’t you think you’d better get to bed? I came over to see if anything was wrong, whether you’d forgotten something.”
“No, everything is fine.”
“Then, come on. Let me braid your hair so it won’t be tangled in the morning.” She climbs on the kang and kneels behind Daiyu. Before she touches Daiyu’s hair, she looks at Baoyu and waits.
Daiyu looks at him, too, her body still throbbing from the way he had touched her. Barely daring to glance at her, he says, “Good-bye. Have a safe trip.”
“Good-bye,” she says, and then he is gone.
She feels Baochai’s fingers gently separating and plaiting her hair. “This way,” Baochai says, “you won’t even have to comb it in the morning. You won’t have much time to get ready. You’re supposed to be at the dock by dawn. I was afraid that you were too worried to sleep. Aren’t you tired?”
“Yes,” she says, although she feels wide awake.
“I’ll blow out the light.” Baochai rises and goes towards the lamp. Halfway there, she turns back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep with you? That way, if you get scared in the night …”
Daiyu is surprised by the offer. With her natural reserve, it is unlike Baochai to foist her company on someone. Daiyu wants nothing more than to run after Baoyu, but she feels that she can’t refuse. “Yes, thank you. That’s very nice of you.”
Baochai smiles, and then blows out the lamp. In the darkness, Daiyu hears her removing her robe. Daiyu moves over to make room for her. Baochai slips under the covers without touching Daiyu. She reaches over, gives Daiyu’s hand a quick squeeze, then withdraws her hand, and turns on her side.
“Sleep well,” she says.
2
Ten days before the Twelfth Month, Baochai sits in her mother’s room preparing New Year’s gifts for the servants. Her own rooms seem empty without Daiyu, and she has taken to spending more time with her mother. For weeks she has regretted the way she parted from Daiyu. Startled by the rush of jealousy she had felt on overhearing Baoyu’s voice from Daiyu’s room, she had deliberately interrupted their tête-à-tête. She had hidden her jealousy under a calm exterior, but had been unable to infuse any warmth into her last moments with Daiyu. Now she misses Daiyu, and wonders what Daiyu had made of her coldness. And her jealousy is pointless, she knows: Baoyu has never paid the least attention to her since that day he almost kissed her last summer.
She looks up from stuffing the embroidered purses with little medallions of gold and silver. Her mother, instead of helping, is staring off into space with a frown. “What’s the matter, Mother?”
Mrs. Xue doesn’t respond. Baochai sighs, knowing that she is worrying about Pan. There has been only one letter from him, from almost two months ago, saying that he had arrived in Nanjing. To distract her mother, she says, “Granny is hiring the best troupe of child actors to perform on New Year’s Eve. Their soprano is supposed to be excellent in ingénue roles. What scenes do you want to hear them perform?”
“What?” Mrs. Xue jumps.
Baochai repeats her question. Her mother does not answer, her eyes fixed on the window. “Someone’s coming.”
Baochai looks towards the door. Pan walks in, dressed in traveling clothes.
“Surprise!” he says, as Baochai and her mother jump up from the kang.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Mrs. Xue exclaims. She grips him by the upper arms and looks searchingly into his face.
“Old Feng told me to write you,” Pan says, laughing. “But I thought it’d be more fun if I just walked in and surprised you …”
“Yes, but why are you back so early?” Baochai says. “I thought you weren’t supposed to come back until spring.”
“I wasn’t, but something came up.”
Baochai braces herself. It is impossible to believe that Pan’s sudden return does not foretell disaster.
“Wonderful news!”
“What is it?”
“I’ve met a girl. I want to be married!”
She looks at her mother and sees that Mrs. Xue is looking alarmed as well.
“Do you mean a concubine?” Mrs. Xue asks.
“No, I mean a wife. I want to marry the Xias’ daughter. I came back so you could arrange the match.”
“The Xias?” Mrs. Xue’s eyes widen with surprise. “You mean Xia Jingui?”
He nods, beaming.
Mrs. Xue looks at Baochai. “They’re old family friends!”
Baochai frowns. “I’ve never heard that name.”
“They were Imperial Purveyors, too. Immensely wealthy: they made their fortune selling cassia. Your father used to do business with Mr. Xia, but he died not long after your father, and we fell out of contact.” Mrs. Xue begins to laugh, apparently delighted. “How did you meet them, Pan?”
“Old Feng reminded me that they used to be friends with Father, so I went to visit them in Nanjing. Mrs. Xia was so pleased that I had visited after all those years, and insisted that I meet her daughter. She said we had played together as children. The moment I saw Jingui, I knew—”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s nineteen, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s educated and accomplished, too. Mother, you’ll send a matchmaker, won’t you?”
Mrs. Xue laughs again. “I don’t see why not, when you’ve chosen such a perfect match!”
After Pan leaves to wash up and rest, Mrs. Xue says, “I can’t believe it. What luck!”
Baochai has not seen her mother so happy in a long time. Her cheeks glow with excitement. “It seems fortunate that his fancy alighted on a girl from a decent family,” Baochai says. “But tell me more about the Xias.”
“Let me see. I remember your father and Mr. Xia used to have a joke, about how Mr. Xia would trade your father cassia for a son like Pan. They were desperate for a son, you understand. They couldn’t seem to have more children even though Mr. Xia had two or three concubines.”
Baochai wonders at the idea of Mr. Xia wanting a son like Pan, but says nothing.
Mrs. Xue continues, “Mr. Xia was a nice man, always laughing and joking, but your father said that he was very shrewd as far as business was concerned. Mrs. Xia was stiffer, as I recall. I remember she was very proud of Jingui’s accomplishments even when she was just a little girl.”
“You don’t remember anything about Jingui herself?”
Mrs. Xue frowns in concentration. “I remember she had very long fingernails, because of playing the qin. She had long slender fingers to begin with, so it gave her a very odd look: a grown woman’s hands on a little girl.” She laughs, as if the recollection is endearing. “I must ask Pan if her hands are still like that.”
Baochai sees that her mother is too happy to be cautious. To her, this match seems to mean an end to the life they have been living: Pan settling down properly to his duties, a good daughter-in-law to serve her, a stable home life, and grandchildren. “You have no objections to the match, then?”
“I don’t see why I should. The girl couldn’t have been more suitable if I had chosen her myself.”
While Baochai sees no real objection to the match, her
native caution makes her consider the worst-case scenario. “Has it occurred to you that they may say ‘no’ to Pan? Family background aside, it is not as if he himself is a desirable catch, since he has not passed the Exams. With Jingui’s qualifications, they may be hoping for a Palace Graduate.”
“They may say ‘no,’ of course. But it doesn’t hurt to ask, since Pan has his heart set on it.”
“If they say ‘no,’ they say ‘no,’ ” Baochai says. “And maybe it will do Pan good, not to get something that he has set his heart on.”
There is a scuffle of feet outside the door and Pan bursts back into the room. “I was already on my horse before I remembered!” He goes to where Baochai sits on the kang and unstraps his saddlebag. “I brought these for you all the way from Nanjing.”
“What is it?” she asks curiously, as he takes out a rolled-up vest. He unfurls it to reveal a jumble of brightly colored figurines.
“Look at this.” He places one on a kang table. The little figure of a man begins to move by itself and actually turns a somersault. Baochai begins to laugh. She has never seen anything like this.
“And look at this!” He takes another figure, holds it upside down for a moment, and then places it upright next to the first one. This one slowly wiggles its arms and legs.
“How do they work?” Mrs. Xue says, marveling and laughing.
“This first one has mercury in it. When the mercury runs to its head, it turns a somersault. The other one has sand in it. I got them at a place called Huqiushan, where they specialize in making these things. And look at these!” He takes out another rolled-up article of clothing, this time a jacket. Only Pan would present his gifts wrapped in his dirty clothing.
These are figurines of characters from plays and operas, molded out of colored clay. Baochai picks one up and is wondering at how finely it is made when Pan holds another figure before her eyes. It is a replica of Pan himself, perfect in every detail, from the large, flat feet and slight paunch, to the slouched posture. She collapses in laughter, showing her mother.
The Red Chamber Page 14
