Pearl Buck - The Eternal Wonder

Mr. Kung’s face grew pale as Rann spoke, and he was silent for a long while after the explanation was finished. When he spoke at last it was slowly and with obvious effort.

“She cannot be so foolish a girl as to speak this way to you. You must leave my daughter to me. I will speak with her and…”

His voice trailed away, the remaining blood drained from his face. Rann rose.

“I must call someone—I can’t take responsibility—”

To his horror, Mr. Kung rose, and then, wavering, suddenly fell to his knees and clutched Rann’s right hand in both his own hands.

“You—,” he stammered. “You are the one. I can trust you. You will be—you will… you will—”

He crumpled to the floor and Rann caught him in his arms.

“Stephanie!” he shouted. “Stephanie—Stephanie—Stephanie!”

The door opened and she came swiftly in. She knelt beside her father. She supported his head in the crook of her right arm. She felt his heart in the terrible silence. Then she lifted her eyes to Rann’s face.

“My father is dead,” she said.

AND HOW COULD HE LEAVE HER that night? He had telephoned Sung to come to their aid—Sung, who had been through the ordeal of after-death with Rann’s own grandfather. For a few minutes he pondered the possibility of telephoning his mother but refrained. He knew that she would take the jet for New York and he was not ready to explain Stephanie’s position to her.

“You asking me come New York side?” Sung inquired in protest.

“Yes,” Rann said shortly. “My friend’s father has just died. We need help.”

“Master Rann, I cannot come Manhattan side. Supposing police catching me. Your grandfather, he never ask me such.”

“Sung, Miss Stephanie’s father—a Chinese gentleman.”

“Chinese man die?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come.”

Rann heard the receiver replaced. Then he turned again to Stephanie. She was kneeling on the carpet beside her dead father. Under his head she had put a yellow satin cushion. She had straightened his limbs, arms at his sides, and had smoothed his long purple robe to his ankles. He went to her.

“Sung is coming. He will know what to do.”

She did not reply or even lift her head. She continued to gaze at her father, but she did not weep. He stooped and lifted her to her feet and she did not resist.

“Come,” he said. “We will stay with him until Sung comes. Shall we call your own servants or wait for Sung?”

“Wait,” she said. “We must do something about the guests. They are due to arrive soon.”

He led her to a yellow satin couch and they sat side by side—he in silence. He reached for her hand, her left hand in his right, and he held it, a soft, narrow hand, a girl’s hand.

“I must not be left,” she whispered. She turned her eyes from her father to him.

“I shan’t leave you,” he said.

They did not speak again. The time seemed long, but it was short and the door opened. Sung stood there looking at them.

“Sung, Mr. Kung has—”

“I see for myself, sir,” Sung said. “Please, you both go some other room. I will do all.”

“There are servants—”

“I find everybody, Miss Kung. Please trust. I do all for your honored father like I do for my old master already. Please go, please rest. I will do.”

“He will, Stephanie. So come with me. Shall you go to your own rooms?”

“I can’t be alone.”

“I will sit in the next room.”

“I want to go into the shop.”

“The shop, Stephanie?”

“Yes. We worked there together. He placed each piece as he wished. If he is anywhere, he is there. People don’t go away at once, you know. They don’t know at first that they are dead. They linger in their favorite places, where their treasures are. Come—come quickly!”

She urged him, their hands still clasped, and he kept at her side down the narrow hall and into a vast lighted room filled with art treasures. Room led into room, all lighted.

“He is here, Rann. I can feel his presence.”

Rann looked around at the brightly lighted room, half expecting to see Mr. Kung, though he felt no such presence himself. An ancient altar table stood against the far wall, a small golden Quan Yin in the center of the table in front of a rosewood screen, with a bronze incense burner on each side. Stephanie lit incense and the familiar fragrance of sandalwood renewed itself in the air.

“He worked for a long time on this arrangement,” she said softly. “It became his favorite and he is here. He is displeased with me. He was unhappy with me when he died. Why was he angry, Rann?”

“He wanted us to marry, Stephanie. You know that. He questioned me about it and I told him the truth. I saw no reason to lie to him. I respected him too much.”

“You told him of my refusal and he became so agitated he had a heart attack. Oh, Rann, I have killed my father.”

“That is not true, Stephanie.” Rann led her to a comfortable love seat placed in the center of one wall so that one seated there could see all of the objects tastefully displayed on the remaining three walls. He sat beside her, his elbow resting on the back of the couch, and he turned to face her, lifting her chin with his forefinger.

“You must not blame yourself. Your father was eighty years old today and he has long had a problem with his heart. It was coincidence that the fatal attack came when it did.”

“And is it coincidental also that it came the first time I have ever defied him? My grandfather died of the same problem, but he lived to be ninety-five and my father’s life has been shortened. I have always done as he wished but in this one thing I could not, Rann. Marriage and motherhood are very personal to a woman and in these areas I must decide for myself. He made all other decisions and, alas, because he could not make this one he is gone.” Tears came to her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks, but in all other ways she maintained her composure.

“Nevertheless, I am right, Rann. Even though he did not agree with me and though he is now dead, I am right in my own decision.”

“We must not speak of it further now, Stephanie. Your father’s death is not your fault. You must know that.”

He took her right hand gently into both of his own and they sat in silence for a long time before Sung appeared.

“All is done, young master,” Sung told him. “The servants tell me there are no relatives to notify and so all is done.”

“Yes, it is true. There is no one to notify. Everyone we knew in this vast country was coming here tonight and so they must know by now. I wished you also to be surprised, Rann, and so I did not tell you that even your mother was coming. She must be in New York now.”

“It is true, young master,” Sung told him. “When your honored mother came and found— She is waiting in your apartment.”

Rann was pleased now to know his mother was near.

“Call her, Sung,” he said. “Ask her to come here.”

His mother arrived a short time later. “I am very sorry, Stephanie,” she said. “I was looking forward to meeting your father. Now you must rest and you, too, Rann. You go on home, son, and I will remain here with Stephanie.”

“I feel I wish to stay with Stephanie,” Rann said.

“No, Rann.” Stephanie was calm. “Your mother is right. All has been done here. Now you must rest. I will rest also. I have a sedative.”

Sung accompanied Rann back to his apartment and drew a bath for him and served a drink to him in the study and excused himself for the night.

Rann fell asleep sitting at his desk and was still there, his head resting on his folded arms, when his mother arrived in the morning. He was aware only that he was very tired as consciousness crept into him. When he opened his eyes to find her seated in the comfortable chair across from him, he was surprised to see her until his memory of the events of the evening before came to him.