Pearl Buck - East Wind - West Wind

That night, after the feasting and bantering laughter had ended, I sat alone upon the couch in the bridal chamber. I was stifled with my fear. The hour I had imagined and dreaded and longed for all my life was come — the hour when for the first time my husband looked on my face, and we were alone together. My cold hands were pressed against each other in my lap. Then he came in, still so tall and somber in those dark foreign clothes. He came to me at once, and in silence he lifted the veil from my face and looked long upon me. Thus he acknowledged me. Then he took one of my cold hands. The wisdom of my mother had taught me thus:

“Be chill, rather than warm. Be the tang of wine rather than the surfeiting sweetness of honey. Then his desire will never fail.”

Therefore I was reluctant to give him my hand. Instantly he withdrew his own and gazed at me in silence. Then he began to speak with grave earnestness. At first I could not comprehend his words for the marvel of his voice in my ears, a quiet, deep man’s voice that made my body flush with shyness. Then I caught his words with astonishment. What was he saying?

“It is not to be supposed that you would be drawn to me whom you behold for the first time, as I behold you also. You have been forced into this marriage as much as I have. We have been helpless in this matter until now. Yet now that we are alone we may create our life according to our own desires. For myself, I wish to follow the new ways. I wish to regard you in all things as my equal. I shall never force you to anything. You are not my possession — my chattel. You may be my friend, if you will.”

These were the words I heard on my bridal night. At first I was amazed beyond understanding of their meaning. I equal to him? But why? Was I not his wife? If he did not tell me what to do, then who would? Was he not my master by law? No one had forced me to marry him — what else could I do if I did not marry? And how could I marry except as my parents arranged it? Whom could I marry if not the man to whom I had been betrothed all my life? It was all according to our custom. I did not see wherein lay any force.

Then his words burned again in my ears. “You have been forced into this as much as I have.” I was suddenly faint with fear. Did he mean to say he did not wish to be married to me?

O My Sister, such anguish — such bitter pain!

I began to twist my hands in my lap, not daring to speak, not knowing how to reply. He placed one of his hands over both of mine, and we were silent for a while. But I only wished that he would take his hand away. I felt his eyes on my face. At last he spoke, his voice low and bitter,

“It is as I feared. You will not — cannot — show me your real mind. You dare not break away from what you have been taught you should say and do at this time. Listen to me — I do not ask you to speak. But I beg of you this small token. If you are willing to try the new path with me, bend your head a little lower.”

He watched me closely; I could feel his hand pressing down steadily. What did he mean? Why could not things proceed in the expected way? I was ready to be his wife. I desired to be the mother of sons. Oh, then my sorrow began — this heaviness that never leaves me by day or night! I knew not what to do. And in my despair and ignorance I bent my head.

“I am grateful,” he said, rising to his feet and removing his hand. “Rest quietly in this chamber. Remember you will have nothing to fear, now or ever. Be at peace. I will sleep this night in the little chamber adjoining.”

He turned swiftly and went away.

O Kwan-yin, Goddess of Mercy, pity me — pity me! Such a child — so young, so terrified in my loneliness! Never had I slept away from my home before. Now to lie in solitude, knowing at last that I found no favor in his eyes!

I ran to the door, thinking in my wildness that I might escape and return to my mother’s home. But my hand upon the heavy iron bar recalled me. For me there could never be any return. Even though by miracle I escaped through the unknown courtyards of my new home, there was the strange street; even though by miracle I found my way to the familiar gate, it would never open to receive me. If my voice moved the old gateman so that he allowed me to stumble through the doors of my childhood, my mother would be there waiting to send me back to my duty. I could see her, inexorable, sorrowful, commanding my instant return to my husband’s house. I no longer belonged to her family.

I took off the wedding garment slowly then and folded it away. I sat for a long time on the edge of the great curtained bed, fearing to creep into the shadows within. His words tumbled madly about in my mind without meaning. At last tears rushed to my eyes, and I huddled under the coverings and sobbed for weary hours until a restless sleep fell lightly upon me.

At dawn I waked, at first in wonder as I saw the strange room, and then with a rush of miserable memory. I arose hastily and dressed myself. When the servant came in with the hot water, she smiled and glanced inquiringly about. I drew myself straight. I was glad I had learned dignity of my mother. At least no one should know that I had not pleased my husband. I said,

“Take the water to your master. He robes himself in the inner chamber.”

I clothed myself proudly in brocade of crimson, and I hung gold in my ears.

A moon of days has passed since we met, My Sister! My life is confused with strange events.

We have moved away from his ancestral home! He dared to say that his honored mother was autocratic and that he would not have his wife a servant in the home.

It all came from a small matter indeed. When the wedding festivities were over, I presented myself to his mother thus: I rose early and, calling a slave, I desired her to bring hot water and I poured it into a brass basin and then, the slave proceeding before me, I went into the presence of my husband’s mother. Bowing, I said to her,

“I beg that the honorable one will consent to refresh herself with bathing in this hot water.”

She lay in her bed, a huge, mountainous mass under the satin quilts. I dared not look at her as she sat up to lave her hands and face. When she had finished she motioned me without speaking to remove the basin and withdraw. I do not know whether my hand caught in the heavy silken curtains of the bed, or whether — being frightened — my hand shook, so that when I lifted the basin it tipped, and a little water spilled upon the bed. I felt my blood stop with fright. My mother-in-law cried angrily in a hoarse voice,

“Now then! What is this for a daughter-in-law!”

I knew I must not speak to excuse myself. I turned therefore and bearing the basin unsteadily because of tears blinding my eyes, I went out from her presence. When I stepped from the door my husband was there, passing by, and I saw that for some reason he was angry. I feared that he would blame me because on the first occasion I did not please his mother. I could not lift my hands to wipe my tears off, and I felt them gather and break and run down my cheeks. I murmured foolishly like a child,

“The basin was slippery—”

But he interrupted me.

“I do not blame you. But I will have no more of this servant’s work for my wife. My mother has a hundred slaves!”

I tried to tell him then that I wished to give his mother the proper obedience. My mother has instructed me carefully in all those attentions due from a daughter-in-law to the mother of her husband. I rise politely and remain standing in her presence. I lead her to the most honorable seat. I rinse her tea-bowl and pour slowly the freshly infused green tea and present it carefully with both hands. I may refuse her nothing. I must cherish her as my own mother, and her reproaches, however unjust, I must bear in silence. I am prepared to subject myself to her in all things. But his determination was fixed. He heeded nothing I said.