Pavilion of Women: A Novel of Life in the Women's Quarters (21 page)

Should she enter and break the spell she saw being woven? She hesitated on the threshold, still unseen. Then she withdrew. She, the mother and only the mother, was not strong enough to withstand this great priest. To show himself independent of her, if for no other reason, Fengmo would turn against her. No, she must have a young woman, a gay girl, a lovely piece of flesh and blood, to help her. Linyi must come quickly.

When the lesson hour had passed, she called out from the darkness, “Brother André, my thanks for teaching my son so well. Until tomorrow, my greetings!”

She rose and came forward with these greetings. Both men stopped as though shocked by her presence. Brother André bowed and went swiftly away, his long robes flying shadows behind him. But Madame Wu put her hand into Fengmo’s elbow, and when he was about to follow she clung tightly to him.

“My son,” she said, “stay with me a little while. I have a very strange thing to tell you.”

She felt refusal stiffen in Fengmo’s arm, and she lifted her hand. “Dear son, I am sometimes quite lonely. Tonight is one of those times. Will you stay with me a little while?”

What son could refuse that voice? She had her hand on his arm again, pulling gently. “Come and sit down in this cool darkness,” she said. “Will you let me speak and answer me nothing until I have finished?”

“If you wish, Mother,” Fengmo said. But she could feel him wanting to leave her, longing to be free of her. Ah, she could read those signs!

“Fengmo,” she said, and her voice was music coming out of the darkness. He could not see her. There was only the lovely voice pouring into his hearing. “I do not know how to tell you,” she said. He heard a soft half-embarrassed laugh. “You are so grown now—a man. I suppose I must expect—Well, certainly I must not be selfish. Linyi wants to talk with you. Such a thing I would have said was impossible when Liangmo was your age. I do not think Meng would have thought of asking it. But Linyi is very different from Meng, and you are very different from Liangmo.”

The pretty voice poured all this into the night. It was difficult to believe that this was his mother’s voice, so young, so shy, half laughing, broken with pauses.

“How do you know?” he asked brusquely.

“Today her mother told me,” she replied.

Madame Wu leaning back in her chair, her face tilted up to the black soft sky, weighed and measured every tone of Fengmo’s voice. She felt an excitement, as though she were pitting herself against a force stronger perhaps than her own. But she would win. She had Fengmo by the body, and body is stronger than soul in a man.

“It is perhaps very wrong of me,” she said half plaintively now to Fengmo’s silence. “My first feeling is to say that if Linyi is so bold—I do not want her in the house.”

These were the right words. Fengmo answered hotly out of the darkness. He leaned toward her. She could feel his fresh young breath against her face.

“Mother, you don’t understand!”

“No?” She felt secure again at these familiar words of the young. So all sons say to all mothers.

“Many young men and women meet together these days,” Fengmo declared. “It is not as it used to be when you were young, or even when Liangmo was married.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she sighed. “I want you to be happy—that is all. I do not want you to see Linyi if you would rather not. I can tell her mother it is not convenient. Then she will know you care nothing for Linyi.”

“Of course I will see her,” Fengmo said in a lordly way. “Why should I object?”

“Fengmo,” she said in the same pleading voice, “do not lead Linyi to imagine things. There are many young women who would like to come into our house. Now that I think of Linyi, I remember that I have always thought she was a little cross-eyed.”

“If she is I will see it clearly,” Fengmo declared.

“Then shall I tell her mother that in a few days you and I will—”

“Why you, Mother?” he asked very clearly.

“Fengmo!” she cried sharply. “I will not yield too far. How can you see the girl alone?”

“Certainly I shall see her alone,” Fengmo said with some anger. “Must I be led by my mother like a small child?”

“What if I say you shall not go at all?” Madame Wu asked with vigor.

“Mother, do not say it,” Fengmo said with equal vigor. “I do not want to disobey you.”

Silence now fell between them. Madame Wu rose from her chair, “You insist, then, on going to see Linyi!”

“I will go,” Fengmo said doggedly.

“Go, then,” Madame Wu said and swept past him and into her own room. There she found Ying waiting for her. Ying had heard the loud voices. “Lady, what—” she began.

But Madame Wu put up her hand. “Wait!” she whispered, “listen!”

They stood listening, Ying’s mouth ajar. Madame Wu’s eyes were shining, and her face was lit with laughter. They heard Fengmo’s harsh and angry footsteps stride from the court. Madame Wu hugged herself and laughed aloud.

“Lady,” Ying began again, “what is the matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” Madame Wu said gaily. “I wanted him to do something, and he is going to do it—that is all!”

Fengmo did not come near her the next day, but the morning after Madame Kang came again. The two friends clasped hands quickly.

“Fengmo and Linyi have met,” she said.

“How was the meeting?” Madame Wu asked smiling.

“I laughed and wept,” Madame Kang replied, smiling back. “I sat far off, pretending not to be there. They wanted me gone and could not speak for wanting me gone. They were speechless, miserable together, and yet they could not keep from gazing at each other. I went away for only a few minutes, and when I came back again they were exactly as they had been. Neither had moved. They were only staring into each other’s faces. Then he rose and went away, and they said to each other, ‘Until we meet again.’ ”

“Only those common words?” Madame Wu asked.

“But how they said them!” Madame Kang replied. “Ailien, you will laugh, but it made me go and find my old man just to sit near him.”

“He thought you a simpleton, doubtless,” Madame Wu said, still smiling.

“Oh, yes,” Madame Kang said laughing, “and I didn’t tell him anything, for I didn’t want to stir him up again!”

“What damage could it do now?” Madame Wu asked mischievously.

“Ah, Ailien, don’t laugh!” Madame Kang said sighing. “When I saw those two young things—so much happiness—such troubles ahead—one dares not tell the truth to the young!”

“Let the wedding be soon,” Madame Wu said.

“The sooner the better,” Madame Kang agreed. “It is wrong to light the fire under an empty pot.”

Fengmo did not come near his mother that day nor any day. She did not see him until Brother André came again at night. She passed and repassed the door. Fengmo was asking him new words. He wanted to write a letter. She looked at Brother André’s face. It was kind and patient but bewildered. He spelled the words out for Fengmo over and over again and wrote them down. Madame Wu heard the letters without comprehending them, strange sounds without meaning. But whether she understood them did not matter. Fengmo understood, and Linyi would understand. He was eager to write her a letter in English. Madame Wu laughed silently in the darkness. Then she felt shamed before Brother André for the ease of her victory. She went away and did not see him that night. Instead she went early to bed and to sleep.

O
N A PLEASANT DAY
near the end of the ninth month, Linyi came to the house, a bride. The season was a good one for marriages, for the harvest was ready to be cut and the rice was heavy in the ear. Summer had paused and autumn had not yet begun.

The two families came together in mutual joy for this second union between them. Liangmo and Meng were especially full of joy. Meng’s little body was swelling with her child. She was hungry day and night, and her sickness had left her. She looked beautiful and ripe with happiness as she welcomed her sister. The two mothers talking together had decided to follow the children’s wishes, and they did not have the old-fashioned long wedding which they had given to Liangmo and Meng. Three days’ feasting was too long for these impatient two, Fengmo and Linyi. They wanted the swift marriage of the new times, a promise made before the elders and that was enough.

So it was done, and Madame Wu made amends to the townspeople, who were dismayed by the loss of the feasting, by hiring a restaurant for three days. This saved the trouble of crowds passing through the house.

“There are some good things about these new ways,” Madame Kang said at the end of the marriage day. Again the men were in Mr. Wu’s court and the women in Madame Wu’s. Sweetmeats of the most delicate kinds were served to the women and heartier meats to the men. Fengmo and Linyi had withdrawn to their own court. Luckily an old cousin had died about a month before and left two rooms empty, and by Madame Wu’s command these had been repaired and painted.

“Certainly we do not have broken furniture and filthy floors as we did after Liangmo’s marriage,” Madame Wu agreed.

She felt happy tonight, as she always did when some member of the household was settled. Her freedom grew yet more complete. For a week Fengmo by his own will had taken no lessons and Brother André had not come. Madame Wu did not object. This was the hour of the flesh. She did not fear Brother André’s power now. Whether he came any more or not was nothing to her. She had saved Fengmo for the family.

The court was lit with red-paper lanterns, and these drew the moths out of the darkness. Many of them were only small gray creatures, dusty wisps. But now and again a great moth would flutter forth with pale green-tailed wings, or wings of black and gold. Then all the women cried out, and none could rest until it was imprisoned and impaled upon the door by a pin where all could exclaim at its beauty while they sat in comfort and ate their sweetmeats. Old Lady especially enjoyed this sport and clapped her hands with pleasure.

One such moth had just been caught when Ch’iuming came into the court. Madame Wu saw her instantly, as she always did whenever she entered, and as always she made no sign. The young woman had taken her place in the house day by day, in grave silence. None spoke of her, either good or ill, in Madame Wu’s presence. But Madame Wu was conscious of her always. Sometimes at night when she woke, she wondered—and put the wonder away.

Now as Ch’iuming came in she saw her. The girl looked thin and a little too pale, but prettier in her delicacy.

“I must inquire how she is,” Madame Wu thought in unwilling self-reproach. “After the wedding is over, I will send for her.”

Again, as always she did, she put Ch’iuming aside and out of mind, and Ch’iuming made herself quietly busy pouring hot tea for the guests. She had taken part in the day but half-hidden and quietly busy about the food or the children or some such thing. Now and again some would call to her, “Second Lady, rest yourself!” But Ch’iuming replied always with the same words, “I do only this one thing more.”

Now, as they were all looking at the new moth, she, too, went to look at it. It was of a creamy yellow color, like the yellow of the lemon called Buddha’s Hand, and it had long black antennae. These quivered as it felt itself impaled. The wide wings fluttered and dark spots upon them showed green and gold for a moment. Then the moth was still.

“How quickly they die!” Ch’iuming said suddenly.

They all turned at the sound of her voice, and as though she had surprised herself by speaking, she shrank back, smiling her half-painful, half-shy smile. She stood waiting until all were seated again. Then in silence she slipped behind the others and, coming to Madame Wu, she felt of her tea bowl.

“Your tea is cold,” she said. “I will warm it.”

“Thank you,” Madame Wu said. She sat quite still while Ch’iuming leaned to perform the task. And as the girl leaned she smelled the fragrance of sandalwood, and as she smelled it she looked into the girl’s face. A look of humility was there.

“May I have some talk with you tonight, Elder Sister?” she asked in a low voice.

“Assuredly you may,” Madame Wu replied. She did not know how to answer otherwise, for how could she refuse? But she felt mirth go out of her. What new trouble cast its shadow on her? She sipped her tea and was silent until the guests were gone.

When they were gone, Ch’iuming waited alone, except for Ying.

“Go away,” Madame Wu told Ying, “and come back a little later.”

She did not want to take Ch’iuming into the house. The air in the court was still and cool. The late purple orchids were blooming under the lanterns. Meng today had brought her the first seedpods of lotus. The white flesh inside the pods was scentless and the taste bland.

She sat down after the guests were gone and took up one of the big soft pods. Ch’iuming stood half drooping, hesitating.

“Please seat yourself,” Madame Wu said. “I have been thinking of these lotus seeds. While we talk we will eat them.”

But Ch’iuming said, “I will not eat, I thank you.”

“I will eat then and listen,” Madame Wu replied. Her delicate hands tore the pod apart. These hands of Madame Wu’s always looked as though they had no strength in them. But they had strength. The pith inside the pod was tough fiber, yet it gave way beneath her fingers and she plucked out of it one of the many seeds it hid. With her small sharp teeth, which were as sound today as they had been when they grew, she peeled the green skin from the white flesh.

“Let me peel them for you,” Ch’iuming begged.

But Madame Wu felt a distaste for Ch’iuming’s hands against the meat she wanted in her own mouth. “Let me do this for myself,” she said, and as though Ch’iuming read something beyond the words, she did not offer again.

And while Ch’iuming sat watching this tearing apart of the pod, and this peeling of the nuts within, and while she heard Madame Wu’s teeth breaking the crisp meats, neither spoke. Then suddenly as though her hunger were assuaged, Madame Wu threw down the ruined seedpod upon the stones.

“You are with child,” she said abruptly. She used the common words of the common woman.

Ch’iuming looked up at her. “I have happiness in me,” she acknowledged. She used the words which women in a great house use when an heir is expected.