“I will not believe it,” she thought, “until I have inquired for the truth.” Thus she put the matter from her mind.
The distance between the houses of Wu and Kang was not short, being indeed almost across the entire city. But Madame Wu had no sense of haste. She enjoyed the sunshine falling into the streets still wet with the night’s rain. The stones were washed and clean and the people gay and glad of the brightness of the sky. Markets were busy and farmers were already carrying into the city their loads of fresh green cabbages, baskets of eggs and bundles of fuel grass. The sight of all this life going on always soothed Madame Wu. In this city the Wu family was only one house. It was pleasant to think that there were all these others where men and women lived together and brought forth their children and children’s children. And in this nation there were many more such cities, and around the world many other nations where in different ways men and women lived the same life. She liked to dwell upon such thoughts. Her own life took its proportion. What was one grief among so many like it, or what was one joy in a world of such joys?
In something under an hour the sedan was set down before the gate of the Kang house. Ying had, of course, sent a manservant ahead to tell of Madame Wu’s coming, and so she was expected. The great red varnished gates swung open, and a servant was waiting. Ying hastened forward from her ricksha to help Madame Wu out of her chair. She carried under her arm Madame Wu’s small traveling toilet case, lest she wish to smooth her hair or touch her face with powder.
Then they entered the gates, but before they had crossed the first court Madame Kang herself came to greet her friend. The two ladies clasped hands.
“How good of you, Sister!” Madame Kang cried eagerly. She was anxious to hear from Madame Wu’s own lips all that had happened. She knew, since the servants in the two houses came and went, that Madame Wu had fulfilled her plan. She knew even that last night Ch’iuming had gone into Mr. Wu’s court.
“I have come to talk about many things, Sister,” Madame Wu replied. “But I come too early—I disturb you.”
“How can you say that!” Madame Kang replied. She searched her friend’s fresh and lovely face. It was not in the least way changed. The tranquil eyes, the composed and exquisite mouth, the pearl-pale skin, all were at their best.
“How beautiful you always are,” Madame Kang said tenderly, and was conscious, though without the least pain, of her own hair as yet unbrushed.
“I rise early,” Madame Wu said. “Now let us go inside and while your hair is brushed I will wait.”
“Do not mind my hair,” Madame Kang urged. “I get it combed in the afternoon. Somehow the mornings pass too quickly.”
She looked around and laughed as she spoke, for behind her a dozen children seemed to come from nowhere. Children and grandchildren were mingled together. She stooped and picked up the smallest one, not yet able to walk, but hung on his feet by a cotton cloth passed round his middle and held at the two ends by a little bondmaid. The child was unwashed and none too clean, although his coat was of satin, but Madame Kang smelled him with love, as though he were fresh from the tub, and held him close.
Together the two friends walked into the house and through two courts until they reached Madame Kang’s own court. There she put down the child whom she had carried all this time, and waved her two plump hands at the children and small bondmaids who had followed her. “Away with you!” she cried heartily. Then, seeing their faces fall, she put her hand into her loose coat and brought out a handful of small cash. These she pressed into the hands of the eldest bondmaid. “Go and buy peanuts for them all,” she commanded her. “With shells!” she called after the eager child, “so that it will take a long time for them to be eaten!”
She laughed her rich rolling laughter at the sight of the children scampering toward the street. Then she seized Madame Wu’s hand again and led her into her own room and closed the door.
“Now we are alone,” she said. She sat down as soon as Madame Wu was seated, and she leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Tell me everything,” she said.
But Madame Wu looked at her friend. A certain blankness mingled with surprise appeared in her eyes.
“It is a strange thing,” she said after a second’s pause, “but I feel I have nothing to tell.”
“How can that be?” Madame Kang cried. “I am as full of questions as a hen of eggs. The girl—who is she—did you like her? Did he like her?”
“I like her,” Madame Wu said. Now she knew, as her friend paused, that she had been willfully not thinking of Mr. Wu and Ch’iuming this morning. Did he like her? She forced herself to go on without answering this question that sprang up like a snake in her heart.
“I gave her a name—Ch’iuming. She is only an ordinary girl, but a good one. I am sure he will like her. Everybody will like her, because there is nothing about her to dislike. No one in the house will be jealous of her.”
“Heaven!” Madame Kang exclaimed in wonder. “And you say all this as though you had hired a new nurse for a grandchild! Why, when my father took a concubine my mother cried and tried to hang herself, and we had to watch her night and day, and when he took a second concubine the first one swallowed her earrings, and so it went until he had the five he ended with. They all hated one another and contended for him.” Madame Kang’s big laughter rolled out of her. “They used to hunt his shoes—he would leave his shoes in the room of the one he planned to visit that night. Then another would steal them. At last, for peace, he divided his time among them equally.”
“They must have been silly women, those concubines,” Madame Wu said calmly. “I do not mean your mother, Meichen. Of course it is natural she might have believed in a man’s heart. But the concubines!”
“There never was a woman like you, Ailien,” Madame Kang said fondly. “At least tell me could you sleep last night?”
“Last night,” Madame Wu said, “I slept very well because of the rain on the roof.”
“Oh, the rain on the roof!” Madame Kang cried and went into gusts of laughter so that she had to wipe her eyes with her sleeves.
Madame Wu waited, smiling, until this was over. Then she said seriously, “I do have a matter to talk about with you, Meichen.”
Madame Kang grew grave whenever she heard this tone in her friend’s voice. “I will laugh no more. What is it?”
“You know my son Fengmo,” Madame Wu said. “Do you think I should send him away to school?”
This question she put very skillfully. If Madame Kang declared it was not necessary, she would at once ask for Linyi. If on the other hand—
“It is altogether a matter of what this boy will do with himself,” Madame Kang answered. Her large round face fell into lines.
“He has never shown what he wants,” Madame Wu said. “He has until now merely been growing up. But after seventeen a mother must begin to watch a son.”
“Of course,” Madame Kang agreed. She pursed her lips and thought of Fengmo, his arrogant bladelike body and proud head.
“Come,” Madame Wu said frankly, “why do I not speak the truth to you? I had thought of pouring our blood into the same stream again. Fengmo and Linyi—what do you say?”
Madame Kang clapped her hands twice together. “Good!” she cried. Then she let her plump hands drop. “But that Linyi,” she said, mournfully. “It is one thing for me to say good. How do I know what she will say?”
“You should never have let her go to a foreign school,” Madame Wu said. “I told you that at the time.”
“You were right,” Madame Kang said sadly. “Nothing at home is good enough for her now. She complains about everything. She quarrels at her father when he spits on the floor, poor soul. She wants us to put jars on the floor for spittle. But the babies pick up the jars and drop them and break them. And Linyi is angry because she wants all the babies to wear cloths tied about their little bottoms. But with thirteen small grandchildren under this roof still not able to contain their water, how can we t
ie cloths about all of them? Our ancestors taught us wisdom in seatless trousers. Shall we flout their wisdom? We have three wash maids as it is.”
“In our house she would not be troubled with any small children except our own,” Madame Wu said. “And with her own a woman learns wisdom.”
She was too kind to tell Madame Kang that in this matter she secretly felt sympathy with Linyi. The wet nurses and maids in this house were continually holding out the babies to pass their water on the floor until one did not know where to step. Madame Wu had never allowed these easy-going ways in her own house. The maids had always commands to take the small children into certain corners or behind trees.
Madame Kang looked doubtfully at her friend. “I would be glad for you to have her,” she said. “She needs to be married and have her mind taken up. But I love you too well not to tell you her faults. I feel she will demand foreign learning in Fengmo even if she is willing to marry him. She will think it shameful that he speaks no foreign language.”
“But with whom would he speak it?” Madame Wu asked. “Would she and he sit together and talk foreign tongues? It would be silly.”
“Certainly it would,” Madame Kang agreed. “But it is a matter for pride, you know, in these young women, nowadays, to chatter in a foreign tongue.”
The two ladies looked thoughtfully at each other. Then Madame Wu said plainly, “Either Linyi must be satisfied with Fengmo as he is, or I shall have to let the matter drop. War is in the air, and my sons may not go off to coastal cities. Here we are safe, for we are provinces away from the sea.”
“Wait!” Madame Kang was suddenly cheered. “I have it,” she said. “There is a foreign priest in the city. Why do you not engage him as a tutor for Fengmo? Then when I speak to Linyi, I can tell her Fengmo is learning foreign tongues.”
“A foreign man?” Madame Wu repeated doubtfully. “But how could we have him come into the house? Would there not be disturbances? I hear all Western men are very lusty and fierce.”
“This is a priest,” Madame Kang said. “He is beyond such thoughts.”
Madame Wu considered the matter still more thoughtfully. “Well,” she said at last, “if Linyi should insist upon this, it would be better than sending Fengmo away from us into a foreign school.”
“So it is,” Madame Kang agreed.
Madame Wu rose. “Then you will speak to Linyi and I will speak to Fengmo.”
“If Fengmo will not?” Madame Kang asked.
“He will,” Madame Wu said, “for I will choose the right time. With a man, young or old, the important thing is the choice of the time.”
“How well you know,” Madame Kang murmured.
The two ladies rose and hand in hand wandered out of the room. Tea was set in the court and some cakes.
“Will you not stay and refresh yourself, Sister?” Madame Kang asked.
But Madame Wu shook her head. “If you will forgive the discourtesy,” she said, “I will go home. Today may be the right time for me to speak to Fengmo.”
She did not like to tell even Madame Kang that Fengmo might be disturbed because he had seen Ch’iuming before she had gone into his father’s courts. She said good-by and left some money for a gift to the maid who had prepared tea, and Ying came from the servants’ rooms where she had been gossiping, and so Madame Wu went home again.
The first person whom she saw, however, upon her return was not Fengmo, but the foreigner, Little Sister Hsia. Even as all the servants in all the houses of the city knew what went on in the Wu family house and the Kang family house, who were the two great families, so Madame Wu knew that Little Sister Hsia’s cook also had heard and told the news.
Little Sister Hsia was just crossing the main court inside the gate when she saw Madame Wu. She stopped at once and cried out, “Oh, Madame Wu, I have just heard—it can’t be true?”
“Come in,” Madame Wu said kindly. “Is it not a fair day? The air is not often so clear at this season. We will sit outdoors, and Ying must bring us something to eat. It must be nearly noon.” She guided Little Sister Hsia across the general court and into the one which was her own.
“Please sit down,” she said. “I must go to my own rooms for a moment. But rest yourself. Enjoy the morning.”
Smiling and making her graceful bows, Madame Wu withdrew into her own rooms. Ying followed her sourly.
“It must be we shall have rain, again,” she muttered. “The devils are out.”
“Hush,” Madame Wu said. But she smiled as she sat down before the mirror. She smoothed a hair out of place, touched her cheeks with powder, and changed her earrings from plain gold ones to her jade flower ones. Then she washed and perfumed her hands and went outdoors again.
Little Sister Hsia’s pale face was twisted with sympathy. She rose from her chair with the awkward swiftness which was her habit.
“Oh, good friend,” she sighed, “what a trial has come on you! I never dreamed—Mr. Wu seemed so different from other men—I always thought—”
“I am very glad you have come this morning,” Madame Wu said lightly, with her warm smile. “You can help me.”
They were seated. Little Sister Hsia leaned forward in her intense way, her hands clenched together. “Anything,” she murmured, “anything! Dear Madame Wu, sometimes the Lord punishes those whom he loves—”
Madame Wu opened her large eyes widely. “Do you wish to preach gospel this morning, Little Sister?” she inquired. “If you do, I will postpone what I was about to say.”
“Only to comfort you,” Little Sister Hsia said, “only to help you.”
“But I am very well,” Madame Wu said in surprise.
“I heard, I thought—” Little Sister Hsia faltered, much bewildered.
“You must not heed the gossip of servants,” Madame Wu said gently. “They always wish to be bearers of some exciting news. Had they their way we should all be ill today and dead tomorrow and risen again on the third day.”
Little Sister Hsia looked sharply at Madame Wu. Was she making a joke? She decided not to be angry. “Then it is not true?” she asked.
“I do not know what is not true or true,” Madame Wu returned. “But I can assure you that nothing happens in this house without my knowledge and my permission.”
She took pity on the slight purplish blush that now spotted the pale foreign face at which she looked. “You are always kind,” Madame Wu said gently. “Will you help me?”
Little Sister Hsia nodded. Her hands fell limply apart. A shade of disappointment hung about her pale lips and eyes.
Madame Wu touched her own pretty lips with her perfumed silk handkerchief. “I feel my third son needs more education,” she said in her gentle voice, whose gentleness seemed always to put distances between her and the one to whom she spoke. “I have decided, therefore, to have him taught by a suitable foreign man to speak a foreign language and read foreign books. After all, what was enough for our ancestors is not today enough for us. The seas no longer divide the peoples, and Heaven is no more our own canopy. Can you tell me if there is a foreign man in the city whom I can invite to teach Fengmo?”
Little Sister Hsia was so taken aback by this request that had nothing to do with what she had heard that for a moment she could not speak at all.
“I hear that there is a foreign priest,” Madame Wu went on. “Can you tell me about him?”
“Priest?” Little Sister Hsia murmured.
“So I hear,” Madame Wu said.
Little Sister Hsia looked doubtful. “If it is the one I think you must mean,” she said, “I don’t think that you would want him for your son.”
“Is he not learned?” Madame Wu inquired.
“What is the wisdom of man, dear friend?” Little Sister Hsia asked. “He is as good as an atheist!”
“Why do you say that?” Madame Wu asked.
“I cannot think he is a true believer,” Little Sister Hsia said gravely.
“Perhaps he has his own religion,” Madame Wu said.
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“There is only one true religion,” Little Sister Hsia said positively.
Madame Wu smiled. “Will you ask him to come and see me?” she asked.
She was astonished to see a flying dark blush sweep over the plain face before her.
“He is unmarried,” Little Sister Hsia said. “I don’t know what he would think if I were to visit him.”
Madame Wu put out a kind hand and touched the bony fingers lying on Little Sister Hsia’s lap. “None could suspect your virtue,” she said.
The kindness melted the foreign woman’s shyness. “Dear Madame Wu,” she said, “I would do anything to help you.”
The edge of intensity crept into her voice again, but Madame Wu put it off gracefully, disliking intensity above all things. “You are so good,” she said. She clapped her hands, and Ying came in with the tray of tea and sweetmeats.
For half an hour Madame Wu busied herself with this. Then she took steps to help her guest to leave.
“Now,” she said in her sweet way, “would you like to make a prayer before you go?”
“I’d love to,” Little Sister Hsia said.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and her voice began its fervent address to someone unseen. Madame Wu sat in graceful silence while this went on. She did not close her eyes. Instead she watched Little Sister Hsia’s face with forebearing comprehension. How empty was this soul, so alone, so far from home! She had come across the sea to do her good works. All knew of her, of her weekly meeting to teach sewing to beggar women. All knew that she lived poorly and gave away most of what she had. But how lonely the woman in this poor creature! A kind affection stirred in the depths of Madame Wu’s heart. Little Sister Hsia was ignorant, of course, and one could not listen to her, but she was good and she was lonely.