Pearl Buck - Peony

Kung Chen, left alone, sitting as motionless as a stone lion, for a long time considered what the old man had told him. He still wished to know why it was that Jews were killed, for he did not want to put his Little Three into the danger of becoming a widow. But even more than that, he wanted to know whether there were something hateful in these people, something that he did not see. He thought about Ezra, and he could not find anything in that hearty, good-natured, clever merchant that could be hated. Somewhat coarse, perhaps, not very learned, laughter too loud, but otherwise Ezra was a man as common as other men and as easily understood.

But was Ezra like his people? What of his wife and son? What of the strange old priest, blind, and yet able, the city gossips said, to see with the eyes of his inner ghost? This old man and his evil son now lived inside the house of Ezra, and what would they do to Ezra’s son? Some Jews indeed were strange, Yang Anwei had said.

And then Kung Chen fell into one of his musing, perceiving fits of thought. How was a man called strange? A strange animal among other animals was feared and hated for his strangeness. He was a thing apart, one marked in some fashion different from others. Was this also true of the Jews?

He made up his mind that before he decided to let his daughter marry the son of Ezra he would know what a strange Jew was, the old Rabbi and his children, and he would talk with David himself. Until then he would keep his Little Three safely in his own house. He would not marry her to make his business better.

That evening Kung Chen, Ezra, and Kao Lien met in the Stone Bridge Teahouse. The moon rose over the canal, and though the waters were foul, the moonlight turned them pure and beautiful as they flowed beneath the ancient and mighty bridge of white marble. The teahouse was so full of guests that talk was impossible, and Kung Chen called the proprietor and asked for a separate room that overlooked the canal. The man said every room was full, but when Kung Chen put a sum of money into his hand, he went away and took guests out of the best room, saying that those who had ordered it before and had delayed coming were now here.

So the three men found themselves alone in a small but cool and pleasant room just at the edge of the canal. The table was put before the wide-open window and they could look along the canal and see it winding its way among the overhanging houses.

“Will you have singing girls to amuse you?” the proprietor asked. He was a fat busy man, sweating and panting, bawling here and there and everywhere at once.

“No, for we must talk of important affairs,” Kung Chen said. Then seeing the proprietor’s downcast look, he remembered that these small pleasant rooms were used for the girls and so he said, “But you may choose three who sing well and let them sit in a little boat under the window and do their singing, and we will pay for their food and wine to the same amount that we would if they were here with us.”

The proprietor thanked him and went away, and the waiter brought in the dishes that Kung Chen had ordered earlier in the day, first the cold small dishes and then the hot small dishes, and so in order to the sweet rice in the middle and then the meats and vegetables and hot rice at the end.

Ezra loved this food. In his own house beneath his wife’s eyes he was scrupulous as to food, but when he was alone and free he ate whatever was praised by his host, and tonight his willing belly was warm and waiting.

Kung Chen was too wise to begin the evening with serious talk. He talked of the food, praised or judged the flavor of the dishes, discussed the wine, and when the sound of girls’ voices, very sweet and clear, rose from beneath the window, he lifted his hand smiling, and the three men listened.

Kung Chen watched the faces of his guests without seeming to do so. Ezra’s round face was plump and melting, his eyes were filled with swimming pleasure, and his full lips smiled. But Kao Lien’s long narrow face did not change. He sat straight, his tall lean figure unbending, and he ate sparingly of the food that Kung Chen put upon his plate. He did not join in the talk, and in proud acknowledgment that he was not quite the equal of the other two he had taken the lowest seat opposite the window. But upon his face the moonlight shone most clear, for Kung Chen had commanded the waiter to put the candles in a corner so that they would not spoil the moon.

So through the evening; and as the courses came and went, skillfully Kung Chen led the talk. Each time the songs floated up from the canal, he fell silent and listening, and after every song Ezra was more open and more ready for warm friendship. But Kao Lien stayed always the same.

At last, when the feast was nearly over and fresh hot wine had been brought, a small pewter jug for each, Kung Chen told the waiter that the girls should be silent for a while, but that at midnight they might come into the room and sing their last song for the sake of kindness. He gave the waiter money for more wine for the singers, and then the door was closed and the room silent.

Kung Chen turned at once to Kao Lien. “On your travels, Elder Brother, I hear that you met war in some parts of the West.”

Kao Lien answered readily in his soft composed voice, “Not war, only the persecution of my people.”

“Can you tell me why this was so?” Kung Chen asked.

Kao Lien glanced at Ezra, and Ezra, warmed with good food and delicate wines and melted with the songs, exclaimed, “Tell him anything, Brother! This good Chinese brother is our true friend.”

So Kao Lien said, “I cannot tell you why again and again through the centuries the Jews, my people, are killed. There is something strange about us.”

Something strange! These were the very words of Yang Anwei.

“Can you describe this strangeness?” Kung Chen inquired.

Kao Lien shook his head. “I am a trader and I am not a learned man. We are a people bemused with God.”

“Can you describe this god?” Kung Chen asked again.

“I sometimes wonder whether He is,” Ezra broke in. “He cannot be seen, He cannot be heard—”

“Then why do you think he exists?” Kung Chen asked.

“Our old rabbis tell us so,” Ezra said violently.

“Elder Brother,” Kao Lien said in a low voice of remonstration.

By now Ezra was a little drunk. “Let me speak, Brother!” he exclaimed. “This is my best friend, yes, though he is Chinese — ah, because he is Chinese! When I am with him I feel happy and I am not afraid — I tell you, a man’s wife can make him feel always sinful. Sin — sin — what is sin, Elder Brother?” The wine had come up in Ezra’s head and his eyes were beginning to glaze as he turned to Kung Chen with this question.

The Chinese laughed his mild, rolling laughter. “We do not have this word,” he replied.

Kao Lien said, “For us sin is to forget our God and our law.”

“Let me be as other men!” Ezra cried. He began to weep. “I have always wanted to be as others are,” he babbled. “When I was a little boy, they laughed at me — the other boys — because I was strange. I am not strange.”

“Indeed you are not,” Kung Chen said, comforting him. He perceived now that talk of business would be impossible, and he turned to Kao Lien. “Let us comfort our brother. You see how the wine has revealed to us the trouble in his heart. Shall we call in the singing girls?”

“Look at him,” Kao Lien said. They looked and saw that Ezra, always volatile and ready to change, was now beginning to sleep, his head rolling on his shoulder. There was a couch in the room, and Kung Chen rose and Kao Lien also, and together they laid Ezra on the couch. There he fell fast asleep.

“Now,” Kung Chen said, “let us talk together, you and I.”