It was true. The girl had written, “Only bid me come to you and I will come. We are free.”
I-wan handed the letter back to En-lan and he put it in his pocket.
“Besides,” he said again, “my parents have a wife for me at home. That is why I never go home.”
“A wife!” I-wan had cried. He was always finding out something new about this En-lan, whom he had rescued out of jail….
“But it is time we decided the direction of your education,” his father went on. “Naturally, I hope to take you into the bank with me, as I did your elder brother.”
I-wan did not answer. He would never go into the bank. How they would all hate him if he helped to make those foreign loans! He could not bear the thought of their hatred. He knew very well that upon the black list the revolutionists kept his father’s name was written down, among others of influence and wealth. He thought for a moment with passionate envy of En-lan. En-lan was a peasant’s son and proud of it.
“My father is a common man,” En-lan was fond of saying. “My mother cannot read or write.” En-lan was hard toward all who were rich. He would never understand why, though I-wan also despised capitalists, he still secretly loved his father in spite of all his rebelliousness toward him. En-lan would say in his quiet definite way, “If it were I, I would say, since he is a capitalist and an enemy he cannot be my father….”
“I shall not hurry you or force you,” his father was saying kindly. “You are my son. But when you know what you want, tell me.”
He nodded and I-wan rose. As had so often happened before, his irritation was gone. His father’s show of authority had ended in such kindness.
“Thank you, Father,” I-wan murmured.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked.
“To my room to study,” he replied.
She nodded, content to know he would be in the house, and he went out and closed the door after him. Later they would meet downstairs at the great table in the dining room to eat a dinner that would have been a feast to En-lan. But it was what they had every day.
Nevertheless, thinking of it he grew a little hungry. He would, he decided, see what was in the comfit box that Peony kept filled on his table. And the teapot would be hot in its padded case. He hastened to his room, feeling free and his own for a while. He liked the hour he had alone before dinner. He talked of study, but he never studied until after dinner. Then he hurried away, muttering that he must study, that he had so much to do. Sometimes indeed he did study, though sometimes he went straight out to the theater.
But tonight he must study. He had a long composition to write in English. It was his secret wish to excel En-lan in writing. But he never could. En-lan had a strange power of writing. Strive as he would, I-wan could never win such praise from the elderly English lady who taught them as was given to En-lan. Tonight, he thought, he would try harder than ever. Almost more than the teacher’s praise, he wanted En-lan to think well of him. And then, instead of idling, he sat down at the table and drew out his writing book. He would begin now to do his best.
He was getting very sleepy. He looked at his clock. It was nearly midnight and he had only just finished his English composition. He read it over and thought well of it, though of course it would come back dotted with red marks. Miss Maitland would correct it in many unforeseen places. But it was good. He had chosen as his subject the story of Sun Yat-sen, and he had told it well. He had decided pleasurably to read it again, when he heard a soft movement about his bed. But he did not look up. It was only Peony unrolling the quilts and bringing in hot tea to set beside his bed. Then he felt her standing beside him, and he felt what he had felt before, her hand on his shoulder and her cheek against his hair. Suddenly he remembered how she had looked standing against the oleanders in the late afternoon. He moved away from her, growling at her, “How long will you use that disgusting perfume?”
“Forever,” she said pertly, “and forever — because I like it. Don’t study any more! You must be finished. It is time you went to bed.”
“You know nothing about what I have to do,” he said.
“If you are not yet finished, then you are stupid,” she retorted. She touched his cheek with her soft and scented palm. “And I know you are not stupid,” she said.
He felt his heart beat suddenly once, twice, and he was disturbed. For years they had been playmates. He knew, and she knew, too, that she was a bondmaid and allowed in the house to be more than that only because they were all fond of her and had petted her, especially since his sisters died. But indeed between the two of them there had been something like being brother and sister. They never spoke of her being a bondmaid. He did not think of it because he was so used to her and she did not speak of it. But for the last few months something else was beginning between them, something he wanted and hated. It was this way she had of putting her hand on his shoulder and her cheek on his hair. Some night he would stretch out his own arm and put it around her, though he did not want to do it. He had never done it, but he had thought of it, and he was ashamed. If he had not belonged to the band he would have done it, perhaps.
Besides, he did not want to be like I-ko. I-ko was forever teasing Peony, touching her cheek and seizing her hand and putting his arm about her. Whenever he did this, Peony flung herself away from him. Once she had scratched him, four long scratches down both his cheeks, so that for several days he could not go out because everyone knows that when a man has four long parallel scratches down both his cheeks, a woman’s two hands have done it. There was trouble in the house because of it. Madame Wu spoke alone to Peony, and his father spoke to I-ko. And Peony came into I-wan’s room and cried and said, “I hate your brother I-ko! He has always been wicked.”
I-wan did not ask how I-ko was wicked. He did not want to know. He had felt a faint prickling in his spine and he had said solemnly, “I will never be wicked to you, Peony.”
She had sobbed awhile, and sighed, and then she looked up at him and smiled.
“You don’t know how to be wicked,” she had said….
So now he was ashamed when he felt pleased at her touch on him, and he drew away from her.
“You don’t like me any more now that you are grown up,” she murmured.
“Yes, I do,” he said loudly, “exactly as I always have.”
“I’m so lonely,” she whispered.
He rose, slamming his composition book shut.
“You go away,” he said. “I don’t want you here any more when I am going to bed, Peony.”
He made his voice surly because he was afraid of her. He was afraid she would cry or be angry with him because she had always helped him get ready for bed and then had drawn the bed curtains and put out the light.
“Open the windows,” he had always commanded her.
In summer she obeyed, but in winter she begged him, “Not tonight — it’s so cold.”
“If you don’t open them, I’ll get up myself after you are gone,” he called out of the quilts.
So she had to open them, summer and winter…. He turned his back to her now so he need not see her face when it was hurt. But he heard her laugh, and he turned around quickly. She was not hurt at all. She was smiling, her eyes teasing, her voice gay.
“You are too big,” she said, “you are a man now — so you don’t want me here any more, little I-wan! A big grown man!”
He rushed at her and pushed her to the door and she clung to his hands, laughing and laughing. He pushed her out of the door at last, though her soft hands clung to his like something sticky. There, he had her off! He pulled the door sharply shut and turned the key. Then he stood and listened. There was not a sound. He put his hand to the key to turn it back and see if she were there. Then he drew away. Of course she was there, teasing him, waiting in silence. He would not open the door. He turned and walked loudly across the floor and began to undress himself. When he was washed and ready for bed he went to the window and noisily threw it wide. If she were there, she would hear that. He had an inner wave of desire to go and look to see if she were there. But if she were she would come in. And he was afraid of her if she came in. He had vowed himself to his country. Besides, he would not be like I-ko.