The Good Earth (26 page)

When there was a thing to be done, Cuckoo smelled the money in it as a rat smells tallow, and she wiped her hands upon her apron and she said quickly,

“I am ready to serve the master.”

Wang Lung was doubtful, and doubting, he looked at her crafty face, but Lotus said gaily,

“And that is true, and Cuckoo shall go and ask the man Liu, and he knows her well and the thing can be done, for Cuckoo is clever enough, and she shall have the match-maker’s fee, if it is well done.”

“That will I do!” said Cuckoo heartily and she laughed as she thought of the fee of good silver on her palm, and she untied her apron from her waist and she said busily, “Now and at once will I go, for the meat is ready except for the moment of cooking and the vegetables are washed.”

But Wang Lung had not pondered the matter sufficiently and it was not to be decided so quickly as this and he called out,

“No, and I have decided nothing. I must think of the matter for some days and I will tell you what I think.”

The women were impatient, Cuckoo for the silver and Lotus because it was a new thing and she would hear something new to amuse her, but Wang Lung went out, saying,

“No, it is my son and I will wait.”

And so he might have waited for many days, thinking of this and that, had not one early morning, the lad, his eldest son, come home in the dawn with his face hot and red with wine drinking, and his breath was fetid and his feet unsteady. Wang Lung heard him stumbling in the court and he ran out to see who it was, and the lad was sick and vomited before him, for he was unaccustomed to more than the pale mild wine they made from their own rice fermented, and he fell and lay on the ground in his vomit like a dog.

Wang Lung was frightened and he called for O-lan, and together they lifted the lad up and O-lan washed him and laid him upon the bed in her own room, and before she was finished with him the lad was asleep and heavy as one dead and could answer nothing to what his father asked.

Then Wang Lung went into the room where the two boys slept together, and the younger was yawning and stretching and tying his books into a square cloth to carry to school, and Wang Lung said to him,

“Was your elder brother not in the bed with you last night?”

And the boy answered unwillingly,

“No.”

There was some fear in his look and Wang Lung, seeing it, cried out at him roughly,

“Where was he gone?” and when the boy would not answer, he took him by the neck and shook him and cried, “Now tell me all, you small dog!”

The boy was frightened at this, and he broke out sobbing and crying and said between his sobs,

“And Elder Brother said I was not to tell you and he said he would pinch me and burn me with a hot needle if I told and if I do not tell he gives me pence.”

And Wang Lung, beside himself at this, shouted out,

“Tell what, you who ought to die?”

And the boy looked about him and said desperately, seeing that his father would choke him if he did not answer,

“He has been away three nights altogether, but what he does I do not know, except that he goes with the son of your uncle, our cousin.”

Wang Lung loosed his hand then from the boy’s neck and he flung him aside and he strode forth into his uncle’s rooms, and there he found his uncle’s son, hot and red of face with wine, even as his own son, but steadier of foot, for the young man was older and accustomed to the ways of men. Wang Lung shouted at him,

“Where have you led my son?”

And the young man sneered at Wang Lung and he said,

“Ah, that son of my cousin’s needs no leading. He can go alone.”

But Wang Lung repeated it and this time he thought to himself that he would kill this son of his uncle’s now, this impudent scampish face, and he cried in a terrible voice,

“Where has my son been this night?”

Then the young man was frightened at the sound of his voice and he answered sullenly and unwillingly, dropping his impudent eyes,

“He was at the house of the whore who lives in the court that once belonged to the great house.”

When Wang Lung heard this he gave a great groan, for the whore was one well known of many men and none went to her except poor and common men, for she was no longer young and she was willing to give much for little. Without stopping for food he went out of his gate and across his fields, and for once he saw nothing of what grew on his land, and noted nothing of how the crop promised, because of the trouble his son had brought to him. He went with his eyes fixed inward, and he went through the gate of the wall about the town, and he went to the house that had been great.

The heavy gates were swung back widely now, and none ever closed them upon their thick iron hinges, for any who would might come and go in these days, and he went in, and the courts and the rooms were filled with common people, who rented the rooms, a family of common people to a room. The place was filthy and the old pines hewed down and those left standing were dying, and the pools in the courts were choked with refuse.

But he saw none of this. He stood in the court of the first house and he called out,

“Where is the woman called Yang, who is a whore?”

There was a woman there who sat on a three-legged stool, sewing at a shoe sole, and she lifted her head and nodded toward a side door opening on the court and she took up her sewing again, as though many times she had been asked this question by men.

Wang Lung went to the door and he beat on it, and a fretful voice answered,

“Now go away, for I am done my business for this night and must sleep, since I work all night.”

But he beat again, and the voice cried out, “Who is it?”

He would not answer, but he beat yet again, for he would go in whether or not, and at last he heard a shuffling and a woman opened the door, a woman none too young and with a weary face and hanging, thick lips, and coarse white paint on her forehead and red paint she had not washed from her mouth and cheeks, and she looked at him and said sharply,

“Now I cannot before tonight and if you like you may come as early as you will then in the night, but now I must sleep.”

But Wang Lung broke roughly into her talking, for the sight of her sickened him and the thought of his son here he could not bear, and he said,

“It is not for myself—I do not need such as you. It is for my son.”

And he felt suddenly in his throat a thickening of weeping for his son. Then the woman asked,

“Well, and what of your son?”

And Wang Lung answered and his voice trembled,

“He was here last night.”

“There were many sons of men here last night,” replied the woman, “and I do not know which was yours.”

Then Wang Lung said, beseeching her,

“Think and remember a little slight young lad, tall for his years, but not yet a man, and I did not dream he dared to try a woman.”

And she, remembering, answered,

“Were there two, and was one a young fellow with his nose turned to the sky at the end and a look in his eye of knowing everything, and his hat over one ear? And the other, as you say, a tall big lad, but eager to be a man!”

And Wang Lung said, “Yes—yes—that is he—that is my son!”

“And what of your son?” said the woman.

Then Wang Lung said earnestly,

“This: if he ever comes again, put him off—say you desire men only—say what you will—but every time you put him off I will give you twice the fee of silver on your palm!”

The woman laughed then and carelessly and she said in sudden good humor,

“And who would not say aye to this, to be paid for not working? And so I say aye also. It is true enough that I desire men and little boys are small pleasure.” And she nodded at Wang Lung as she spoke and leered at him and he was sickened at her coarse face and he said hastily,

“So be it, then.”

He turned quickly and he walked home, and as he walked he spat and spat again to rid him of his sickness at the memory of the woman.

On this day, therefore, he said to Cuckoo,

“Let it be as you said. Go to the grain merchant and arrange the matter. Let the dowry be good but not too great if the girl is suitable and if it can be arranged.”

When he had said this to Cuckoo he went back to the room and he sat beside his sleeping son and he brooded, for he saw how fair and young the boy lay there, and he saw the quiet face, asleep and smooth with its youth. Then when he thought of the weary painted woman and her thick lips, his heart swelled with sickness and anger and he sat there muttering to himself.

And as he sat O-lan came in and stood looking at the boy, and she saw the clear sweat standing on his skin and she brought vinegar in warm water and washed the sweat away gently, as they used to wash the young lords in the great house when they drank too heavily. Then seeing the delicate childish face and the drunken sleep that even the washing would not awaken, Wang Lung rose and went in his anger to his uncle’s room, and he forgot the brother of his father and he remembered only that this man was father to the idle, impudent young man who had spoiled his own fair son, and he went in and he shouted,

“Now I have harbored an ungrateful nest of snakes and they have bitten me!”

His uncle was sitting leaning over a table eating his breakfast, for he never rose until midday, seeing there was no work he had to do, and he looked up at these words and he said lazily,

“How now?”

Then Wang Lung told him, half-choking, what had happened, but his uncle only laughed and he said,

“Well, and can you keep a boy from becoming a man? And can you keep a young dog from a stray bitch?”

When Wang Lung heard this laughter he remembered in one crowded space of time all that he had endured because of his uncle; how of old his uncle had tried to force him to the selling of his land, and how they lived here, these three, eating and drinking and idle, and how his uncle’s wife ate of the expensive foods Cuckoo bought for Lotus, and now how his uncle’s son had spoiled his own fair lad, and he bit his tongue between his teeth and he said,

“Now out of my house, you and yours, and no more rice will there be for any of you from this hour, and I will burn the house down rather than have it shelter you, who have no gratitude even in your idleness!”

But his uncle sat where he was and ate on, now from this bowl and now from that, and Wang Lung stood there bursting with his blood, and when he saw his uncle paid no heed to him, he stepped forward with his arm upraised. Then the uncle turned and said,

“Drive me out if you dare.”

And when Wang Lung stammered and blustered, not understanding, “Well—and what—well and what—” his uncle opened his coat and showed him what was against its lining.

Then Wang Lung stood still and rigid, for he saw there a false beard of red hair and a length of red cloth, and Wang Lung stared at these things, and the anger went out of him like water and he shook because there was no strength left in him.

Now these things, the red beard and the red length of cloth were sign and symbol of a band of robbers who lived and marauded toward the northwest, and many houses had they burned and women they had carried away, and good farmers they had bound with ropes to the threshold of their own houses and men found them there next day, raving mad if they lived and burnt and crisp as roasted meat if they were dead. And Wang Lung stared and his eyes hung out of his head, and he turned and went away without a word. And as he went he heard his uncle’s whispered laughter as he stooped again over his rice bowl.

Now Wang Lung found himself in such a coil as he had never dreamed of. His uncle came and went as before, grinning a little under the sparse and scattered hairs of his grey beard, his robes wrapped and girdled about his body as carelessly as ever, and Wang Lung sweated chilly when he saw him but he dared not speak anything except courteous words for fear of what his uncle might do to him. It was true that during all these years of his prosperity and especially during the years when there were no harvests or only very little and other men had starved with their children, never had bandits come to his house and his lands, although he had many times been afraid and had barred the doors stoutly at night. Until the summer of his love he had dressed himself coarsely and had avoided the appearance of wealth, and when among the villagers he heard stories of marauding he came home and slept fitfully and listened for sounds out of the night.

But the robbers never came to his house and he grew careless and bold and he believed he was protected by heaven and that he was a man of good fortune by destiny, and he grew heedless of everything, even of incense of the gods, since they were good enough to him without, and he thought of nothing except of his own affairs and of his land. And now suddenly he saw why he had been safe and why he would be safe so long as he fed the three of his uncle’s house. When he thought of this he sweated heavy cold sweat, and he dared to tell no one what his uncle hid in his bosom.

But to his uncle he said no more of leaving the house, and to his uncle’s wife he said with what urging he could muster,

“Eat what you like in the inner courts and here is a bit of silver to spend.”

And to his uncle’s son he said, although the gorge rose in his throat, yet he said,

“Here is a bit of silver, for young men will play.”

But his own son Wang Lung watched and he would not allow him to leave the courts after sundown, although the lad grew angry and flung himself about and slapped the younger children for nothing except his own ill-humor. So was Wang Lung encompassed about with his troubles.

At first Wang Lung could not work for thinking of all the trouble that had befallen him, and he thought of this trouble and that, and he thought, “I could turn my uncle out and I could move inside the city wall where they lock the great gates every night against robbers,” but then he remembered that every day he must come to work on his fields, and who could tell what might happen to him as he worked defenseless, even on his own land? Moreover, how could a man live locked in a town and in a house in the town, and he would die if he were cut off from his land. There would surely come a bad year, moreover, and even the town could not withstand robbers, as it had not in the past when the great house fell.