The Red Chamber (27 page)

“She is just pretending, to get out of work,” Lady Jia says. “Where does she keep disappearing to, anyway? Any time I want her, I can’t find her.”

“It’s these headaches. We really should send for a doctor,” says Snowgoose.

“She is just faking it, I tell you!”

While Baochai is mindful of the respect she owes Lady Jia, sometimes she is surprised by the old woman’s capriciousness and eagerness to find fault even in those whom she claims to favor. “Why don’t I go look for the Buddha’s hand?” she offers, trying to spare Granny from working herself into a rage.

Lady Jia looks at her. “You don’t know where it is.”

“It’s in the storerooms, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t I be able to find it?”

“The storerooms are enormous. You’ll never be able to find it without knowing where it is beforehand.”

“Well, if I can’t find it, then we can ask Xifeng,” Baochai says, smiling.

“We don’t have the keys. We’ll have to wake Xifeng anyway,” Granny says, apparently determined to disturb her.

“No,” Snowgoose says, unhooking a key from the large bunch that she carries around her waist. “I have an extra set. You had better take a lantern,” Snowgoose adds, lighting one for Baochai. “It’s pretty dark in there.”

When Baochai arrives at the storerooms, she is startled to find the door unlocked. She stands there for a moment, staring at the opened lock. As she swings the door gently open, she hears a tiny scuffling somewhere in the building. She wonders if someone is there already, or whether there are mice or rats. It is not like Xifeng to leave it unlocked by mistake—perhaps she really is becoming absentminded. Leaving the door wide open, she advances a few steps, wondering whether to call out.
Squinting into the dimness, she can see no trace of a light and concludes that the place must be empty.

Something about the quiet, shadowy space frightens her, and she must force herself to go in. She thinks the Buddha’s hand must be in the back of the storeroom, where she has seen many shelves of objets d’art. Wishing she had never offered to come, she weaves between the hulking wardrobes and bedsteads, darker and darker now that she has left the stream of light from the door. At every step, she is convinced that cobwebs are clinging to her face, and waves her hand to brush them away. Looking around, holding the lantern high, she feels like the darkness is filled with whispering voices. She has never been superstitious before, but it is almost as if the place is haunted.

She gets to the shelves at the back and runs the lantern hurriedly over the rows of vases and tea trays and table screens. She spies the Buddha’s hand on the second shelf. As she reaches for it, she hears a woman’s voice moaning, and realizes that it is not her imagination after all. There is someone here, in the loft of the storeroom. She sees that the ladder leading to the second floor is gone. Then she hears a man’s voice, and understands that some couple is using the place to meet secretly.

She grabs the Buddha’s hand, careful not to bump against anything, and begins to walk quickly back to the entrance. Her first thought is that some maid has smuggled her lover in and is meeting him here. But that cannot be right. A maid would not dare to sneak a man in. The thought flashes into her mind that it is Xifeng.

She catches her breath at the risk, the danger. She is too frightened to even think about who Xifeng could be meeting. She stumbles the final few steps and bursts out into the sunlight.

11

“Baochai, dear. Can I talk to you about something?”

Baochai jumps. She has been sitting with her embroidery on her lap in her mother’s front room. As she looks down, she realizes that she has not sewn a stitch for the past half hour. She has been too preoccupied by what she had heard in the storerooms two days before. Her thoughts have gone around and around the event until it feels like they have worn a groove in her mind. Could Xifeng really be so reckless? She wants to go to Xifeng, to test her somehow in order to confirm her suspicions. But what would be the point, except to put Xifeng on guard and make her treat Baochai as an enemy? Baochai cannot imagine what man could be sneaking into the Inner Quarters, nor what would happen if Xifeng were discovered. A divorce? A court case? Xifeng would be sent back to her family and neither the Jias nor the Wangs would be able to hold their heads up for shame. She knows that Xifeng is in her power; yet she does not wish for such power, and fears Xifeng all the more now knowing what she is capable of.

“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.