The Red Chamber

by Pauline A. Chen

  “Yes, Mother. What is it?” She tries to shake off her preoccupation.

  “There is something I want to talk to you about.”

  Baochai sees from her mother’s face that it is something important. “What is it? Something about Pan?”

  “Not about Pan. About you.”

  “About me?” Baochai raises her brows, smiling.

  Her mother hesitates before speaking, her expression half eager, half worried. “Lady Jia spoke to me yesterday about a match between Baoyu and you.”

  Baochai sits perfectly still for a moment, looking unseeingly down at the embroidery in her lap. She does not know whether she should be flattered or surprised. She is not really surprised, after all—she knows how her mother and aunt used to joke about the match. Her heart gives a queer bound of pleasure—but it is nothing compared to the elation she would once have felt. She remembers that day last summer when he put his arms around her and almost kissed her. What has changed since then? Was it the night of Daiyu’s departure, when she had discovered him in Daiyu’s bedroom? But now Daiyu is gone, she reminds herself, and most likely he will never see her again.

  “What is it, Baochai? Don’t you like the match?” her mother says, mistaking her long silence for reluctance.

  Baochai looks at her mother, taken aback by her mother’s question. “I don’t have any opinion, Mother. It is for you to make my match.”

  Her mother smiles. “You don’t have to prove to me that you are a dutiful daughter, Baochai. I am sure that no one ever had a more filial child. I’m asking you your opinion, because I want you to be happy.”

  “I really don’t know, Mother.” A part of Baochai wishes that her mother would simply tell her what to do. She finds it too difficult to express her feelings on such a matter, even to her mother. The truth is, she does not know what she wants. Her attraction to Baoyu is still there, buried but still alive. Yet he no longer seems to her the shining and glamorous hero he once did. He still has not passed the Exams, for one thing.

  “To tell you the truth,” her mother says slowly, “I am not sure myself. On the one hand, Baoyu is gentle, even tenderhearted. He would never trample on your feelings, or be cruel to you, like Lian is to Xifeng.”

  Baochai finds her mother’s sympathy for Xifeng misplaced, wondering what she would think if she knew the truth about Xifeng.

  “I remember finding Baoyu in tears once when he was a little boy,” Mrs. Xue says. “I asked him what the matter was. He said he was crying because one of the maids had told him how she had been orphaned when she was four years old. He was always more sensitive than most boys.

  “On the other hand,” Mrs. Xue goes on with a wry smile, “he is so soft that he has no self-discipline. That’s the only reason he hasn’t passed the Exams yet. He is certainly bright enough. And he has such an odd perverse streak.” Mrs. Xue shakes her head. “If you want him to do one thing, he is sure to do the very opposite.”

  “He’s just a little spoiled and rebellious, because Uncle Zheng is so strict with him.”

  Mrs. Xue shakes her head. “It’s more than that. In any case, if everyone knew each other’s faults, no one would ever get married.” She pats Baochai’s hand. “Now, I want you to know you should feel free to say ‘no’ to this match. After all, I’m sure this is not the only proposal we will get for your hand—”

  Embarrassed, Baochai tries to draw her hand away, but Mrs. Xue holds it. “Baochai, you are a sensible girl. There are some other things you might want to consider, before you make your decision.”

  Baochai is surprised by her mother’s serious tone, and looks nervously into her face.

  “First of all, you know as well as I do that Jingui is going to be difficult about money. That being the case, it as an advantage for you to be betrothed as soon as possible, so that your dowry will already be paid, and she won’t be able to get her hands on it. If we make this match with the Jias, we can arrange it right away, and Pan can even pay your dowry before he goes. That would give me some peace of mind.

  “Secondly,” Mrs. Xue continues, “at least the Jias are known to us. After this experience with Jingui, I have come to think that marrying you into a family that we do not know well is too great a risk.” At the mention of Jingui, her mother’s attempt to speak in a cool, rational tone starts to come apart.

  “Thirdly”—Baochai sees the tears glistening in her mother’s eyes, but Mrs. Xue rubs them away—“now that I cannot live with Pan, if you marry Baoyu, I can continue living here with you. If you married someone else, they might not be willing to let me continue to live with you.”

  It is the first time that it has occurred to Baochai that she need not leave her mother when she marries. She has always assumed that according to custom her mother would live with Pan, while she herself would be forced to live with her new in-laws. She has always dreaded the prospect of parting from her mother. But given that Jingui is so intolerable, wouldn’t it be best if she and her mother could remain together at the Jias’?

  Her mother picks up her embroidery, and resumes sewing, not looking at Baochai. Baochai knows her mother does not mean to manipulate her with tears. She begins sewing, too, taking comfort in the soothing rhythm of drawing her needle through the silk. As always, when she thinks of Baoyu, she compares him to Pan and what she has seen of other young men, like her Xue cousins in Nanjing. Her mother is right. No matter how Auntie Zhao and Huan try to backstab Baoyu, he never attempts to protect himself, much less take revenge. She cannot imagine him being brutal or harsh to anyone.

  “I agree with you, Mother.” She does not take her eyes off her sewing. “I think it is a good match.”

  She feels her mother’s eyes on her, but does not meet them. “Are you sure, Baochai? I don’t want to put pressure on you.”

  Baochai nods, feeling a strange desire to cry. Instead, she says, “There is just one other problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “If I am to be betrothed to Baoyu, how can I go on living in the Garden with him, seeing him every day?”

  Her mother nods. “It will be highly improper for you to see him once you are betrothed.” She thinks for a moment. “I know. Why don’t you move in here with me? It is somewhat separate from the rest of the Inner Quarters, and we can arrange to have our meals here, so that you will hardly see him. Granny and Xifeng will understand our reasons without our having to say anything directly.”

  “All right,” Baochai says. She does not mind moving in with her mother, for her own place seems so lonely now that Daiyu is gone. She hesitates for a moment before adding, “And what about Baoyu?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Baochai looks back down at her sewing before saying, with a little difficulty, “Does he know about the betrothal? What does he say?”

  “Actually, I don’t believe they intend to tell him as yet,” her mother says. “I think they’re afraid that if they tell him, it will distract him from his studies.” She tries to speak as if this secrecy is perfectly natural, but does not quite succeed.

  Baochai also feels the strangeness of the whole transaction, but she does not know what to do. She pushes her uneasiness aside, and tells herself that she prefers that Baoyu not know.

  PART THREE

  Fourth Month, 1722

  When you grieve, I also am sad.

  When you laugh, then I too feel joy.

  Don’t you see the trees with boughs joined?

  From different roots, the branches intertwine.

  Song of Ziye

  1

  For the second time, Daiyu is carried in a sedan past the stone lions through the massive triple gate of Rongguo Mansion. This time, she leans quietly in the corner of the sedan with her eyes shut, exhausted by her father’s funeral and the barge trip back north. The journey, long to begin with, was rendered more grueling by their pace. Eager to be in the Capital before Ping’er gave birth, Lian had insisted on starting every day at sunrise and traveling until it was dark, with
the result that a journey that ordinarily took over a month had been accomplished in a little over three weeks.

  The sedan is set down before the Inner Gate. As they walk towards Lady Jia’s, she gazes at the manmade mountain towering over the Garden. Its humped jade-green form seems at once alien and familiar, as if she had been another person when she last saw it five months ago. As they walk into Granny Jia’s courtyard, through the cages of twittering birds, she can see how happy Lian is to be home. His eagerness reminds her that her own home is gone. She tries not to dwell on her loss, thinking instead of Baoyu and Baochai and Snowgoose. The thought of seeing them has sustained her through the journey.

  When they walk into the front room, only Lady Jia and Uncle Zheng are there on the kang. She hurries forward to give Lady Jia her kowtow, but instead of greeting her, Lady Jia stares at her. “What are you doing here?”

  Taken aback, Daiyu stops short.

  Lian steps forward. “Didn’t you get my letter?”

  “No,” Uncle Zheng says, climbing off the kang to greet them. “What has happened? How is Lin Ruhai?”

  “He passed away in the middle of the Second Month.”

  “Passed away!” Uncle Zheng exclaims, shocked. “But your letter after New Year’s said he was getting better.”

  “He was, but then he got worse suddenly at the beginning of the Second Month. There was nothing the doctors could do. I wrote, and said I was coming back with Cousin Daiyu.”

  “We didn’t get any other letter. What was it that killed him?”

  Lady Jia cuts in, “Wouldn’t it have been wiser to leave her with some of her Lin relatives?”

  A sort of bewildered anger and shame pierces the dullness of Daiyu’s grief. Even though she knows that she and Granny are not especially fond of each other, now that she is orphaned she never supposed that Granny would not welcome her into the household. She wishes she could turn on her heel and leave, but she has no choice but to throw herself on the mercy of the Jias.

  “I wrote to ask you what I should do,” Lian says. “There were some distant cousins in Yangzhou. I went to see them, but they wouldn’t take her.” He casts an embarrassed glance at Daiyu for fear that the bluntness of his words may hurt her. “They said they could barely make ends meet as it was. Besides, they were fourth cousins. They said we were a lot more closely related to her than they were. Besides, Cousin Lin had never seen them in her life.”

  “That may be,” Lady Jia says. “But she’s a Lin, not a Jia.”

  “What did you expect me to do?” Lian says. “Leave her there alone?”

  “You should have written and asked for permission.”

  “What is this nonsense?” Uncle Zheng, who has been silent, apparently brooding about the death of Daiyu’s father, cuts in irritably. “Where should she go but here?”

  Lady Jia turns on him. “So you want to play the great benefactor! That’s your affair. Don’t come to me when you want money for her dowry.”

  “It’s not a question of her dowry,” Uncle Zheng says. “She is Min’s daughter. Where else should she go?”

  “Min turned her back on her family. I don’t know why—”

  “Can’t you understand that it is not the time for this?” It is the most harshly Daiyu has ever seen him speak to his mother. He turns to Daiyu and forces a smile. “You must be tired. You’ve had a long journey. Why don’t you go rest?”

  “Where shall I have her luggage put?” Lian says.

  “Oh,” Jia Zheng says, looking around for Xifeng, who usually manages such matters. Frowning when he realizes she is not there, he looks at Daiyu. “You slept in Baochai’s apartments last time, didn’t you? Why don’t we put you there again?”

  She nods, and tries to thank him, but he says, with brusque kindness, “There is no need for that. There’s no question of your not staying with us.”

  Baochai comes in. Daiyu cries, “Baochai!” Just as she is reaching out to embrace her cousin, she notices a strange expression on Baochai’s face. She is not smiling. Her face looks grave, and in her eyes is—can it be?—a look of hostility. Confused, Daiyu stops, and lets her arms drop. “Baochai, you’ve heard … my father …”

  “I just heard. I’m so sorry.” But Baochai makes no move to embrace Daiyu.

  “And you, how are you?” Daiyu stammers. Is Baochai acting so serious as a way of expressing sympathy? Had she simply forgotten how cold and reserved Baochai was?

  “You know that Pan got married after New Year’s.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Yes, but he has gone south again.”

  From these few words, Daiyu understands that there is some sort of trouble with Pan again. Perhaps that is the reason that Baochai is so subdued and distant.

  “I was just going to your apartments in the Garden. Come with me. We can talk there.”

  If possible, Baochai’s face grows even more forbidding. “I’m not living there anymore.”

  Daiyu is surprised. “Why not? Where are you living, then?”

  “I’ve moved in with my mother.”

  “But why?”

  “She has been feeling lonely, and needs my company.”

  “I see,” Daiyu says, but she does not understand why Mrs. Xue would feel more lonely now than she had earlier. “Well,” she says, “if you will not be living with me, then I will have to go to see you at Mrs. Xue’s.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Daiyu notices that Baochai says nothing about being happy to see her again. Baochai climbs onto the kang and seats herself beside Lady Jia.

  Daiyu walks slowly from the room. Through the door curtain, she hears Lady Jia and Uncle Zheng starting to argue again. As she crosses the courtyard, the birds, disturbed by her presence, burst into indignant scoldings and twitterings. It needed only this, she thinks, shrinking from the furious barrage of sound, to give her return to Rongguo the quality of a nightmare.

  Xifeng pulls her wrist out from under Yucun’s body and squints at her watch in the dim light. It is only seventeen minutes from seven o’clock.

  She gasps, pushing Yucun off her. “I have to go!” She rolls herself out from underneath him and begins to pull on her underclothes.

  “Don’t go yet,” he says, putting his arms around her and kissing her bare neck.

  She thrusts him away. “Stop it!” she says angrily. “This time I really will be late!”

  She pulls on her robe and ties her sash, her fingers twitching in her haste. She drags on her stockings and shoes. He silently hands her her fur-lined jacket, which she shrugs on. Then, without even looking at him or saying good-bye, she is rushing down the ladder and out of the storeroom. After weeks of close calls, this time she has really done it: made herself late for dinner, where the whole family will be expecting her. She feels a twinge of annoyance at Yucun, for making her forget the time and urging her to linger, without realizing the terrible risk that she will run if she is detected. She hastens down the passage behind the kitchens, all the way to Lady Jia’s place, patting her hair and straightening her clothes as she runs.

  When she reaches Lady Jia’s courtyard, she forces herself to slow to a walk, so she can catch her breath before going in. She passes through the door curtain, hoping that her makeup hasn’t been too smudged by Yucun’s kisses. She sees to her dismay that Lady Jia, Uncle Zheng, and the Two Springs are all gathered for dinner, and that Snowgoose is already helping Lady Jia into her seat at the head of the table. Acting as if nothing is the matter, she hurries towards the tansu to get out the serving utensils as usual.

  “What are you doing here, Xifeng?” Lady Jia says.

  Xifeng jumps. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “No,” Xifeng says, terrified that someone has been looking for her while she was with Yucun. “What is it?”

  “I told Lian to tell you that you didn’t need to help with dinner tonight, seeing that it is his first night back.”

  She is
bewildered. “Lian! He’s back?”

  It takes her one instant to comprehend Lady Jia’s words, and to stop herself from saying more. It is too late. All around her she sees the servants exchanging smirks and glances. Lian has returned from a five-month journey without even coming to greet her.

  “I—I was in the storerooms,” she stammers, desperately trying to save some face. “I think no one knew where I was, so that’s why …” She trails off. “Well, then, if you don’t need me tonight, I will go back and make sure he is comfortable.”

  She whirls on her heel, feeling all the curious and malicious gazes on her. All across the courtyard, she concentrates on keeping her back straight, her head up, her pace slow and deliberate. As soon as she passes through the front gates, however, she begins to run, panic flooding her. She wonders why Lian has come back without warning, and without informing her of his arrival. In the back of her mind, she is afraid that he has heard some rumor of her affair with Yucun. This fear makes her compose her features into a smile, rather than scolding him for humiliating her, when she pushes through the door curtain into her own apartments.

  “How was your trip? Why didn’t you write that you were coming home?”

  Lian is leaning against a backrest on the kang wearing a tunic and loose trousers, freshly bathed, his hair wet. Ping’er is serving him dinner from a kang table beside him. He does not answer, instead draining a cup of wine that Ping’er has just poured him.

  “How was your trip?” she repeats, taking a step closer to the kang, wondering if he had not heard her. “Is everything all right?”