Pearl Buck - Peony

“When you say ‘being,’ ” Ezra said, “do you mean human or God?”

“Any being,” Kung Chen replied. “Some love a human being too well and are made subject by that love; others love their gods too well and are subject to that love. Man should be subject to none. Then we are free.”

This talk was interrupted by a flutter at the door of the restaurant. Three pretty girls came down the stone steps, carrying lute and cymbals and a small hand drum. They were like flowers in the wind, their pink and blue and green robes flowing, and they held their little dark heads high. Behind them waiters brought baskets of food and the boatwoman set up tables. There was a bustle everywhere but in a little while all was ready and the boatman pushed the boat away into the middle of the lake again. The brightly lit shore lay in the distance and soon the voices were only echoes.

Now Kung Chen invited everyone to eat, and the waiter and the cook did their part. The three girls sat down at the bow, their backs to the moon and facing the feasters, and each with her instrument began to play, and they sang in unison a melody so tangled among them and so bewitching that the young men could not keep from laughing. The girls seemed part of the night and the moon, fey and exquisite. Their high sweet voices wandered in and out of the melody, but always in unison, and the young men listened and looked at them, seeing them together, their white pretty faces alike, their wide dark eyes passionless. The exceeding beauty of the night, the delicacy of the music and of the singers, the fine food, each dish seasoned to its capacity and none heavy with oil or sugar, the pleasure of all these stole into David’s heart. Grossness would have offended him after the long days with the Rabbi. His soul had been tuned too high and he could not move too suddenly from Heaven to earth. But tonight earth spoke enchantment and Heaven was still.

THE RABBI DID NOT return to the house of Ezra. When he knew he was alone in the synagogue and that David had gone, he went into his own house. Rachel was surprised when she heard his step, and she came in from the kitchen.

“Well, Old Teacher!” she called.

“I wish to be alone,” he told her. “Send word to Madame Ezra and tell her that I will not return. And bid my son come home.”

“What of Leah?” Rachel asked.

The Rabbi considered. “Let her remain where she is,” he said.

Rachel stared at the old man. He looked exhausted to the heart. His face was white and his beard was unbrushed. His hand, clutching his staff, was trembling, and she saw a slight palsy of his head, which she had not seen before. All this alarmed her and she took him by the sleeve. “Before I go I will make you a bowl of hot millet soup, and you must drink it and rest yourself.”

So saying she led the Rabbi to his room, where she kept all ready for him. The old man yielded to her and he let his staff fall and he wiped his blind eyes on his sleeves. “Ah, it is good here,” he sighed. “I was not happy in the halls of the rich.”

“You are not happy unless you are miserable, and that is the truth about you,” Rachel said cheerfully. “Lie down, old man, and rest.”

A look of indignation made his face strong again. The Rabbi came to himself suddenly. “What have you done to my bed?” he cried. He had laid himself down on his narrow bamboo couch but now he sat up.

Rachel stood with her hands akimbo. “I put an extra quilt under the mat,” she said firmly. “Those old bones of yours with nothing under you!”

But the Rabbi rose to his feet and turned on her with his sightless eyes. “Take it away, woman!” he commanded.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and made many signs of refusal that he could not see, but so loud and clear was his voice that she did not dare to say aloud that she would not obey him. At last there was nothing for her except to take the quilt away and spread the mat on the hard bamboo. Then the Rabbi lay down again, sighed, and folded his hands on his breast. “Go away, woman,” he commanded her, his deep voice as firm as ever. “Go away and leave me to the Lord.”

So Rachel went away, disapproving very much; and muttering to herself against the stubborn old saint, she put the quilt into a box. But she was angry and she did not go at once to give his message to Madame Ezra. Instead she kept everything to herself until the next day. When the Rabbi asked her whether Aaron had come home, she told a comforting lie and said that Leah had begged that he be allowed to stay for another day or two with her. The Rabbi sighed at this but said no more. He rose early the next morning, ate his millet porridge, and sat repeating to himself the pages of the Torah.

When the day wore on nearly to noon and she knew that Madame Ezra would be ready, Rachel went to give the message. She found Madame Ezra superintending the cleaning of a fish pond by the kitchen. The angry fish were swarming in tubs while two men raked the muddy bottom. Madame Ezra was scolding fish and men alike, and she was in no good temper to hear what Rachel had to tell her.

“Now what has happened?” she cried when Rachel stopped to take breath. “All was well yesterday — why has he left my house?”

“I know nothing except that the old man came home yesterday alone from the synagogue,” Rachel said.

Then Madame Ezra called Wang Ma and Peony to come in. Wang Ma knew nothing and Peony knew only that David had come home late last night with his father.

“You should have come and told me,” Madame Ezra said.

“Mistress, I thought you knew everything,” Peony replied.

There was nothing now to do but to dismiss them all, and this Madame Ezra did, except that she held Peony back to give her a command.

“Go and fetch me Leah, while I go to my room and clean myself.”

So Peony went to fetch Leah while Madame Ezra gave her last commands to the two men and went to her own court.

As for Peony, she made herself all servant, and she coughed before she entered Leah’s door, and when she heard Leah’s gentle voice, saying to come in, she went in and bowed and said only this: “My mistress asks for you to come to her.” Then she bowed and went away again, and now she went to her own room and thought for a while. What had happened between the Rabbi and David? Did Leah have a part in it?

Waiting became more than she could bear, and she went to find out what she could, by any means. She ran on noiseless feet and hid behind a great cassia tree in Madame Ezra’s court. It leaned against the window that was open, for the morning was hot and still. Hidden there, she heard Madame Ezra’s voice speaking firmly and clearly to Leah, in these words:

“How can you say that nothing has happened between you and David? I saw you with my own eyes, once, in the peach garden. Certainly you stood very close together.”

Leah’s voice came rushing softly, full of agitation. “How can I help it, Aunt, if — if — nothing more happened? That once — well, yes, we were very near.”

“All these days you have been sitting together over the Torah,” Madame Ezra cried.

“He has scarcely spoken to me.” Leah’s voice died away in this confession.

Madame Ezra flew into sudden anger. “It is your fault, Leah! You never try — you simply wait.”

“What can I do but wait?” Leah asked.

Peony listened, her black eyes sparkling, her red lips curving. Ah, then, it was not decided! David did not love Leah! Ah — but what if he did? She slipped from behind the cassia tree and ran to David’s rooms. The sitting room was empty, and she put aside the curtain and peered into his bedroom. He lay on his bed still asleep. The noon sun poured into the room. She had drawn his bed curtains last night herself when she made the room ready for night, but he had put them back behind the heavy silver hooks. He lay there in his white silk sleeping garments, his arms flung wide and his head turned toward her on the pillow.