Pearl Buck - Peony

As it chanced, Kueilan was this day in her sweetest mood. She enjoyed being the mistress of the house and knowing that her husband was master, and that there were no elders above them. All that was foreign here was now gone, and she smiled easily and was patient with servants and children. When David came to the moon gate of her court, he saw a picture that might content the heart of any man. This pretty woman who was his wife sat surrounded by her children playing about her. His sons had taken a holiday since Peony had not come to teach them, and the eldest was playing shuttlecock and the second was playing with a cricket on a string and Kueilan held the third in her lap. Chrysanthemums were blooming in the terraces against the walls and the afternoon sun shone down upon flowers and children. Now David saw again what sometimes he forgot — how great was Kueilan’s beauty. Her creamy skin was as smooth in the clear light as the baby’s, her lips were red, her hair, under Peony’s long care, was shining black and oiled. This very morning Peony had put jade pins into the knot of rich hair to match jade earrings and a coat of apple green.

Why should I not be happy? David inquired of his own heart.

He paused at the gate and now they all saw him. Kueilan rose and the boys ran to their father. The maids were busy elsewhere and Kueilan followed him. The sun had been as kind to David as to her, and for the same moment he had seen again how beautiful she was, Kueilan had seen her husband as he stood at the gate, tall and at the best of his manhood. He had never allowed his beard to grow too long, as some foreigners did, and his smooth face, large dark eyes, firm lips, and above all his strong frame stirred her heart. She loved her husband, but in the round of days she had forgotten how well. She sat down near him, and their eyes kindled to each other. David took his youngest son from her arms. “Let me see how big he is,” he said.

Kueilan made haste to put under the child a padded cloth. “Not so big, naughty fellow, that he cannot wet you!” she exclaimed.

David laughed, and the two elder boys, hearing this, came and leaned their elbows on his knees. Above the three fine children, the eyes of the parents met again and smiled.

“How is it you are home at this hour?” Kueilan inquired.

“A very strange thing has happened,” David said. “You remember the chief eunuch, who wanted Peony?” How easily he said this to his wife! He was amazed at his own calm.

“Do not tell me he still wants her!” Kueilan exclaimed with lively interest.

David nodded. “Since Peony will not go, there is only one way to escape without bringing danger to our house.”

Kueilan was watching his face very closely. He felt — ah, but he knew — that he could never tell her the depths of his heart. Did he himself know those depths? What man knows what is dearest to him when all he has is weighed and measured, one love against another?

“She has gone to the nunnery,” he said quietly.

“To stay?” Kueilan asked, her eyes very wide.

“How else can she be safe?” he replied.

Now the children began to ask questions. “Will Peony never live here any more?” the eldest asked.

“If she is a nun she must live in the temple,” Kueilan said.

The younger son began to cry. “I want to see Peony again,” he sobbed.

“Be quiet!” his mother said. “She can come to see us — as soon as she is a real nun.”

David sat silent, toying with his little son’s hand. Upon his open palm he spread the baby hand, and the child’s palm was warm upon his own.

Kueilan was gathering her wits together. She, too, was weighing and measuring good against evil. She would miss Peony sorely — but Peony could come here as often as she liked after her novitiate was over. True, she must always return to the temple at night, but then it might be pleasant not to have Peony here always. She did not need her as she had before the old people died. It did not matter now whether everything was done according to the rules and traditions. Yes, perhaps it would be better not to have Peony here. Sometimes it was almost as if Peony had been the mistress. A secret jealousy that had slept in her because Peony was useful to her now sprang alive. Peony was much too beautiful. Peony could read books and David liked to talk with her.

“It is a good thing for Peony to be a nun,” Kueilan suddenly declared. “She would not marry, and what can a woman do then except be a nun? Many times I told Peony that we should choose a husband for her, but no, she would not hear me. A woman gets no younger. She would have had to be a nun one of these days — that is, if she would not enter the Imperial Palace. If she had gone there, then of course—”

“She could not,” David said abruptly, not looking up.

Kueilan felt her jealousy. “She could have gone if she had loved us as much as she always pretended,” she cried. “What could have been better for the family than to have her in the Imperial Court? She might have spoken for you there, and when our sons grew older, she could have had them to visit, and I could have visited her, too, and all sorts of favors could have come from it.”

David did not reply. The baby’s fingers curled into his palm and he closed his hand over the little fist. Suddenly he stood up, and stooping he put the child into the mother’s lap. “It will be strange here without Peony,” he said quietly. “But she has decided wisely. I must go back to the shop for an hour.”

He touched his wife’s round cheek with his hand and went away. A stillness was in his heart. Some part of his life was ended. He had made a choice without declaring even to himself what that choice was, but he knew the struggle was over. He was master of his heart as well as of his house.

When Wang Ma had gone to find Peony, the nun at the gate had refused to let her come in until she asked permission of the Mother Abbess. The cloisters were whispering with the excitement of the nuns and novices over the coming of the beautiful young woman from the house of Ezra. All knew that the old master there had died only a short time before, for who in the city had not heard of his splendid funeral? The Mother Abbess heard the whisperings but she had not yet questioned Peony. There must be time for sorrow to spend itself. She had commanded that Peony be given a large quiet room facing a small bamboo grove. Hot water was taken to her by the novices that she might bathe, and fresh soft robes of smooth gray grass cloth were laid upon a chair. When the novices reported that Peony had bathed and had dressed herself in the gray robes, the Mother Abbess commanded that Peony’s other garments be taken away and locked in a chest, and then that vegetarian foods be put before her and a pot of the most delicate tea. All this was done.

When the Mother Abbess heard that an old woman was at the gate she herself went to Peony. There Peony sat by the window, her hands folded. In the gray robes she looked so beautiful that the Mother Abbess felt her heart ache. Long ago when her own young husband had died, less than a month after their marriage, she had come to this place. She had first waited to make sure that her womb held no fruit, and then she had sworn herself away to Heaven. She understood the look of a woman who knows that she must live alone.

“There is at the gate an old servant, surnamed Wang, who wishes to see you, my child,” she said gently. “Shall I bid her come in?”

Peony rose and turned her great sorrowful eyes upon the kind face of the Abbess. She was about to shake her head, and then she could not. What she had done had been so quickly done. Doubtless David had sent Wang Ma to find her.

“It is better that she come in,” Peony said.

So Wang Ma came in, and when she saw Peony in the gray robes she was speechless and the tears began to run down her wrinkled cheeks. She held out her arms and Peony could not hold back. She ran to Wang Ma and the two women wept aloud together and the Abbess bowed her head, waiting.