The Red Chamber (29 page)

Alone in the apartments she used to share with Baochai, Daiyu pours cold water into a basin. In the silence of the night she hears the emptiness of the rooms around her, the empty space between this apartment and those of the other girls. She wishes she had asked Baochai and her mother to let her sleep at their place for the night, but given Baochai’s strange coldness, she would not have dared, even if it had occurred to her. A feeling of desolation overcame her when she walked into these rooms, so different now that they are uninhabited. The air smells of damp and disuse. Someone has hastily made up a bed on the
kang
. When she was last here, one of Baochai’s maids had always helped her, but now there is no one. She wonders whether she has not been assigned a maid because Lady Jia has made it clear how unwelcome she is.

She props a window open. She feels the coolness of the night air on her arms and shivers. She feels her breath slowing after the last weeks of hurry and stress. During her mourning and the journey, she has never been by herself for even a moment. She slumps on her knees on the floor and presses her face into the mustiness of the
kang
rug. She does not cry at first. Then the sobs seem to rise out of her stomach, slowly at first, with long intervals in between, then more quickly, making her gasp for breath. She slides onto the floor against the
kang
, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. She cries, her big gulping sobs echoing in the room, for she does not know how long. Eventually, she gets cold sitting on the floor. She blows out the lantern and gets into bed without taking off her clothes. She sits there under the covers, holding her knees before her chest, still weeping. Strangely, the crying gives her no relief. It feels like merely a physical reaction, like yawning or hiccupping, and does not loosen her knot of grief.

When the sobs finally start to recede, she holds a handkerchief to her mouth, wiping the tears that still occasionally well from her eyes. She hears a sound outside the open window. “Snowgoose?” she calls.

“It’s me. Baoyu.”

“What are you doing here?” she says, drying her eyes. She had been hoping to see him at dinner, but he had not come home.

“I’m going to climb in through the window,” he says.

“I don’t see why you can’t come through the door.”

She hears the window hinge creak, and sees his silhouette against the moonlit darkness outside. Then she hears the scuffle of his feet on the floor, and another creak as he shuts the window.

“You’ve heard about my father …”

“Yes.” He comes towards her. “But tell me what happened. Lian wrote that he was getting better.”

“He was, at New Year’s. But then, all of a sudden, he collapsed one day.” She feels her tears rising again. “The doctor said it was his liver, when all along he had been saying it was his stomach and his spleen. He got worse so quickly. We tried all sorts of medicines, all different doctors, but nothing seemed to help.” She puts her face in her hands and sobs.

His arms are around her protectively. “One morning, I woke up and went to his room. He was already dead, his body all cold, and shrunken.” Baoyu holds her tighter, his hand gently stroking the back of her head.

He lets her cry for a while. When she grows calmer, he says, “How were you able to manage everything?”

“I knew what to do, because when my mother died—but my father had taken care of almost everything then. I didn’t know how many little things there were to do. I almost didn’t have time to feel sad …”

“I understand.”

She feels insensibly soothed by being able to spill out all the hardships of the past months to him. “Lian helped—but he was in such a rush to come back here, he wanted me to cut short the Forty-Nine Days. He had done so much for us already that I didn’t feel I could refuse. But there was so much to do before we left. We had to sell or give away everything, and settle all the bills, and say good-bye.”

“It must have been hard for you to leave Suzhou.”

“How could I stay? There was no place for me. But when I got back here, Granny made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t welcome.” With a sob, she tells him what Lady Jia had said.

She has the impression, although she cannot see his expression, that he is not surprised. “You mustn’t let it bother you. You know what her moods are like.”

“It’s more than her moods. Why does she hate me so?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Thank you for not pretending. I told Baochai that Granny disliked me, and she said it was my imagination.”

“Never mind Baochai. I used to think Granny hated you because of your mother.”

“I thought so, too.”

“I am not sure that explains it all. But you mustn’t let it worry you.” He holds her to him. “This is where you belong. My father knows that. He’ll see you are treated properly.”

The thought crosses her mind that Uncle Zheng pays so little attention to the mundane affairs of the Inner Quarters that he will have no idea how she is treated. But all she says is, “Yes, your father was very kind.”

“Well, he knows that—” He breaks off abruptly. “I’d forgotten how late it is. I shouldn’t keep you up. You must be terribly worn out by taking care of your father and the journey. It’s very important that you take care of your health now.” He slips off the
kang
towards the window.

She remembers how quiet and desolate the room felt before he came. “Stay a little longer.”

“You need to rest,” he says, but he comes back to the
kang
, and she senses him peering at her in the darkness. “Lie down. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

She eases herself into a lying position under the quilts, still in her clothes. She wonders whether he will lie beside her, but he sits beside her pillow clasping his knees. She is glad that he does not speak or try to touch her now. She does not want anything more than his silent presence. Her exhaustion begins to overtake her. She feels her breath lengthening and her eyes growing heavy, and lets herself slip into sleep.

2

“Baochai, would you mind bringing this note to Lady Jia?” Mrs. Xue says after breakfast. “Baoyu should be at school already, so you won’t be in any danger of seeing him.”

“Of course, Mother.” She is about to ask what the note is about, when she realizes that it probably concerns her betrothal gifts and dowry. The arrangements for her betrothal had been completed last week, before Pan left for the south.

As she passes through the front gate of Granny’s apartment, however, out of the corner of her eye she sees Baoyu and Daiyu speaking in the shelter of the verandah along the side of the courtyard, half hidden by the cages of birds. He must be going to school late for some reason. She cannot hear their words from this distance, but something about the way they speak to each other pierces her heart like a small poisonous dart. Daiyu is pale and drooping, as she has been since she came back from the south. She is looking down, and Baochai thinks she can see tears on her cheeks. Baoyu is standing close to her, his body bent protectively towards hers, his head lowered in order to catch her words. There is an intimacy, a tacit understanding, between the two of them. Baoyu loves Daiyu; she has been foolish to ever think otherwise. Daiyu’s feelings towards Baoyu are less clear. She is nodding and listening to what he says, but from the way that her body slumps away from him, Baochai thinks she is too caught up in her grief to be open to Baoyu’s advances.

The two of them are so intent on their conversation that they do not notice her. She turns on her heel without delivering the note. Hoping the scenery will soothe her, she goes to the Garden and walks along the lake. Lotuses bloom on the green water, but she hardly sees them, instead picturing Baoyu and Daiyu, barely half a pace apart, talking to each other with their voices lowered so no one else can hear. Daiyu exaggerates her sorrow and helplessness to make herself appealing to Baoyu, Baochai thinks. Daiyu knows how tenderhearted Baoyu is, and uses this tenderness to manipulate him and bind him to herself.

Then she remembers that Daiyu does not know of her own betrothal
to Baoyu. It remains a secret, and Baochai has never mentioned the match, even to Baoyu’s half sister Tanchun, as it is considered proper for young girls to behave as if they are oblivious of their impending marriages. She must overcome her reserve to tell Daiyu of the betrothal. For the sake of her friendship with Daiyu—more importantly, for the sake of her marriage—she must quash this dangerous intimacy between Baoyu and Daiyu.

Having come to this decision, she feels calmer. She turns around and begins, more slowly, to retrace her steps back to Lady Jia’s. By the time she reenters Lady Jia’s courtyard, there is no trace of either Daiyu or Baoyu. She delivers the note, then walks towards her old apartments in the Garden. At first she steps quickly, in her eagerness to resolve the misunderstanding. However, the nearer she comes to the apartment, the more she realizes how difficult it will be to bring up the betrothal. She resents Daiyu for forcing her to speak about so embarrassing and painful a topic.

She finds her old front room empty. Even though all the old furniture and decorations are still there, the place has the air of being uninhabited, even a little dusty. She remembers that Daiyu has no maid. This time, she feels little inclination to let Daiyu borrow one of hers. She is surprised by the sound of girls’ voices from Daiyu’s bedroom. She had not expected the Two Springs to take the initiative to visit. When she pushes through the door curtain she finds Snowgoose, so close to Daiyu that their knees touch. They break off their conversation when they see her.

Snowgoose climbs off the
kang
and stands respectfully. “Lady Jia gave me the day off to visit my family, and I came here to see how Miss Lin was doing before setting off,” she explains.

“I see,” Baochai says. It is not wrong for Snowgoose to spend her time off gossiping with Daiyu, but such intimacy strikes Baochai as improper.

“Snowgoose was telling me that now that I am staying here, and not just a visitor, I must be more careful to stay on Lady Jia’s good side,” Daiyu says.

Snowgoose breaks in. “Won’t you tell her, Miss Xue, that she can’t go on like this, showing up late for breakfast, and then only eating a bite or two? Sometimes she even misses breakfast. It offends Lady Jia, and is hurting her health.” She speaks as if she and Baochai are united by concern for Daiyu. “I’m afraid that if the other servants see that Lady Jia does not favor her, they will start to mistreat her, just as they do Auntie Zhao and Master Huan.”

Baochai feels a prick of guilt that Snowgoose should be the one warning Daiyu how to get on in the household; she realizes how much she has been neglecting Daiyu herself, caught up in preparations for her betrothal. “Naturally you owe the Jias as many gestures of respect and consideration as possible,” she says stiffly.

When Snowgoose takes her leave to visit her family, Baochai is again disturbed by how affectionate Daiyu’s farewell is. When she and Daiyu are alone, she sits down beside Daiyu on the
kang
. “I hadn’t realized that you weren’t going to breakfast on time. You must take better care of yourself.”

“How would you?” Daiyu says, raising her brows. “You never eat with us anymore.”

Although Baochai has come to explain why, she finds herself saying evasively, “My mother hasn’t been well, and prefers to eat in our own rooms.”

“
Your
own rooms?” Daiyu echoes. “
These
used to be your rooms, but this is the first time that you have come here since I arrived.”

She catches the sharpness in Daiyu’s tone. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with my mother. But Snowgoose is right. You should make every effort to show Lady Jia how grateful you are.”

Daiyu’s face takes on an obstinate expression. “Why should I be grateful to her? She has made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t want me here.”

“But she’s your grandmother.”

“So what? I’d never seen her until this year. No, the ones I love here are Snowgoose and you, and your mother. I don’t owe anything to anyone else.”

Baochai is shocked. “How can you say that? Granny is your mother’s mother.”

“But Granny abandoned my mother. No, I can’t love people just because they are related to me by blood.”

Baochai has never seen Daiyu in this perverse mood, in which she seems to repudiate everything that Baochai holds dear. “Since she has taken you in, even though you aren’t fond of her, that’s all the more reason you should be grateful to her.” She tries to change the subject. “There is something else I wanted to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I was surprised at the way you were discussing your behavior with Snowgoose, even allowing her to give you advice on how to conduct yourself.”

Daiyu smiles. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t take her advice. She knows this household better than anyone else.”

Baochai suspects Daiyu of deliberately trying to misunderstand her. “Don’t you see that if you want the servants’ respect, you must keep a proper distance?”

Daiyu laughs. “Why shouldn’t I talk to Snowgoose? Everyone here spends lots of time gossiping with the servants.”

Irritated by Daiyu’s naïveté, Baochai says, “Gossiping is one thing, but you let her get above herself by allowing her to comment on your relationship with other mistresses. Even I wouldn’t presume to give you such advice!”

The smile fades from Daiyu’s face. “Good Heavens, Baochai! I never thought you were such a snob.”

Baochai has to bite her lip to keep from retorting, feeling the distance yawning between them. If only there were some neutral topic on which they could converse amicably; it seems that everything she has said today, no matter how innocuous, has rubbed Daiyu the wrong way. Bringing up her betrothal seems impossible. Forcing a smile, she makes an excuse to leave. Daiyu makes no attempt to keep her. Walking across the forecourt, she realizes that she has not told Daiyu about her and her mother’s troubles with Jingui; nor has she learned the details of Daiyu’s father’s illness and death. Their old camaraderie is gone.