The Red Chamber (28 page)

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?”

He puts the empty cup on the table. Ping’er hands him a napkin. He wipes his mouth.

Xifeng stares at him, half bewildered, half frightened. “What is it?”

He looks back at her, his face expressionless. Finally, he says, “Why did you cancel the order for the black-boned chickens for Ping’er?”

“What?” she says blankly.

“I said,” he repeats, louder and with an edge to his voice, “why did you cancel the order for black-boned chickens for Ping’er?”

It comes back to her. It seems a lifetime ago, and so trivial compared to what she had feared, that she almost laughs. “Oh, that,” she says, recovering herself. “The kitchens were exceeding their budget, and I spoke to the cook about cutting down their expenses.” She speaks quickly. “I left it entirely up to her. I really can’t remember what she ended up cutting out, but maybe—”

“I called Cook Liu to ask her,” Lian interrupts. “She said you specifically told her to stop buying the black-boned chickens.”

She begins to feel flustered by his tone of accusation. “I really can’t remember every little thing I told her to cut out. It was months ago—”

“Name one other thing that you told her to stop buying.”

“Good Heavens, how do you expect me to remember—” She is humiliated at being caught in such an imposture, but her pride refuses to let her admit the fault.

“You’ve never forgotten one thing having to do with money in your whole life,” Lian says.

“What a to-do about nothing! If you don’t like the way I manage things, then why don’t you do it?”

“You lied to me.” Ping’er speaks for the first time from beside Lian on the
kang
. “You made it seem as if you were helping me, when it was you who told Cook Liu to stop ordering the chickens in the first place.”

Xifeng has almost forgotten how she had deceived Ping’er. Ping’er gives a sob, and suddenly she feels ashamed. As she tries to think of some way to make light of the deception, she sees Lian slide an arm protectively around Ping’er’s shoulders.

Something breaks loose inside of her. She, Xifeng, raised Ping’er from among dozens of maids at the Wang mansion to be her personal servant. Ping’er had been only a junior maid, who swept the yard and fetched water. Xifeng had brought her inside and given her the chance to learn more sophisticated skills, without which a female servant could never advance: the ability to speak formally and precisely in a way that would impress the masters and mistresses, the knowledge of how to dress hair and apply makeup, the authority to organize and direct other servants. She instructed her in manners, and how to hold her head and walk with small steps. She taught Ping’er how to count and figure, even to recognize a few basic characters. Since the two of them were twelve or thirteen, she has treated Ping’er like a sister, sharing her clothes and jewels and cosmetics. She had turned Ping’er into someone capable of attracting Lian. Now the two of them act like Xifeng is a monster, someone from whom Ping’er must be protected.

Suddenly, she is screaming, calling Ping’er a whore, and Lian obscenities that have never crossed her lips before. She is almost frightened by the sound of her own voice in the silence of the room. She starts to tell Lian what she has always thought of his stupidity and laziness, and then, just as abruptly, she stops herself. She narrows her eyes and the words form themselves without her thinking. “Get out.”

“What do you mean?” Lian looks at her as if she is crazy.

“You heard me. I said, ‘Get out.’ The two of you. This is my apartment.” Now her voice is calm. She stabs her fingers at the furniture, the
scrolls on the wall. “All this is mine.” Nearly every piece was part of her dowry, a dowry fit for a princess.

Lian stares at her. She is gratified by how helpless and scared he looks. “Where—where should we go?”

“I don’t care. Find someplace else to live. There are plenty of other places in the house.”

Ping’er and Lian look at each other, like a couple of bereft children. She almost laughs at their scared expressions. It is so easy, she thinks. If she had known how easy it was, she would have done it long ago.