Pearl Buck - Peony

Then Peony took from her own bosom the poem she had written and she read it aloud in a soft sweet voice.

“ Within the lotus bud the dew drop waited.

At dawn the sun looked down and found her there.

He lifted her and set her on a cloud

And made her queen to rule the skies with him .”

“Give it to me,” Kueilan exclaimed. Her small face was lit with delight and she followed the four lines with the tip of her tiny forefinger. “I wish I had written it,” she said wistfully.

“Lady, I give it to you,” Peony said. “It is yours, as if you had made it.”

“Will you never tell him I did not write it?” the spoiled child asked.

“Never,” Peony promised. “But, Lady, copy it in your own handwriting,” she suggested.

“Chu Ma, fetch my brush and ink and my silk paper,” Kueilan commanded.

She sat in silence like a small reigning queen, allowing Peony to stand. When Chu Ma had brought the brush the young lady with much ado and ceremony made ready to write and then did write, her pink tongue between her lips, until she had copied the poem upon the silken paper, and had folded it intricately. Then she gave it to Peony.

“Take this to him,” she said, and waved her hands in dismissal.

Peony bowed her head, exchanged looks with Chu Ma, and went away.

Now had she gone the way she came she might have passed through this house unseen by any except Kueilan and Chu Ma. But Peony had curiosity as well as wit, and so she did not go as she came. Instead she told herself she would see this famous house while she was here, and especially the great lotus pool that was said to be in the central court. There she went, stopped only now and then by a servant who asked her what she did. She answered coolly that she had brought a message to the young mistress and was looking for the front gate. “This place is so vast I am lost,” she said laughing.

So she went on until she saw a round moon gate, and there she guessed was the central court. She tiptoed to the gate and looked in and saw a most beautiful garden. It was floored with green tiles and in the center was a long pool, and in this pool lotus leaves were pushing up their pointed buds. Around the walls stood peach trees and plums and the scarlet flowers of the pomegranate were in full bloom. Among them bamboos waved their fernlike fronds and little birds flew here and there, and looking up Peony saw far above her, over the high walls, a fine net spread to hold the birds.

She forgot everything, and stepping inside the gate, she walked softly to the pool and gazed into it. The water was clear between the lotus plants and gold and silver fish played among them. In the midst of her pleasure she heard a man’s voice.

“Little Sister, where have you come from?”

Peony was startled and she looked up, and there stood the master of the house, Kung Chen himself. Now she must explain why she was here. She smiled deeply enough to make the two dimples in her cheeks appear and she said, “I was sent from the home of Ezra to fetch a pattern for embroidery, and then, wicked one that I am, I could not resist the temptation to come and see this court, of which I have often heard. Indeed, everyone has heard of it. Please, sir, forgive me.”

Kung Chen stroked his chin and smiled. His face was round and kind and his small eyes were pleasant. He had thick placid lips and a broad flat nose. On this spring day he wore a gray brocaded silk robe, and since he was at ease in his home, he had no jacket or hat. On his feet were white silk socks and black velvet shoes. On his two thumbs he wore heavy jade rings and in his left hand he carried a silver water pipe. His eyebrows were scattered and scanty and his face was shaven, and this smoothness gave his full face a bland and open look.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said kindly. “Enjoy the garden and the pool as long as you like. I come here at this hour every day when I have eaten, so that I may look at my fish.”

He pointed the mouthpiece of his pipe toward the water, and she looked into the clear depths where the fish swam serene and gay.

“How happy they are!” she said plaintively. “Here in your house even they are safe and well fed.”

“Have you fish at your master’s mansion?” he asked.

It seemed an idle question, but Peony recognized it for what it was, the beginning of other questions.

“Oh, yes,” she answered at once, “we have pools and fish and we feed them. We have also Small Dog.”

Kung Chen filled his pipe and took two puffs. “Birds are the best,” he murmured. “They are beautiful to look at, they sing pleasantly, and when one takes them into the bamboo grove, they attract other birds. Every evening at sunset I bring my singing thrush to the bamboos, and after I have fed it fresh meat it sings and other birds gather on the net. I sit so still they think I am a stone.”

“How pleasant!” Peony said.

“It is at such moments that the best of life is lived,” he replied simply.

She waited. Between them was all the distance of their differing sex and age and station. But there was no embarrassment. She felt his ageless simplicity, his complete hard wisdom, and suddenly she trusted him. She said, still gazing into the pool, “I did not tell you the truth, Honored One.”

His small eyes sparkled with laughter but he did not laugh aloud. “I know you did not,” he replied.

She stole a glance at him and laughed with him.

“Tell me now,” he suggested. “After all, you and I — are we not Chinese?”

She could not approach truth directly. “Sir, have you hatred against the foreigners?”

He opened his eyes. “Why should I hate anyone?” he asked in surprise. He paused and then proceeded amiably. “To hate another human being is to take a worm into one’s own vitals. It consumes life.”

“I will ask another question,” Peony said.

“Why not?” Kung Chen asked, still very amiably.

“Would you give your daughter to a foreign house?” she asked.

“Ha!” Kung Chen said. He took two more puffs of his pipe. “Why not?” he asked again. He knocked the ash from his pipe. “Now let me proceed for you,” he said. “Your house has a young master, and I have plenty of daughters. I take it my Little Three is nearest his age. I have good business with your elder master. He brings me goods from abroad that others cannot buy. My shops alone carry the goods. I shall soon have an exclusive contract — for which I shall pay much money, it is true. Were we related even in the outside fashion through my daughter, it would be good business. But — I am not a man to sacrifice my daughter for business. Therefore let us speak of rectitude and philosophy. When foreigners come into a nation, the best way is to make them no longer foreign. That is to say, let us marry our young together and let there be children. War is costly, love is cheap.”

Now Peony cast aside all modesty. She admired Kung Chen very much and she felt proud to think he was her countryman. What he had said was wise and good. So she went on: “My young master saw the Third Young Lady a few days ago and he has not been able to eat or sleep since.”

“Good,” Kung Chen replied easily.

“He has written her a poem,” Peony went on.

“Naturally,” Kung Chen said.

“She has also written him a poem,” Peony said.

At this Kung Chen looked astonished. “My Little Three cannot write poems,” he declared. “When I bade the tutor teach her to write poems with the others, he complained that her mind was only a butterfly.”

Peony blushed. “I helped her,” she confessed.

Kung Chen laughed. “Ah-ha!” he exclaimed. “Do you have the poem with you?”

Upon this Peony produced the poem, and he spread it out on his soft fat palm and read it aloud, in a half singing voice. “Very good — for the purpose,” he announced. “But I see you have not written the proper radical for the word ‘rule.’ ” He pointed out the word with the stem of his pipe.