The Red Chamber (14 page)

“Can you get me something to eat, there’s a dear,” he whispers in her ear.

“How can I? I’m afraid she’ll wake up if I stop,” Silver whispers back. “Besides, I’m the one who needs a drink. I’ve been massaging her legs for the last hour and a half.”

“I’ll get you some tea from the other room.”

“How can I drink it?” she pouts. “I can’t use my hands.”

“I’ll hold the cup for you.”

“No, that’s all right. Now if I could only have something to suck on, to wet my mouth …”

He remembers the Fragrant Snow lozenges that he carries in a little embroidered purse attached to his sash. He takes one out. She sees it, and opens her mouth, shutting her eyes. The sight of her red lips parting to reveal her little pink tongue arouses him, and on an impulse he leans forward and gives her lips a quick kiss before popping the lozenge between them.

She opens her eyes at him. “Why did you do that?” She speaks coyly,
with pretended innocence. She shuts her eyes and begins to suck on the lozenge, a little smile puckering the corners of her mouth.

He can tell that she is pleased by his kiss. It takes away his embarrassment, and goads him to go further. He leans close to her again. “Shall I ask Granny if I can have you, so we can be together?” he whispers jokingly.

Silver does not say anything, her eyes still closed.

“I’ll ask her about it when she wakes up,” he adds.

She opens her eyes and looks directly into his. She gives a little shrug, and says, “
‘Yours is yours, wherever it be,’
as they said to the lady who dropped her gold pin in the well.” The expression in her eyes, a frank mixture of appraisal and desire, almost frightens him, and he draws back a little.

Lady Jia sits up and deals Silver a ringing slap across her face. “You little whore! So this is how you talk to Baoyu when you think no one is around! How can a young boy keep himself decent with someone like you giving him ideas?”

Baoyu is so startled by Granny’s fury that for a moment he cannot think of what to say. Silver bursts into tears, nursing her red cheek with one hand. He starts to explain, “We were just joking.”

“Oh, no.” Lady Jia does not even look at him. “What this young lady said was no joke. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? After working here so long, after all that I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me—”

What she says strikes Baoyu as all wrong. Silver has slaved faithfully for Granny for almost ten years. How can Granny treat her like this? Silver does not protest. She weeps and apologizes as Granny upbraids her.

He tries again. “You shouldn’t blame her. It was my fault for flirting with her.”

Granny looks at him this time, and for a brief instant he thinks he sees dislike in her eyes. “I’m sending for your mother to take you away,” she tells Silver.

Silver falls down on her knees with a little cry. “Beat me or call me names, I don’t mind. But please don’t dismiss me! I have served you for ten years. How will I have the face to see people if you dismiss me now?” She had looked so charming only a short time before, but now she is red-eyed and distraught, her face distorted by weeping. She seems to have forgotten his presence.

“What is the matter?” Snowgoose comes in carrying a small packet of medicine.

“Send for Mrs. Bai, Silver’s mother,” Granny tells her.

“Why on earth?”

Silver falls on her knees before Snowgoose, begging her to intercede with Granny on her behalf.

As Silver tells what passed between her and Baoyu, what seemed innocent and playful now seems dirty, and he is overcome by shame. He tries to defend Silver one last time. “Please, Granny. We didn’t mean any harm. Please don’t dismiss Silver.”

“You stay out of it,” Granny says. There is no mistaking her hostility.

Now Granny is calling Silver names again, while Snowgoose tries to reason with her. He slips out of the room, unable to bear the shrill voices and tears. He blames himself, but does not know how to fix the situation.

Lian had told Ping’er that he would be having dinner with friends, but would return afterwards. As soon as dinner at Lady Jia’s is cleared, Xifeng hurries to her own apartments to prepare for his return. She rubs coarse salt on her teeth, and chews a clove to sweeten her breath. She scrubs her face and redoes her makeup with a lighter hand, rubbing her lips with almond oil to make them look soft and full. Finally, she goes to her bedroom and strips off her clothes. She stands in front of the wardrobe, puzzling over what to wear. In the end she chooses a tight peach-pink sleeveless tunic with a low-cut neckline in the shape of a
pipa
guitar, and a pair of loose trousers in ivy-green brocade.

She trips out to the front room, her feet thrust into a pair of high-heeled slippers. The food she has ordered from the kitchens has arrived. She opens the food boxes. All Lian’s favorites are there—pine-nut rolls, goose-fat dumplings, tiny sesame-seed cakes fried in the shapes of flowers—as well as ordinary drinking snacks: roasted melon seeds, dried plums, anise-scented beans. Two kinds of wine are warming on the brazier. She is just blowing out a lamp when she hears Lian’s footsteps outside. She pours out a full cup of
samshoo
and greets him.

“Where’s Ping’er?” he asks.

“Have some
samshoo
.” She ignores his question. “This is the ‘Red Dew’
samshoo
that the Countess of Xining sent us from Shaoxing last year. I decided to open the cask.”

She holds the cup to his lips. He swallows a mouthful.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.” He nods. “Where’s Ping’er?” he asks again.

“Out,” she says over her shoulder as she climbs onto the
kang
. She nips a pine-nut roll onto a plate and offers it to him.

Instead of using the chopsticks, he takes it between his thumb and index finger and bites into it. He has always had a weakness for deep-fried foods.

“It’s late for her to be out,” he says with his mouth full.

“She’s a big girl. She’s allowed to be out late if she wants to.” She points to his oil-slicked fingers laughingly. “At least sit down and use chopsticks!”

He perches on the edge of the
kang
instead of climbing up and settling himself on the cushions. She kneels beside the food boxes and puts a selection of the snacks on a plate.

“Just one more.” He grabs a goose-fat dumpling with his fingers and washes it down with the rest of the
samshoo
. He gets up and walks towards Ping’er’s bedroom.

“Aren’t you going to have any more?”

“I don’t want to eat too much,” he says over his shoulder. “It’s ‘Fatty’ Jin’s birthday, and I told him I’d stop by.”

She climbs off the
kang
and hurries after him. He is already unwinding his sash before the open door of the wardrobe. It surprises her to see how full the wardrobe is, how many of his clothes have imperceptibly migrated from her own bedroom to this one, where Ping’er keeps them immaculately laundered and pressed. He selects a peacock-blue sash and puts it around his waist.

“Here, let me do that for you.” Standing behind him, she wraps her arms about his waist, smoothing the heavy silk against his torso. She presses her body against his back and lets one hand travel from his belly to his chest, while the other slides downward towards his groin.

“I can do it myself.” He takes the two ends of the sash, but she holds on to him, her hand slipping under his gown and sliding over his thigh, in its thin trouser. She rubs his thigh and his buttock, her fingers splayed over his bulging muscles. Then she trails her fingers down the inside of his leg towards his crotch.

“I’d better go.” This time he steps firmly out of her grasp.

“It’s still early. They won’t expect you for another hour or two at Jin’s house,” she says, a little breathlessly, steadying herself on the door of the wardrobe.

“You know the saying: ‘Go out early and come home early.’ ” He ties the sash without looking at her.

“This wine is a lot better than anything you’ll get there. Why don’t you have another cup?”

“No, thank you.” His politeness chills her. He straightens his gown beneath the sash and moves towards the bedroom door.

She cannot help herself. “Can’t even spend an evening at home with your wife—” she begins, her voice shriller than she intended, following him out to the front room. She stops herself. It will not help for her to seem like a nag. He strides out without a backward glance.

She is alone. Suddenly she feels how cold she is in her thin clothes, with her arms and neck uncovered. She wraps her arms around herself. She wants Ping’er to come back, so she has someone to complain to about Lian. It is not even ten o’clock, and Ping’er had said that she would try to stay out as late as possible. She wraps a robe about her shoulders, looking around the empty room: the decanters and cups arranged on a tray, the kettles of wine still steaming on the brazier. Most of the food boxes have not been touched.

It comforts her to pretend to herself that she has ordered all these things for her own enjoyment, that she is pleased that she will get them all to herself. “Mmm,” she murmurs in the silent room, opening the boxes. She is fond of wine, but never gets to drink much, for fear of what people would say. Now is her chance to drink all she wants. She kicks off her uncomfortable shoes, climbing onto the
kang
. She rearranges the cushions, and settles herself beside the table of food.

She pours a full cup of
samshoo
for herself. She sips it. It is hot and sweet and burns her throat. She takes a bigger mouthful, and grabs a handful of sesame cakes, letting the crumbs shower onto the red Kashmiri rug covering the
kang
. She takes a flat black melon seed and cracks it open between her front teeth. When she was a little girl, she had developed a slight gap between her front teeth from eating so many of them. She still finds it deeply relaxing: positioning the shell perfectly, biting down with just enough force to split the two halves apart, and then nibbling the tiny flat kernel; but now she never has time to sit still for so long. She eyes a goose-fat dumpling. She never eats foods like that for fear of pimples, but decides that one can’t hurt. The dumpling’s meaty juices ooze in her mouth. She finishes her wine, and pours herself another cup. Even though her head now feels unpleasantly warm, at the same time she feels strangely comfortable, as if her body is melting into the cushions
beneath her. It really is good wine, she thinks, letting it play over her tongue. Rich and complex, not like that yellow rotgut that Lian drinks.

She picks up the kettle to pour herself more
samshoo
. To her surprise, it is almost empty. She pours herself a cup from the other kettle. When she tastes this, she is a little surprised by how strong it is. It is different from the
samshoo
. Not as rich, as soft in her mouth, but somehow cleaner and sharper. She drinks a little, then eats a few melon seeds. She drinks a little more. Because this wine is so much stronger, she must eat more to get it down. She reaches for another goose-fat dumpling. Lian won’t look at her anyway. After the second bite, she becomes aware of a slight queasiness. She puts the cup down, thinking that she must take a rest. Her head spinning, she has to reach a hand out to stop herself from toppling forward onto her face. She eases herself down among the cushions.

She opens her eyes, startled out of a heavy sleep. Something is pressing against her face. She raises her head, and sees that she is lying facedown on the
kang
, with a porcelain spoon against her cheek. Her head is pounding, her mouth dry. With a groan she pushes herself to a sitting position amid the jumble of pillows and dirty dishes. She turns her stiff neck painfully and rubs her eyes. Though the lamp is still burning, she can see the faint dawn light through the paper windows.

She looks around vaguely, wondering what woke her, and then hears a cough, followed by retching and a muffled gurgle. Someone is vomiting. Despite how awful she feels, she almost laughs out loud. So Lian has drunk himself sick somewhere and has come crawling home at sunrise. So much for “Go out early and come home early!” She listens to him gasp for breath, and then begin to retch again. She raises herself off the
kang
to make some jibe. He is squatting in the corner of the room, doubled over the chamber pot.

Suddenly she realizes that it is Ping’er, not Lian. Ping’er retches again, and then turns her face halfway towards Xifeng. She looks like a wild animal crouching there, her hair hanging about her white face in damp strands. Ping’er grips the chamber pot and vomits again, and Xifeng understands.

15

By the time Jia Zheng arrives home from the Ministry, it is almost nine o’clock. After his long day, he does not feel equal to seeing his mother, and goes straight to his own apartments, hoping that his concubine Auntie Zhao has had the sense to set aside something for him to eat. He finds her on the
kang
talking to Huan.

“She wouldn’t stop crying and defending herself, and she hasn’t had a bite to eat or drink since she came home …” she says. Huan is seated at a small
kang
table, bending over to slurp from a big bowl of noodles. The spicy smell of the noodles reaches Jia Zheng’s nose, making his mouth water.