Pearl Buck - Peony

“Because I do not know what is right,” Ezra replied.

She laughed softly at this. “You are always talking of right and wrong,” she said. Now she was pressing the soles of his feet. They were hard and broad, but supple. She went on in her cheerful way. “Yet what is right except that which makes happiness and what is wrong except that which makes sorrow?”

“You speak so because you are not confused between Heaven and earth,” he said.

“I know I belong to earth,” she said simply.

“Ah, but we belong to Heaven,” he rejoined.

Now she had finished her task and she put his shoes on his feet again. “You and I speak of Heaven and earth,” she said, “but we are thinking of something else.”

“Of what?” he asked. But he knew.

She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “We are thinking of David,” she said softly.

“You think of him, too,” Ezra said.

“I am always thinking of him,” Peony replied. Then kneeling and looking at him she decided that she would tell him everything. “I know that it is foolish of me, Master, but I love him,” she said simply.

“Of course you love him,” Ezra said, in his usual hearty voice. “You have grown up as brother and sister.”

“Yes, but we are not brother and sister,” she said. “It is not thus that I love him.”

Ezra looked uncomfortable indeed. Had he taken thought he must have known that a young, soft, pretty girl could not live and serve David without love. He remembered his own youth, when he had felt a fancy for Wang Ma. It made him blush to think of it now, for so long had she been no more than a serving woman. But he could remember very well himself about sixteen and she the same age, when she had been beautiful enough to make him tell his father that he would have no other woman. Flower of Jade had been her name. Flower of Jade! When he remembered this name something long dead stirred again. She had been prettier than Peony, her skin more fair, her frame taller, her nose straighter, and her lips more delicate.

His father had roared with laughter. “But the girl is a bondmaid!” he had shouted. “My son cannot marry a servant!”

“She will not be a servant if I make her my wife,” young Ezra had said hotly.

His father had suddenly stopped laughing. “Do not be a fool,” he had commanded his son. “What you do with a bondmaid is not my business if I do not hear of it. But your wife will be Naomi, the daughter of Judah ben Isaac.”

He had been startled. Naomi was known then among the young men of their community as the most beautiful Jewess in the city. He had been susceptible enough, vain enough, to imagine the envy of his friends when he told them. And Judah ben Isaac belonged to a family so rich that its wealth had rebuilt the synagogue after the flood in the last century. True, they had taken a Chinese surname, Shih. But Judah said it was only for business.

Ezra said to Peony, still on her knees and looking up at him, “Keep your love to yourself, my child, let there be no confusion in the house. One thing at a time, I pray.”

Thus in his own way he repeated what his father had said in his youth. To Peony it would have been folly to use the word “concubine,” for Madame Ezra would never allow her son a concubine. But Peony understood all his meaning and she remained as still as a small image, looking at him with her clear eyes, which could be so gay and which now were sad.

“David will be very unhappy if he marries Leah,” she said in a small voice.

Ezra shrugged his heavy shoulders and spread out his hands. “You will bring on my headache again,” he complained. “Go away, good child, and leave me alone.”

She saw that he would say no more. Although he would be always generous and indulgent as a master, he would refuse to remember that she was more than a bondmaid, a pretty comfort in his house. Her heart grew hard in her. She rose and bowed and was about to go, when Ezra’s kind heart smote him. He lifted his hand. “Stay, child. I have a little gift the caravan brought for you. The house has been in such turmoil that I have forgotten to give it to you. Open that box and see what is in it.”

He nodded toward a lacquered box on the table and Peony went to it and lifted the lid of the box. Within it lay a gold comb.

“For me?” she asked, opening her eyes prettily.

“For you,” Ezra said, smiling. “Put it in your hair.”

“Without the mirror?” Peony exclaimed, pretending to dismay.

Ezra laughed. “Well, well, take it and be happy.”

“Thank you, Old Master,” Peony said. “Thank you many times.”

“There, do not thank me,” Ezra replied, but she saw he was comforted. He loved to give gifts and he wanted everyone happy. It pleased him to see Peony’s smiles, and she took care to show delight. It was a pretty comb indeed, and well she liked every pretty thing. But she was no longer a child, and a toy could not content her. She went away and her heart continued hard.

After she had gone Ezra sat in most uncomfortable thought. He sighed many times, heavily and restlessly. He had already been so foolish as to make one or two meaningful jests with Kung Chen about his third daughter and David. Without being so discourteous as to mention her name he had said, “Your house and my house, eh, Elder Brother? What is a business contract compared to children and grandchildren growing from double roots?”

Kung Chen had smiled and had nodded his head without speaking. Now everything was confused, Ezra told himself. He often wondered why, when he was a man inclined only toward happiness for everyone, including himself, he should be so often in circumstances that could not bring happiness for anyone, least of all for himself. Thus he found it very uncomfortable to have the Rabbi living in his house — a good man, of course, but thinking of nothing except the old ways of the Torah. The Torah was a rabbi’s business, but it brought confusion into a house. Nobody could be comfortable if he was always being reminded of the past. Thus even he, here in his own house, was uncomfortable when he met the blind old man feeling his way along the corridors. He wanted to escape him, and if he met the Rabbi alone, he descended to standing still and not speaking, thus taking advantage of the old man’s blindness.

Then Ezra thought of Leah for a while. She was more beautiful and more modest than his Naomi had been. He scarcely ever spoke to Leah, but sometimes in the evening she was in the peach-tree garden. He saw her pacing back and forth under the trees, and sometimes she put up her hand and plucked a fruit. The peaches were fine this year. She did not announce herself by her very presence as Naomi had done even as a young girl. Perhaps David could be happy with her. David was stronger than he himself had been as a young man, and more able to cope with headstrong women. Ezra remembered next that he saw very little of David lately. While the Rabbi had been teaching his son, he had allowed days to pass with no more than a greeting at mealtime. He got to his feet in his impetuous fashion and determined now to go to his son’s room, late as it was.

Then he thought of Peony. Did David know Peony’s heart? In his own youth it had been different. He was the one who had declared his love to the father. Now it was the girl Peony who spoke first. It mattered even less. He went briskly on bare feet through the cool moonlit corridors to David’s room.

Peony had gone straight to the peach garden. It was impossible to sleep after what her master had said. Was it decided that David was to marry Leah? Was this why David was sad? If the father had accepted it, then there was no one left to be convinced. Madame Ezra had won.

She felt panic at her heart. Would Leah allow her to stay in the house when she was the young mistress? Madame Ezra might rule for her lifetime but Leah would be the real queen. She would declare to David, and David would command his mother. Yes, Madame Ezra would allow her son everything if he yielded in her one great command upon him, that he marry the one she had chosen for him.