Golden Lilies Page 5
We were carried swiftly along the pathways that wound in and out past farm villages and rest houses until we came to the monastery, which is like a yellow jewel in its setting of green fir trees. The priests made us most welcome, and we drank of their tea, which has not been overpraised, sitting at a great open window looking down upon the valley. Strolling in the courtyard was Chih-peh with his friends. Mah-li never raised her eyes; she sat as maidens sit in public, but—she saw.
We came home by another pathway, to pass the resting place of Sheng-dong, the man who at the time of famine fed the poor and gave his help to all the needy. The gods so loved him that when his body was carried along the roadway to the resting place of his Ancestors, all the stones stood up to pay him reverence. One can see them now, standing straight and stiff, as if waiting for his command to lie down again.
Are you dissatisfied with me? Have I done wrong? Dear One, it means so much to Mah-li. Let her dream these months of waiting. It is hard to keep wondering, doubting, fearing one knows not what, hoping as young girls hope. But now she has seen him. To me he was just a straight-limbed, bright-faced boy; to her he is a god. There are no teeth so white, no hair so black, and a man were not born who walked with such a noble stride. It will make the summer pass more quickly, and the thought of the marriage chair will not be to her the gateway of a prison.
Are you not tired of that far-off country? Each time I break the seal of your dear letter I say, “Perhaps this time—it holds for me my happiness. It will say, ‘I am coming home to you.’ ” I am longing for that message.
Your Wife
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My Dear One,
It will soon be the Feast of the Springtime. Even now the roads are covered with the women coming to the temple carrying their baskets of spirit money and candles to lay before the Buddha.
Spring will soon be truly here; the buds are everywhere. Everything laughs from the sheer joy of laughter. The sun looks down upon the water on the canal and it breaks into a thousand little ripples from pure gladness. I too am happy, and I want to give of my happiness. I have put a great kang of tea down by the rest house on the towpath, so that they who thirst may drink. Each morning I send Chang-tai, the gatekeeper, down to the man who lives in the little reed hut he has built by the grave of his father. For three years he will live there, to show the world his sorrow. I think it very worthy and filial of him, so I send him rice each morning. I have also done another thing to express the joy that is deep within my heart. The old abbot, out of thankfulness that the tall poles were not erected before the monastery gateway, has turned the fields back of the temple into a freeing place for animals. There one may acquire merit by buying a sheep, a horse, a dog, a bird, or a snake that is to be killed, and turning it loose where it may live and die a natural death, as the gods intended from the beginning. I have given him a sum of money, large in his eyes but small when compared to my happiness, to aid him in this worthy work. I go over in the morning and look at the poor horses and dogs, and wonder whose soul is regarding me from out of their tired eyes.
Let me hear that you are coming, man of mine, and I will gather dewdrops from the cherry trees and bathe me in their perfume to give me beauty that will hold you close to me.
I am,
Your Wife
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My Dear One,
I have received your letter telling me you will not be here until the summer comes. Then, I must tell you my news, as the springtime is here, the flowers are budding, the grass is green, soon the plum tree in the courtyard will be white. I am jealous of this paper that will see the delight and joy in your eyes. In the evening I watch the rice boats pass along the canal, where the water is green and silvery like the new leaves of the willow, and I say, “Perhaps when you return, I shall be the mother of a child.” Ah!—I have told you. Does it bring you happiness, my lord? Does it make a quick little catch in your breath? Does your pulse quicken at the thought that soon you will be a father?
You will never know what it has meant to me. It has made the creature live that was within my soul, and my whole being is bathed with its glory. You will never know how many times I have gone down the pathway to the temple and asked this great boon of our Lady of Mercy. She granted it, and my life is made perfect. I am indeed a woman, fulfilling a woman’s destiny. If a woman bear not sons for her lord, what is her life worth? Do we not know that the first of the seven causes for putting away a wife is that she brings no sons into the world to worship at the graves of her husband’s ancestors? But I, Kwei-li—that will not be said of me.
Sometimes I think, “If something should happen; if the gods should be jealous of my happiness and I should not see you again?” Then the heart of the woman throbs with fear, and I throw myself at the feet of Kwan-yin and beg for strength. She gives me peace and brings to my remembrance that the bond of fate is sealed within the moon. There is no place for fear, for anything but love; my heart is so filled with its happiness.
Your Wife
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My Dear One,
The spring has come, and with it some new pulse of life beats through my quiet veins. I spend long hours upon the terrace, breathing in the perfume of the many flowers. The cherry blossoms are a glory. The whole steep hillside is covered with a fairy lace, as if some god knew how we hungered after the beauty and gave us these pink blossoms to help us to forget the bare cold earth of winter.
It is the time of praying, and all the women with their candles and their incense are bending knees and chanting prayers to Kwan-yin for the blessing of a son. There is a pilgrimage to the Kwem-li Pagoda. I can see it in the distance, with its lotus bells that sway and ring with each light breath of wind. One does not think of it as a thing of brick and mortar, or as a many-storied temple, but as a casket whose jewels are the prayers of waiting, hoping women.
You ask me how I pass my days? I cannot tell. At dawn, I wake with hope and listen to the song of the meadowlark. At noon, I dream of my great happiness to come. At sunset, I am swept away into the land of my golden dreams, into the heart of my golden world that is peopled with but three—You, Him, and Me. I am drifting happily, sleepily, forgetting care, waiting for the gods to bring me joy.
Your Wife
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My Dear One,
My courtyard is filled with the sounds of chatting women. I have sent for the sewing women and those who do embroidery, and the days are passed in making little garments. We are all so busy; Li-ti, Mah-li, even your Honorable Mother takes again the needle and shows us how she embroidered jackets for you when you were young. The piles of clothing grow each day, and I touch them and caress them and imagine I can see them folding close a tiny form. There are jackets, trousers, shoes, tiny caps, and thick warm blankets.
I send for Blind Chun, the storyteller, and he makes the hours pass quickly with his tales of bygone days. The singers and the fortune-tellers all have found the path that leads up to our gateway, knowing they will find a welcome.
I am,
Your Happy Wife
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I send you cherry blossoms. They grew within your courtyard, and each tiny petal will bring to you remembrance of your wife who loves you well.
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If you could see my courtyard! It seems carpeted with snow, so many are the cherry blossoms on its pavement. They say I am untidy that I permit it to be untouched by broom or brush. It is clean and spotless all the year, save at this the time of cherry blossoms, when it is untrodden and unswept.
I cannot write you merely household cares and gossip. I am so filled with happiness, I can only dream and wonder. Joy is beating with his wings just outside my open window, and soon all the gates of Heaven will be opened wide to me.
Your Wife
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He is here, beloved, your son! I put out my hand and touch him, and the breath of the wind through the pine trees brings the music of the gods to me. He is big and strong and beautiful. I see in his eyes as in a mirror the reflection of
your dear face, and I know he is yours and mine, and we three are one. He is my joy, my son, my firstborn. I am tired, my lord, the brush is heavy, but it is such a happy, happy tired.
Your Wife
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Is there anything so wonderful as being the mother of a son? I simply sing, and laugh, and live—oh, how I live the long days through. I have happiness enough for all the world, and I want to give and give and give. Your mother says that all the beggars within the province know there is rice outside our gateway; but when I look into my son’s eyes, and feel his tiny fingers groping at my neck, I feel I must give of my plenty to those who have no joy.
Oh, husband of mine, come back and see your son!
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Do you know what love is? You cannot till you hold Love itself within your very arms. I thought I loved you. I smile now at the remembrance of that feeble flickering flame that was as like unto real love as the faint, cold beam of the candle is to the rays of the glorious sun. Now—now—you are the father of my son. You have a new place in my heart. The tie that binds our hearts together is stronger than a rope of twisted bamboo, it is a bond, a love bond, which never can be severed. I am the mother of your firstborn—you have given me my man-child. Love you—love you!—now I know!
I am Your Own
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I am angry with your brother Chih-peh. He is a man of very small discernment. He does not see the wonders of your son. He says he cannot see that he is a child of more than mortal beauty. I am sorry for him. The gods have surely drawn a film before his eyes.
But I cannot bear resentment, there is no room in me for anything but love and the days are far too short to hold my happiness. I pass them near my baby. I croon to him sweet lullabies at which the others laugh. I say, “You do not understand? Of course not, it is the language of the gods,” and as he sleeps I watch his small face grow each day more like to yours. I spend long hours thinking of his future. He must be a man like you, strong, noble, kindly, bearing your great name with honor, so that in years to come it will be said, “The firstborn son of Kwei-li was a great and worthy man.” At night I lie beside him and am jealous of the sleep that takes him from my sight. The morning comes and sets my heart to beating at the thought that one more long, sweet day has come to me in which to guard, and love, and cherish him.
Your Happy Wife
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It has been a wonderful day. Your son has had his first reception. It is just one moon ago since I found him lying by my side, and now we have had the feast of the shaving of the head. All our friends came, they brought him beautiful presents. Chih-lo gave a cap with all the gods upon the front and long red tassels to hang down each ear. Li-ti gave him shoes that she herself had embroidered, with a cat’s face on the toes and the ears and whiskers outstanding. They will make him careful of his step and surefooted as the cat. Mah-li gave him a most wonderful silver box to hang around his neck and in which I will keep his amulets. There were many things that I will not take the time to tell you. I am sorry to say that your son behaved himself unseemly. He screamed and kicked as the barber shaved his tiny head. I was much distressed, but they tell me it is a sign that he will grow to be a valiant man.
I gave a feast, and such a feast! It will be remembered for many moons. Even your Honorable Mother said I showed the knowledge of what was due my guests upon so great an occasion. We also gave to him his milk name. It is Ten Thousand Springtimes, as he came at blossom time; but I call him that only within my heart, as I do not wish the jealous gods to hear. When I speak of him, I say “The Stupid One,” “The Late-Born,” so they will think I do not care for him and will not covet me my treasure.
I am tired; it has been a happy day. The gods are good to
Kwei-li
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My Dear One,
Another marriage within our compound. Do you remember the servant Cho-to, who came to us soon after I became your bride? She will soon marry a man in the village of Soong-tong, and she is very happy. She has not seen him, of course, but her mother says he is good and honest and will make her a suitable husband. I talked to her quite seriously, as my age and many moons of marriage allow me. I told her that only by practicing modesty, humility, and gentleness could she walk safely on the path that leads to being the mother of sons.
To be the mother of sons is not always a happiness. Ling-ti, the shoemaker, was here this morning, and he was in great distress. His baby, three months old, died with a fever and he had no money to pay for burial. This morning he arose early, before the mother awakened, and took it to the baby tower outside the city. It is lying there now, with all the other little children whose parents were too poor to give them proper burial. It made a quick, sad hurt within me, and I went quickly to find my baby. You will not laugh, but I have pierced his right ear and put a ring therein, so the gods will think he is a girl and not desire him.
I hear your son.
Your Wife
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My Dear One,
There has been great talk of evil eyes. Not that I believe the servants’ tales; but—your Honorable Mother, Li-ti, and your wife have been to the Holy Man who dwells underneath the Great Magnolia tree near the street of the Leaning Willow. He lives alone within a little house of matting, and has acquired great merit by his virtuous acts. He wears around his unbound hair a band of metal that is the outward sign of his great holiness. He lives alone in peace and with untroubled mind. In his great wisdom he has learned that peace is the end and aim of life; not triumph, success, or riches, but that the greatest gift from all the gods is peace. I purchased from him an amulet for my “Stupid One,” my treasure, as someone might come within our courtyard and cast his eye upon our child with bad intent.
Come to me, my husband. Tell me you are coming. You will find me standing in the outer archway with your son within my arms. I long for you.
Your Wife
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My days are filled with happiness. I go out on the terrace and look far down the hillside, which is covered with azaleas, pink and orange and mauve. I hold my son and say, “Look, your father will come to us from the city yonder. Our eyes of love will see him from far away, there by the willow-pattern teahouse. He will come nearer—nearer—and we will not hear the beat of his bearers’ feet upon the pathway because of the beating of our hearts.” He smiles at me; he understands. He is so wonderful, your son. I would “string the sunbeams for his necklace or draw down the moon with cords to canopy his bed.”
Come back and see your son.
Kwei-li
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My Dear One,
Your letter has come saying you will be here soon. It came on the day I went to the temple to make my offering of thanks for the gift of our son.
I put on my richest gown, the blue one with the embroidery of gold. I dressed my hair with jessamine flowers, and wore all the jewels you have given me. My boy was in his red jacket, his mauve trousers, his purple shoes, and his cap with the many gods. When I was seated in the chair he was placed in my lap, and a man was sent ahead with cash to give the beggars, because I wished all the world to be happy on this, my day of rejoicing.
My bearers carried me to the very steps of the throne on which Kwan-yin was seated. I made my obeisance, I lit the large red candles and placed them before the Goddess of Heaven. Then I took our son before the Buddha, the Name, the Lord of Light, the All-Powerful, and touched his head three times to the mat, to show that he would be a faithful follower and learn to keep the law.
We went home by the valley road, and my heart kept beating in tune to the pat-pat of the bearers’ feet on the pathway. It was all so beautiful. The trailing vines on the mountainside, the ferns in the cool dark places, the rich green leaves of the mulberry trees, the farmers in the paddy fields, all seemed filled with the joy of life. And I, Kwei-li, going along in my chair with my son on my knee, was the happiest of them all. The gods have given me everything; they have nothing more to bestow. I am glad I have gone to the mou
ntainside each day to thank them for their gifts.
The gods are good, my loved one, they are good to your
Kwei-li
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I am alone on the mountaintop. I have gone the pathway the last time to lay my offering at the feet of Kwan-yin. She does not hear my voice. There is no Goddess of Mercy. She is a thing of gold and wood, and she has mocked my despair, has laughed at the heart that is within me, which is alive and full of anguish such as she has never known.
My son, my man-child is dead. The life has gone from his body, the breath from his lips. I have held him all the night close to my heart and it does not give him warmth. They have taken him from me and told me he has gone to the gods. There are no gods. There are no gods. I am alone.
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