The Red Chamber (31 page)

Now the six of them are in the pavilion having lunch. The table is spread with food and wine: jellyfish salad, slivered pig’s ears, dainty platters of sausages and hams. Because in honor of the holiday no fires can be lit, all the food is cold. Everyone is drinking wine, because, as Xifeng laughingly points out, the only thing worse than cold wine is cold tea. The Two Springs are joking with each other, as if the absence of the adults frees them from constraint. Baochai notices the other three seem in little mood for celebrating. Ping’er sits quietly, with her hands clasped over her enormous belly, her forehead sweaty even though it is not particularly warm. She does not touch the wine, and takes only a bite or two of food; even that seems to make her queasy. After a few joking remarks, Xifeng also has fallen silent, fidgeting nervously, a preoccupied frown on her face. She also does not eat much, drinking wine and cracking melon seeds instead.

Daiyu sits quietly on the other side of the table next to Xichun, her brows puckered in a pensive little frown. Probably the holiday makes her think of her parents, and her inability to visit and care for their distant
graves. She does not eat either, looking out over the railing towards the water lilies in the middle of the lake. Baochai feels a pang of guilt for how she has been treating Daiyu. She still has not found the courage to tell Daiyu of her betrothal. She knows her jealousy is distorting her behavior, and that Daiyu is hurt and baffled by this. She resolves to try to put aside her resentment. She will find some way to make a gesture to Daiyu to show that she harbors no ill feeling towards her.

Xifeng rouses herself to ask Xichun to pass the wine. As she takes the kettle, she licks a finger and holds it up in the air. “I thought we would fly kites, but I’m afraid there isn’t any wind.”

“Kites?” Baochai says. “Oh, yes!” She had almost forgotten the custom of flying kites on Grave Sweeping Day.

“Maybe the wind will pick up in the afternoon,” Xichun says.

Tanchun says, “I hope so. I can’t remember the last time we flew kites.”

“Me neither,” says Xichun. “It rained last year, so we didn’t do it then.”

Baochai notices Snowgoose coming down the nine-angled bridge. When the maid enters the pavilion, one look at her face tells Baochai that something is wrong.

“What is it?” The sharpness in Xifeng’s voice makes the others fall silent.

Snowgoose says, “Silver’s mother has come to see Lady Jia. Since Lady Jia is not here, I thought I would carry her message to you.”

“What is the message?”

“She says that Silver has killed herself, and she has come to ask Lady Jia for some money for the funeral expenses and some clothing for the burial.” Snowgoose’s eyes are lowered, but Baochai hears a quiver in her voice. She remembers that Snowgoose and Silver had served Lady Jia together for many years.

“Killed herself!” Xifeng exclaims. “What on earth for?”

“Her mother says that she had just been moping around ever since Lady Jia dismissed her back in the autumn, and then this morning they couldn’t find her. When someone went to draw water from the well, something caught on the rope. They drew it up, and it was Silver’s body.”

“Good God!” Xifeng is shocked into silence.

A chill of foreboding sweeps over Baochai, but she says, with an air of certainty she does not feel, “Surely there’s no reason to suppose that she killed herself. Probably she was fooling around near the well, and accidentally slipped and fell in.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes more sense,” Xifeng says slowly.

Snowgoose looks at Baochai, and she sees that Snowgoose’s eyes are red. “I am only telling you what Silver’s mother told me. She says that all Silver did since her dismissal was sit around and cry.”

“Then it was foolish of her to take it so much to heart,” Baochai says. Inside, she tries to push away the thought that Baoyu is in some way responsible. She does not know what happened between him and Silver; she assumes it was something more than the casual kiss he had once almost given her, and that Silver was willing. Yet such a careless act had produced so terrible a result. It occurs to her that he brings only misfortune to the girls who fall in love with him. The thought frightens her, but she reminds herself that Silver was punished for illicit behavior, while she herself will be Baoyu’s wife.

“What shall I do about Silver’s mother?” Snowgoose asks Xifeng.

“Give her fifty
taels
.”

“What about the clothes for the burial?”

Xifeng hesitates. “I would like to give her a new outfit, but we don’t have anything made up. The only one of you who has gotten new clothes lately is Daiyu …”

She looks questioningly at Daiyu. Baochai sees the horror on Daiyu’s face that her clothes are to be used for so inauspicious a purpose, so she says quickly, “I have some new outfits I have never worn. Why don’t you use those?”

“Aren’t you superstitious?” Xifeng asks.

“You know I have never believed in that sort of thing.” It occurs to her how upset Granny Jia and Baoyu will be at the news. “The more important question, I suppose, is whether or not to tell Lady Jia about any of this when she comes home.” As usual, she does not allow Baoyu’s name to pass her lips.

Xifeng looks at her, surprised. “Don’t you think we should tell her?”

In turn, Baochai is surprised that it has not occurred to Xifeng to keep the news a secret. “Why should we? It would only upset her, and she might blame herself for dismissing Silver.”

“Do you really think we can keep it from her?”

“Why not? If none of us mentions it, no one else will ever know.”

Xifeng thinks a moment, frowning. “I suppose you’re right.” She looks at the other girls. “Did you hear that, all of you? No one is to say a word of this to Granny. Snowgoose, you won’t say a word either.”

“No, Mrs. Lian,” Snowgoose agrees, but Baochai thinks that the carefully expressionless look on her face hides disapproval.

After Snowgoose goes, there is a long silence.

“Poor Silver,” Tanchun says at last.

Xifeng gives a harsh laugh. “Do you think so? I think she was saved a lot of trouble by dying young!”

Baochai looks at her. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Do you think her fate was really worse than most women’s?” Xifeng’s voice and look are challenging.

This time it is Tanchun who asks, frowning, “Why, what do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” Xifeng answers. “Do you think her fate is any worse than most women’s?” The wine or the shock of Silver’s death seems to have loosened Xifeng’s tongue. Her gay smile is gone. Without it, there are hard lines at the corners of her mouth. “A woman doesn’t have any choices in life. Even from a good family like ours, she has to marry whomever her parents choose for her. If, by a stroke of luck, he is a decent fellow, then she might be fortunate. But if he is a bad man, as is far more likely, she will suffer.” Xifeng tosses off another cupful of wine. “How much more so in a poor family like Silver’s, where girls are usually sold off as maids and concubines to the highest bidders?”

Xichun looks shocked and a little scared. “But don’t Granny and Uncle have our best interests at heart? Can’t we trust them to make us good matches?”

“They might wish to, but what can they really know of a man’s character?”

“They can choose someone from a good family,” Tanchun says. “That way, they’ll know he’s been properly raised.”

Xifeng gives another harsh laugh. “There’s no way of really knowing. Think of Lian and Zhu. They were from the same family, first cousins who grew up together, but they couldn’t have been more different. Look at Jingui. The Xias are a perfectly respectable family—” Xifeng sees Baochai’s face, and then shuts her mouth. She resumes after a moment. “But my point is, a woman has no choice. What is she going to do? Go out and find someone to marry herself? What can she do but accept what her parents choose for her, good or bad?”

“Yes, I think Xifeng is right,” Daiyu speaks up. “A girl has no choice, over anything in her life. If her parents choose to let her learn a few characters, she may be lucky enough to be able to read and educate herself. But she can’t do anything with that education.”

Xifeng nods. “We’ve all been lucky that our parents decided not to
leave us in total ignorance—but how often have we all heard that old saying:
‘A virtuous woman is an uneducated woman’
?”

The pessimism of Xifeng and Daiyu’s vision disturbs Baochai. Although she dislikes debates or arguments of any kind, and had not meant to join in the conversation, she says reprovingly, “You are wrong to say that a woman cannot do anything with her education. She can use it to teach her children and run her household. Surely that’s the best use of a woman’s education.”

“But a woman can’t take the Exams,” Daiyu says. “Or even make a living as a teacher.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Baochai says.

“But then,” Daiyu points out, “because she cannot support herself, she has no choice but to marry when someone else chooses for her, good or bad. Xifeng is right. Women have no choices at all.”

For some reason, Baochai feels a need to refute this argument. Daiyu and Xifeng’s insistence that women have no choices makes her feel that by doing her duty, she is somehow trapped and helpless; whereas she has always thought that in doing her duty, she would find contentment and freedom. “Perhaps you think you are being very insightful and profound,” she says, forcing a laugh. “But actually, your vision is rather narrow. What about a man? If he is born in a poor family, he has to do hard labor for a living. In a good family, then he studies for the Exams. What choice does he have, either?

“Perhaps it doesn’t make sense to talk about choices,” she continues. “Perhaps it’d be wiser to say that men and women have different responsibilities and duties.”

Xifeng gives a scornful snort, pouring herself another cup of wine. “Let’s see how you feel about it after you are married.”

Baochai feels her face growing hot, believing that Xifeng is not making a general statement, but is referring to her betrothal.

Xichun pipes up, “There is one choice that everyone can make. Each person can choose to become a nun or a monk, and to renounce the ‘red dust.’ ”

Xifeng looks irritated. “I don’t understand you—always dreaming about becoming a nun, as if that would solve any problems.”

“Don’t you know that all the problems that human beings suffer are caused by attachment to the material world? If only we could give up our attachments—”

“Spare us the sermon,” Xifeng interrupts.

Xichun, abashed, falls silent.

After a little while, Tanchun says, gazing around the pavilion, “When we’re older and married and have children of our own, how do you think we’ll look back on the time we’ve spent here?” She looks at the others. “Do you suppose we’ll think this was the happiest time of our lives?”

“There’s not a doubt of it.” Xifeng laughs unpleasantly. Daiyu turns away, but not before Baochai sees tears glistening on her cheeks.

Baochai looks around at the Garden where she has spent so much of her girlhood: at the moss-green mountain, the tangle of roses over the pergola, the willow and
wutong
trees fringing the far shore. If she carries any nostalgia, it is for her childhood in Nanjing, when her father was still alive. But, yes, with the exception of her worries over Pan, her time at Rongguo has been happy, and she believes that she will look back on it with fondness.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a napkin hung over the railing begin to flutter. “Look, the wind is picking up. Shall we send for our kites?”

Everyone springs up, calling to the maids to fetch their kites, eager, it seems, to put an end to the painful conversation. Only Daiyu does not move, still sitting on her stool looking out at the water. She does not have a kite, Baochai knows, so she sends a maid to fetch two of hers.

The maid reappears with the two kites, a many-jointed centipede and a butterfly with long streamers. Baochai takes the kites to Daiyu. Everyone else has already gone to the bank to launch their kites. “Which one do you want?” she asks.

Daiyu shakes her head, forcing a smile, but does not rise from her seat. “No, thank you, Baochai. That’s kind of you, but I don’t feel like it.”

There is a squeal from Tanchun as the wind snatches the kite from her hands and flings it high into the air.

“No, I insist,” Baochai says. “It’s good luck to fly kites, today of all days.” She pulls Daiyu to her feet. “You fly the butterfly,” she says. “And when it’s high in the air, we’ll cut the string, and send away your bad luck and sadness.”

Now there are several kites high in the air above the lake, a scarlet bat, and a “beautiful lady.” Even Ping’er, sitting on a stool that someone has brought for her, is holding the string of a crab-shaped kite.

Daiyu nods. Together, they walk down the bridge to the bank. Baochai throws the butterfly into the air, while Daiyu holds the spool of string. Instead of rising in the breeze, however, the butterfly loops crazily a few times before crashing to the ground.

They retrieve it, and Daiyu rewinds the string.

“Perhaps it’s a little top-heavy,” Daiyu says. “I’ll try running with it.”

This time, as Baochai tosses it up as hard as she can, Daiyu sets off running down the path beside the lake. It stays aloft as long as she is running full speed, but plummets from the air the moment that she slows. Again and again, the two of them try to launch the kite, even retying the strings to correct the balance. Daiyu runs and runs, until her usually pale cheeks are suffused with color. Still, the kite refuses to fly.

5

After the kite flying, Xifeng walks back from the lake to her own apartments. She feels obliged to make a pretense of walking with Ping’er, but the sight of Ping’er waddling along so irritates her that she cannot watch, and walks ahead. Then, after she has gone fifteen paces or so, she feels guilty and stops to let Ping’er catch up, listening to Ping’er’s noisy puffing behind her. After Ping’er catches up, Xifeng walks ahead again. So it continues until they are about halfway to the apartments, when Xifeng notices that Ping’er has fallen silent. She turns to see Ping’er sink to her knees.