The Red Chamber (32 page)

“What is it?” She hurries back and stoops beside Ping’er.

Ping’er’s hand presses her side. She gives hoarse, gasping breaths. “I think—the baby’s coming.”

Even though Xifeng has been anticipating this moment for months, and had stayed home for fear that Ping’er would give birth while she was gone, she feels a rush of excitement. “Can you walk?”

Ping’er does not answer. She grasps Xifeng’s hands, so hard that Xifeng almost cries out. For about the time it takes to count to thirty, Ping’er holds on, her lips pulled back from her teeth, her face contorted unrecognizably into an animal expression of pain. Then she relaxes, beginning to breathe again. Xifeng pulls her hand away and massages it.

“It’s better now,” Ping’er gasps.

“We’d better get back to the apartment.”

Xifeng wedges her shoulder under Ping’er’s armpit, and somehow gets Ping’er to her feet. Supporting what feels like most of Ping’er’s weight, she staggers forward. Once, when they were children, the two of them had run away to the servants’ quarters behind the Wang mansion. She still remembers the rabbit warren of alleys, the people bathing their babies and brushing their teeth on their doorsteps, dumping the water into a ditch of greenish-brown sludge that snaked along the main avenue. The two of them had run along hand in hand, laughing and shouting from sheer excitement. But then Ping’er had twisted her ankle on a loose stone, and Xifeng had had to half carry, half support her home, just as she is doing now.

They have almost made it to the apartment by the next contraction. Xifeng tries to detach Ping’er’s hands. “Stay here. I’ll get help.”

“Don’t leave me.”

Xifeng tries to tug away. “I have to send for the midwife.” She is terrified by the thought that Ping’er might give birth before the midwife comes, with only her, Xifeng, in attendance.

“Help me.” Ping’er turns pleading eyes to Xifeng.

“What can I do?”

Ping’er does not answer, crushing Xifeng’s fingers again, lost in the throes of another contraction.

When this one ends, Xifeng half drags her across the courtyard, shouting frantically for Autumn. She has pulled Ping’er onto the
kang
in her own bedroom when Autumn shows up.

“Send for Old Woman Ma,” she barks, scrambling to get pillows and blankets to prop Ping’er up. For once Autumn does not dawdle and rushes out of the room.

By the time the midwife arrives, Xifeng has, between contractions, helped Ping’er undress, stoked up the fire, and set a pot of water to boil. She is leaning over Ping’er on the
kang
, wiping her brow with a wet towel. Already, she can hardly move her hand after the way that Ping’er had gripped it during the contractions. When Old Woman Ma walks in, Xifeng yells at her to hurry and wash her hands, believing that, with contractions so intense, the birth is minutes away.

After the midwife examines Ping’er, she laughs and says that the baby is still a long way from coming. “It is her first time, don’t forget,” she says, rolling her sleeves back down. “You’d be surprised at how long these first births can take.”

“How long do you think it will be?”

Old Woman Ma tilts her head consideringly. “I would be surprised if the baby came before midnight.”

“That’s more than eight hours!”

“It might not even be here by then.”

Given that it will be so long and that she will have to stay up late, Xifeng decides to lie down in the front room to rest. As she moves towards the doorway, Ping’er says, “Don’t leave me.”

“You don’t have to worry now. The midwife is here.”

Yet, as another contraction begins, Ping’er reaches out her hands piteously to Xifeng. Xifeng climbs back on the
kang
to let Ping’er hold on to her. Again, Ping’er crushes her hands mercilessly, seemingly aware of nothing but her own pain.

“That won’t do,” the midwife says, noticing Xifeng wincing. “If you go on like that you won’t even be able to hold a pair of chopsticks.” She knots and twists an old sheet, loops the middle around the leg of a table, ties the ends, and gives the big knot to Ping’er to hold. The next contraction, Ping’er pounces on and kneads and tears at the knotted sheet like a jungle cat.

At the end of the contraction, Ping’er turns bloodshot eyes to Xifeng. “Can’t you stay with me?”

“I was just going to rest a little. I’ll come back later. I can call Autumn to stay with you now.”

Ping’er shakes her head against the pillow, already darkened with sweat. “I don’t want Autumn. Can’t you stay?”

Sighing audibly, Xifeng climbs back onto the
kang
. Though she acts as if she is being put upon, she feels a strange satisfaction that in Ping’er’s hour of need, she, Xifeng, is still indispensable. She tells herself that it would serve Ping’er right if she were to leave, yet she feels little inclination to go.

Her satisfaction only increases when Lian and the others arrive back from the burial grounds near dinnertime. Lian seems put off by the sight of Ping’er’s swollen body half-naked under the soaking sheet. He pats her hand awkwardly, and makes an excuse to leave the room before Ping’er has had even one contraction. Now Ping’er can see for herself how much Lian is to be depended on, Xifeng thinks, but Ping’er, asking Xifeng for a drink of water, hardly seems to notice his departure.

The hours drag by, broken only by Autumn and Snowgoose coming in to ask about the progress of the labor. Xifeng has left the room only once, at about ten o’clock, to go to the bathroom and to send a message to the wet nurse to wait in the other bedroom. Mercifully, Ping’er falls into an uneasy doze about an hour after midnight. Xifeng lies down beside her on the
kang
and falls asleep immediately. She awakens to the sound of Ping’er moaning. Ping’er’s eyes are shut, but she is clearly awake. She looks terrible, with huge bluish hollows under her eyes, her bottom lip bloody and torn.

Watching Ping’er, she senses a change in the rhythm of the contractions. They come more frequently, longer and more intense than before. Ping’er begins to whimper and groan out loud. Xifeng sees beads of sweat pop out on her upper lip. When Ping’er sees Xifeng is awake, she gasps, “I can’t bear it any longer.”

She takes Ping’er’s hand. Ping’er’s fingers, cold and clammy, cling to hers.

“I think it’s almost over,” she says. She scrambles off the
kang
to where the midwife is dozing near the stove, and shakes the old woman by the shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s almost time now?”

Old Woman Ma shakes herself awake, startled. Rubbing her eyes, she goes to Ping’er and stoops to examine her beneath the sheet. “You’re all the way open. Push!”

Time seems to take on a different rhythm. Ping’er strains as if trying to shift some crushing weight. Her face is tomato red, the veins in her temples bulging darkly. Old Woman Ma kneels on the
kang
pressing Ping’er’s knees wide apart. She alternately shouts at Ping’er to push and allows her to catch her breath for a few seconds, before beginning to shout again. Xifeng leans over, expecting to see the baby’s head emerging, but does not see anything different from before. Ping’er strains and strains, almost crying, but it doesn’t seem to do any good.

Suddenly Old Woman Ma shouts. Xifeng sees a round blackish circle about the size of a mushroom cap between the reddish folds.

“Push! Push! Push!” Old Woman Ma shouts.

The circle gets larger, about the size of a goose egg. Then, quite suddenly, the whole head is through, and Old Woman Ma kneels there guiding the tiny slime-covered shoulders and elbows out of Ping’er’s body, until the whole baby lies there in her hands, as Ping’er moans and shudders with pain.

Xifeng leans over and sees there is no penis between the skinny, feebly twitching legs. She can hardly believe it is a girl after all these months of suspense. Exhausted, she stumbles to a chair. She had been possessed by a bitter certainty that the baby would be a boy, who would permanently cement Ping’er’s place in Lian’s affections and in the household.

“It’s all right,” the midwife says, pressing Ping’er back down onto the
kang
. “You can rest now.”

Ping’er lifts her head. “Is it a boy?”

“No. It’s a nice little
guixiu
.” Old Woman Ma uses the euphemistic term “beauty of the Inner Chambers,” instead of the word “girl.”

“Oh. Lian was so hoping for a boy,” Ping’er says weakly, letting herself fall back with a little sigh. She opens her eyes and reaches out her arms. “Can I hold her?”

“Just a minute.” Old Woman Ma has cut the cord and is carrying the baby to a basin near the stove. It is an ugly thing, its skin blotchy, its head tapered to a blunt point. Xifeng feels a twinge of pity for the helpless creature, born into the world only to suffer.

“Why isn’t she crying?” Ping’er asks from the
kang
.

“Sometimes they swallow a lot of water during labor, especially during a long labor like yours. Let me dry her off, and I’ll slap her back—we’ll see if she doesn’t cry then!”

She takes the baby over her knees and slaps her on the back, so sharply that Xifeng winces. The baby whimpers and squirms a little. After a few more blows the baby begins to cry weakly.

“Is there something wrong with her lungs?” Xifeng says, at the same moment the midwife asks, “What are you going to call her?”

Ping’er says, “Lian will have to go to an astrologer to choose something lucky.”

“Of course I meant a ‘milk’ name,” Old Woman Ma says, putting the baby in a diaper. “Surely you can choose that yourself.”

“I suppose you’re right. I think I’ll call her ‘Qiaojie.’ ” Ping’er reaches out her arms. “Let me hold her now.”

Old Woman Ma hands Ping’er the baby. Ping’er lies awkwardly with the infant across her breast. She notices Xifeng standing there. “Help me up, will you?”

Xifeng climbs onto the
kang
and helps prop Ping’er into a sitting position.

“Thanks.” Ping’er gazes down at the baby. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Xifeng kneels next to Ping’er. Although she would hardly call her beautiful, the baby looks more presentable now that she is cleaned up and her skinny monkey limbs are covered. She bends over and looks at the puffy face with its scattering of pimples. Gingerly, she touches one tiny hand. To her surprise, the baby opens her hand and holds on to her finger. Her skin is warm and moist, her grip surprisingly strong.

Ping’er laughs. “Oho! Qiaojie! Do you know your Auntie Xifeng?’ ”

Xifeng tugs her finger gently, as Qiaojie still maintains her grip. She is bewildered by Ping’er’s behavior, as if now, after the course of the labor, they have suddenly become as close as before. Ping’er rocks Qiaojie gently back and forth, burying her lips in the soft, sparse hair. “Oh, she smells good.” She draws Qiaojie’s feet from the blanket, fingering the toes. She looks up. “Do you want to hold her?”

Xifeng hesitates, then puts her arms out to take Qiaojie. The infant is unexpectedly light. She hardly knows what to do with it. She moves her arms back and forth as Ping’er had done, calling, “Qiaojie! Qiaojie!”

The baby’s eyes pop open, first one, and then the other. They are coal black, and full of light, like Baoyu’s.

Ping’er laughs delightedly. “Look! You already know your auntie!”

Xifeng cannot help laughing. Her eyes fill with tears. Before she can wipe them, one of them falls on the baby’s nose, and she starts to whimper again.

“You crying? I don’t believe it,” Ping’er says, with her old playfulness.

The wet nurse enters the room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Probably she has heard the baby cry. She approaches the
kang
. “Should I take the baby now?”

“Who’s that?” Ping’er says in surprise, as Xifeng clambers off the
kang
with the baby.

Suddenly Ping’er understands. She cries out hoarsely and claws herself to a sitting position. “No! Jiejie, no!”

At the name “Jiejie,” Xifeng stops. “Older Sister” is the name Ping’er had always called her when they were children. Once they grew up and came to Rongguo, Ping’er had taken to calling her “Mistress,” as the other servants did. Half suspecting Ping’er of trying to manipulate her, Xifeng turns and looks at her. On Ping’er’s drawn face, dawning realization struggles with disbelief. There is shock, uncertainty, but not yet anger or accusation. Like a person who has just been bitten by a favorite dog, Ping’er’s first impulse, before the realization has sunk in, is to soothe and pet the creature with her torn hand. Xifeng had thought that the bond between her and Ping’er was long broken; she had nothing to lose. Looking at Ping’er now, she understands that all the bad blood of the past months counts for nothing. The old love is still there. She has only to step back into her old place.

The wet nurse is barely a pace away. If Xifeng hands her the baby, she can give back every ounce of humiliation and pain that Lian and Ping’er have inflicted on her. Instead she turns and thrusts the baby back into Ping’er’s arms. Ping’er bursts into tears, but Xifeng turns away dry-eyed. How will she survive in this world if she can’t harden her heart?

6

Daiyu sits up waiting for Baoyu. He has not come for three or four days, so she hopes he will visit tonight. When he still has not come by eleven, she puts aside the book of poems she is reading and, disappointed, blows out the lamp and climbs into bed. She falls asleep almost immediately, but at some point she half wakes and finds him sitting beside her in the darkness.

“You came,” she murmurs. “Why are you so late?”

“I was at a party at the Prince of Beijing’s and they started to talk about the political situation.” He shifts so that he is sitting only a few inches from her head with his knees clasped to his chest.

“What did they say?”

“His Highness’s health is getting worse quickly, but he still hasn’t called Prince Yinti back from the Tibetan front.”

“What does that mean?” Hearing the excitement in his voice, she pushes herself up onto her elbow.

“Well, if Prince Yinti isn’t back by the time His Highness departs from this world, more than one Prince may try to seize the throne.”