The Red Chamber (25 page)

“The embroidery was scratchy, and the lining was sewn on crooked,” Jingui says.

Although Baochai tries to keep her face expressionless, she feels herself flushing. She has always been praised as an exceptional needlewoman. She waits for her mother, or even Pan, to come to her defense, but they remain silent. Pan looks uncomfortable, while Mrs. Xue wears a forced smile. “I’m sorry,” Baochai repeats. “Perhaps I can make you another one.”

Jingui shrugs. “Don’t bother. I’ll have one sent up from home.”

“Well,” Mrs. Xue attempts to change the subject. “We were also wondering when it would be convenient for us to move in. Have you decided which rooms to put us in yet?”

“Moving in?” Jingui stops eating. “What do you mean?”

Baochai tenses, sensing the impending danger. Flustered, her mother says, “We were just waiting until you’d settled in to pick a date.”

Jingui scrambles off the
kang
, planting herself a few feet before her mother-in-law. She fixes her eyes on a spot above Mrs. Xue’s head. “Strange,” she says, as if addressing an unseen person standing there. “Making arrangements about my house without consulting me! I suppose they’ll want to pawn my jewelry next.”

Mrs. Xue stares at her, two red spots burning on her cheeks. “There is no need to speak like that.”

“It’s my fault,” Pan intervenes. His face is flushed, either from wine or embarrassment. He addresses his wife, without looking at his mother. “I shouldn’t have said anything to my mother before you came,” he says apologetically, his head lowered submissively. He turns to Mrs. Xue. “Don’t you think it’s better for you to stay with the Jias for the time being? You can keep Lady Jia company, and Baochai has the Two Springs to spend time with.”

“What kind of nonsense is this?” Mrs. Xue cries, unable to control herself. “Even if you said nothing, it’s still our right to live with you.” She turns to Jingui. “
You
are marrying into
our
family. And if you think that you are entitled to trample everyone underfoot, just because the house belongs to you, let me assure you that we are perfectly able to buy a house in the Capital for you to live in as well.”

“If you can, then why don’t you?” Jingui sneers. “Instead of relying on my family to foot the bills. I asked Pan whether he had money to buy a new house, and he said that he had always turned over most of the profits from the family business to you.”

Baochai is horrified that the new couple are arguing about money within a few days of the wedding. She knows that these are arguments to which there is no end.

“It’s true that Pan has always been generous to us,” Mrs. Xue says. Her voice is shaking with anger. She turns to Pan. “Yes,” she says. “I used a great deal of that money to pay Zhang Hua’s medical bills, so his family wouldn’t press charges for murder.” Baochai is amazed that her mother is mentioning Zhang’s case in the presence of Jingui, but she seems beside herself. “I also had to bribe the doctor who examined him, and one of
the clerks in the court as well. Before that, I had to pay more than twenty thousand
taels
to cover your gambling debts, not once but twice! And before that, in Nanjing, I had to bribe the husband of that woman you harassed at the temple, as well as paying off the district magistrate. And then of what remained, I paid about half for Jingui’s bridal price. The other half is for Baochai’s dowry. Perhaps she’d like that as well?”

Pan looks so wretched that Baochai pities him. “Oh, no. She wouldn’t want to touch that.”

But Mrs. Xue is growing hysterical. “Baochai, why don’t we go home and get our jewelry boxes for Jingui—”

“Mother, don’t be like this,” Pan pleads.

She turns on him, her face white with rage. “I think we’d better go, Pan. I’m not sure there’s much to be gained by this conversation.”

In all these years of trouble with Pan, it is almost the first time that Baochai has seen her mother really lose her temper with him. Mrs. Xue starts to sob. “I gave birth to you and raised you for twenty years, and now that you are finally settled and I am getting older, I am not allowed to live with you?”

“Mama, it isn’t good for you to upset yourself like this,” Baochai says, trying to stroke her mother’s hand.

“Don’t cry, Mother,” Pan mutters. “Why don’t we talk about it later?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jingui says. “The day they move in is the day that I move out.”

Baochai leads her mother from the room. “It’s no use, Mama,” she says. “Let’s go home.” As they cross the courtyard, she whispers, “Control yourself, Mother. We don’t want the servants to talk.”

Mrs. Xue starts to weep again as soon as they are alone in the carriage. “Don’t cry, Mother. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s all so new to him. And he’s in a terrible position.”

“I know. It just hurts me that now he is so loyal to a woman he has barely known for a few months. He never listened to a word I said.” She starts to sob even harder. “After all those years of worry, and scolding him, and pleading with him—it never occurred to me that one day he would someday belong to someone else.”

Her mother’s words strike an unexpected chill in Baochai’s heart. Will she, too, “belong to someone else” when she is married? She shakes off the unwelcome thought. “They’ve only been married such a short while. Perhaps things will change in a month or two. Maybe he will learn to stand up to her.”

Her mother shakes her head. “I don’t think so. What happens in the
first months of marriage usually sets the pattern for the future.” She shakes her head again, wiping her eyes. “What a terrible mistake. I thought this marriage would be the making of him.”

“How could we have known?”

“I should have known. It always seemed too good to be true.” Mrs. Xue leans back against her seat for a moment, shutting her eyes. When she opens them, some of her shrewdness, which seemed to have been in abeyance for the last few months, has returned. “If Jingui was such a good match, why didn’t one of the families in Nanjing snap her up? She is already more than twenty-two. And the Xias were so quick to accept our offer.

“Maybe everyone in Nanjing knew what Jingui was like. Why didn’t I make inquiries about her? Why didn’t I write our relatives down south? I think we could have discovered the truth. But I was so eager for things to work out that I turned a blind eye to all the signs.”

Baochai knows this is true, but says, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everything looks clear in hindsight.”

“And now what? Are we going to lose Pan?”

For so many years, Baochai has regarded Pan as an impossible burden. Why, then, does she feel such sadness?

“Father! What’s the matter? Are you all right?” Daiyu hears the note of panic in her own voice.

The two of them have just gone for a walk. Her father has been steadily improving since New Year’s, and they had even talked of his going back to work at the beginning of the Second Month. Now, crossing the threshold of their apartment, he suddenly clutches his right side and sinks to the floor. She throws her arms around him, using all her strength to prevent him from falling too heavily.

“What’s the matter?”

He does not answer, but she can see from the fixed look in his eyes that he is in pain.

“Can you get to the bed?”

He nods, and using his left arm helps push himself off the ground. With their combined strength they manage to stagger to the bed, where he collapses again. When she pulls a quilt over him, he says, “My right side hurts.”

“Let me get a doctor.”

“There’s no need. It will pass.”

She hesitates, looking at his face. It is paler than she has ever seen it, slightly twisted with pain, with an unhealthy sheen on it. Afraid to leave him alone, she rushes to the door and shouts to a neighbor’s child to fetch the doctor.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“No, just sit by me.”

She sits down and takes his hand, which is cold and clammy.

“Is the pain very bad?”

He does not answer. She continues to hold his hand gently, hoping that he will fall asleep.

When the doctor finally arrives, Daiyu watches him take her father’s pulse, first on the right hand and then on the left. His face wears an expression of great concentration. He asks her to leave the room while he does a physical examination. At the doctor’s call, she returns to the front room. Her father is still lying with his eyes open on the bed.

“I can’t understand what has happened. Last time I examined your father, he seemed to have excessive fire in his stomach, and his spleen was acting up. However, both his spleen and his stomach appear to be functioning well now.”

“Yes, we thought he was getting better—”

“But now, his lower left distal pulse is rapid and the lower left median pulse is strong and full.” The doctor speaks quickly, as if thinking aloud. “On the right side, the distal pulse is thin and lacks strength, and the median pulse is faint and lacks vitality.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the liver’s humor is blocked, giving rise to a deficiency in the blood. On top of that, I believe that the controlling humor of the heart is causing it to generate too much fire.”

“But last time you said there was too much fire in the stomach.”

“Yes, but now I see a gross deficiency of humor in the lungs. You see, I thought that the fire of the stomach was creating the problem with the spleen. Now it seems that the earth of the spleen was being subdued by the woody element of the liver.”

She shakes her head in frustration and confusion. “You mean, you were wrong the last time?”

The doctor is silent for a moment. “I am not entirely certain. The last time I came everything seemed to indicate a problem with the stomach, but this time I feel that the evidence points to a problem with the liver.”

“The liver! But that’s more serious, isn’t it?”

He does not reply.

“But what about the medicine?” she says. “I’ve been giving him the medicines you prescribed last time. Should he be taking something else?”

“I think I must give you a new prescription.” He hesitates. “It must be something to fortify the spleen and calm the liver, perhaps hemlock parsley and white peony root. I’m not entirely sure. Why don’t I think more about it, and I’ll send someone to you with the prescription this afternoon.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” she replies, but it troubles her that he is uncertain enough to need more time to devise a prescription.

The doctor hesitates again. “And he seems to be in some pain. Let me give you something for that. You can have this made up right away.” He writes a prescription. “This should make him more comfortable.”

“I’ll go to the druggist right away.”

After the doctor leaves, she goes to her father. To her relief, he is asleep. She looks at his face, which seems to have changed even over the last hour. There are lines etched around the eyes and mouth, and his skin has taken on a waxy pallor. She looks down at the prescription in her hands. She believes that the doctor is a good one. He had taken care of her mother, and she has always trusted him. Still, she wants another doctor to examine her father, perhaps the famous Dr. Hu, whom Lian had found for them when they first arrived in Suzhou. She has the impression that Dr. Hu is expensive; Lian had insisted on paying his fees. She rummages in the trunk of winter clothes and finds the tiara from her mother’s dowry. She calls Granny Liu to sit with her father, before hurrying to the druggist and the pawnshop.

Three weeks after his wedding, Pan comes to Rongguo. Baochai, seeing the weariness on his face, is filled with foreboding. Her mother is so happy and relieved to see him that she shows no resentment at their last encounter.

“How are you?” Mrs. Xue says. She settles him on the
kang
and bustles about to get him a snack.

“All right.”

“Look.” Mrs. Xue uncovers pickled turnips fried in gluten batter. “Your favorite.”

“Thank you.” Pan picks up the chopsticks, then sets them down.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry?”

Pan does not speak.

“What’s the matter?” Mrs. Xue repeats.

“Jingui wants me to go south again,” he says.