Lisa See - Peony in Love

His understanding of the opera was so close to my own that I was em-boldened to ask, “Would you do that for me?”

“Of course I would!”

Then he brought his face close to mine. His breath was redolent of orchids and musk. The desire we both felt warmed the air between us. I thought he might kiss me and I waited to feel his lips on mine. My body flooded with blood and emotion. I didn’t move, because I didn’t know what to do or what he expected me to do. That’s not quite true. I was not expected to be doing any of this, but when he stepped away and regarded me with his deep black eyes, I trembled with longing.

( 5 8 )

He didn’t seem much older than me, but he was a man and lived in the outside world. For all I knew, he had much experience with the teahouse women whose voices I sometimes heard floating across the lake.

To him, I must have seemed like a child, and in some ways he dealt with me that way, by retreating just far enough to give me a chance to steady myself.

“I can never decide if the opera has a happy ending or not,” he said.

His sentence startled me. Had that much time passed since I’d come here? He must have sensed my alarm, because he added, “Don’t worry.

There are several more scenes.” He picked up the peony that he’d brought with him with one hand and laid its blossom in his other. “Mengmei wins the top honors in the imperial exams.”

My mind and body were far, far away from the opera and I had to force myself to concentrate, which I suppose is what he wanted.

“But when he presents himself to Prefect Du as his new son-in-law, he’s arrested,” I said. When he smiled, I understood I was doing the exact right thing.

“The Prefect orders Mengmei’s baggage searched, and—”

“The guards find Liniang’s self-portrait,” I finished for him. “Prefect Du has Mengmei beaten and tortured, believing the scholar has defiled his daughter’s tomb.”

“Mengmei insists he brought Liniang back from the spirit world and that the two of them have married,” he said. “Outraged, Prefect Du orders Mengmei’s decapitation.”

The fragrance from the peony in his palm filled my head. I remembered all the things I wished I’d done last night. I picked up the willow sprig from the balustrade. Slowly I began to walk around him, speaking softly all the while, caressing him with my words.

“Will the story end sorrowfully?” I asked. “Everyone is brought to the imperial court to present their problems to the emperor.” I came full circle, stopped to glance up to his eyes, and then glided around him again, this time letting the willow leaves brush against his torso.

“Liniang is presented to her father,” he said gruffly, “but he can’t accept that she’s alive, not even when he’s looking at her.”

“In this way, the great Tang Xianzu illustrated how men can be limited by li. ” I kept my voice low, knowing my poet would have to work hard to hear me. “When something so miraculous happens, people can’t be ra-tional anymore.” He sighed and I smiled. “The Prefect insists that Liniang pass many tests—”

( 5 9 )

“She casts a shadow and leaves footprints when she walks under blossoming trees.”

“That’s right,” I whispered. “And she also answers questions about the Seven Emotions—joy, anger, grief, fear, love, hate, and desire.”

“Have you experienced these emotions yourself?”

I stopped before him. “Not all of them,” I admitted.

“Joy?” He brought the peony he’d been holding in his hand to my cheek.

“Just today when I woke up.”

“Anger?”

“I told you I’m not perfect,” I answered as he brought the petals along my jaw.

“Grief?”

“Every year on the anniversary of my grandmother’s death.”

“But you have not truly experienced it yourself,” he said, taking the blossom away from my face and letting it trail down my arm. “Fear?”

I thought of the fear I felt coming here, but I said, “Never.”

“Good.” He kept the peony against the inside of my wrist. “Love?” I didn’t answer, but the feel of the flower on my skin caused me to shiver, and he smiled. “Hate?”

I shook my head. We both knew I hadn’t lived long enough or seen enough to hate anyone.

“Only one left,” he said. He brought the peony back up along my arm and then pulled it away, to drop again to a spot just below my ear. Then he slowly let the blossom glide down across my neck to the top of my collar and forward to my throat. “Desire?”

I had stopped breathing.

“I see your answer in your face,” he said.

He brought his lips to my ear.

“If we married,” he whispered, “we would not have to waste time drinking tea and making conversation.” He stepped back and looked out across the lake. “I wish . . .” His voice quavered, which I saw embarrassed him. He felt this moment as deeply as I did. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. When he next spoke, it was as though nothing had happened between us. I was loose again, on my own.

“I wish you could see my home. It’s just across the lake on Wushan Mountain.”

“Isn’t that it right there?” I asked, pointing to the hill on the other side of the lake.

( 6 0 )

“That is the hill, yes, but Solitary Island—as beautiful as it is—ob-structs the view of the house. My home is just behind the tip of the island.

I wish you could see it, so that you could look across the water and think of me.”

“Perhaps I’ll be able to see it from my father’s library.”

“You’re right! Your father and I have talked politics there many times. I can see my home from the windows. But even if you can see the mountain, how will you know which house is mine?”

My mind, in such a turbulent state, could not think clearly enough to come up with a possible solution.

“I’m going to show you the house, so you can find it. I promise to look out from there every day to find you, if you will look for me.”

I agreed. He led me to the right side of the pavilion near the shore. He took the willow sprig from my hand and put it together with the peony blossom on the balustrade. When he sat down next to them and swung his legs over the edge, I understood that he intended me to do the same. He jumped down, stood on a rock, and reached his arms up to me.

“Give me your hands.”

“I can’t.” And I truly couldn’t. I had done a lot of improper things this evening, but I wasn’t going to follow him. I’d never been outside the Chen Family Villa. On this one thing my mother and father were adamant.

“It’s not far.”

“I’ve never been beyond my garden. My mother says—”

“Mothers are important, but—”

“I can’t do this.”

“What about the promise you just made?”

My will wavered. I was as weak as my cousin Broom when presented with a plate of dumplings.

“You will not be the only girl—woman—outside a garden wall tonight.

I know many women who are boating on the lake this evening.”

“Teahouse women.” I sniffed.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I’m referring to women poets and writers who have joined poetry and writing clubs. Like you, they want to experience more of life than what is available inside their gardens. By leaving their inner chambers they’ve become artists of worth. It is this outside world that I would show you if you were my wife.”

He left unsaid that tonight was as far as that dream would go.

This time when he extended his arms, I sat down on the balustrade ( 6 1 )

and, as delicately as possible, drew my legs across the stonework and let myself be pulled from the safety of the villa. He led me to the right along the rocks that lined the shore. What I was doing was beyond bad. Amazingly, nothing terrible happened. We weren’t caught, and no ghosts leaped from behind a bush or tree to scare or kill us for this infraction.