She obeyed him slowly and without answer, and she went in to her room and he heard her dragging about it and at last she lay down and moaned softly. Then he sat listening to this moaning until he could not bear it, and he rose and went in to the town to ask where a doctor’s shop was.
He found a shop recommended to him by a clerk in the grain market where his second son now was, and he went to it. There the doctor sat idle over a pot of tea. He was an old man with a long grey beard and brass spectacles large as an owl’s eyes over his nose, and he wore a dirty grey robe whose long sleeves covered his hands altogether. When Wang Lung told him what his wife’s symptoms were, he pursed his lips and opened a drawer of the table at which he sat, and he took out a bundle wrapped in a black cloth and he said,
“I will come now.”
When they came to O-lan’s bed she had fallen into a light sleep and the sweat stood like dew on her upper lip and on her forehead, and the old doctor shook his head to see it. He put forth a hand as dried and yellowed as an ape’s hand and he felt for her pulse, and then after he had held it for a long time, he shook his head again gravely, saying,
“The spleen is enlarged and the liver diseased. There is a rock as large as a man’s head in the womb; the stomach is disintegrated. The heart barely moves and doubtless there are worms in it.”
At these words Wang Lung’s own heart stopped and he was afraid and he shouted out angrily,
“Well, and give her medicine, can you not?”
O-lan opened her eyes as he spoke and looked at them, not understanding and drowsy with pain. Then the old doctor spoke again,
“It is a difficult case. If you do not wish guarantee of recovery, I will ask for fee ten pieces of silver and I will give you a prescription of herbs and a tiger’s heart dried in it and the tooth of a dog, and these boil together and let her drink the broth. But if you wish complete recovery guaranteed, then five hundred pieces of silver.”
Now when O-lan heard the words, “five hundred pieces of silver” she came suddenly out of her languor and she said weakly,
“No, and my life is not worth so much. A good piece of land can be bought for so much.”
Then when Wang Lung heard her say this all his old remorse smote him and he answered her fiercely,
“I will have no death in my house and I can pay the silver.”
Now when the old doctor heard him say, “I can pay the silver,” his eyes shone greedily enough, but he knew the penalty of the law if he did not keep his word and the woman died, and so he said, although with regret,
“Nay, and as I look at the color of the whites of her eyes, I see I was mistaken. Five thousand pieces of silver must I have if I guarantee full recovery.”
Then Wang Lung looked at the doctor in silence and in sad understanding. He had not so many pieces of silver in the world unless he sold his land, but he knew that even though he sold his land it was no avail, for it was simply that the doctor said, “The woman will die.”
He went out with the doctor, therefore, and he paid him the ten pieces of silver, and when he was gone Wang Lung went into the dark kitchen where O-lan had lived her life for the most part, and where, now that she was not there, none would see him, and he turned his face to the blackened wall, and he wept.
26
But there was no sudden dying of life in O-lan’s body. She was scarcely past the middle of her span of years, and her life would not easily pass from her body, so that she lay dying on her bed for many months. All through the long months of winter she lay dying and upon her bed, and for the first time Wang Lung and his children knew what she had been in the house, and how she made comfort for them all and they had not known it.
It seemed now that none knew how to light the grass and keep it burning in the oven, and none knew how to turn a fish in the cauldron without breaking it or burning one side black before the other side was cooked, and none knew whether sesame oil or bean were right for frying this vegetable or that. The filth of the crumbs and dropped food lay under the table and none swept it unless Wang Lung grew impatient with the smell of it and called in a dog from the court to lick it up or shouted at the younger girl to scrape it up and throw it out.
And the youngest lad did this and that to fill his mother’s place with the old man his grandfather, who was helpless as a little child now, and Wang Lung could not make the old man understand what had happened that O-lan no longer came to bring him tea and hot water and to help him lie down and stand up, and he was peevish because he called her and she did not come, and he threw his bowl of tea on the ground like a wilful child. At last Wang Lung led him in to O-lan’s room and showed him the bed where she lay, and the old man stared out of his filmed and half blind eyes, and he mumbled and wept because he saw dimly that something was wrong.
Only the poor fool knew nothing, and only she smiled and twisted her bit of cloth as she smiled. Yet one had to think of her to bring her in to sleep at night and to feed her and to set her in the sun in the day and to lead her in if it rained. All this one of them had to remember. But even Wang Lung himself forgot, and once they left her outside through a whole night, and the next morning the poor wretch was shivering and crying in the early dawn, and Wang Lung was angry and cursed his son and daughter that they had forgotten the poor fool who was their sister. Then he saw that they were but children trying to take their mother’s place and not able to do it, and he forebore and after that he saw to the poor fool himself night and morning. If it rained or snowed or a bitter wind blew he led her in and he let her sit among the warm ashes that dropped from the kitchen stove.
All during the dark winter months when O-lan lay dying Wang Lung paid no heed to the land. He turned over the winter’s work and the men to the government of Ching, and Ching labored faithfully, and night and morning he came to the door of the room where O-lan lay and he asked twice each day thus in his piping whisper how she did. At last Wang Lung could not bear it because every day and every night he could only say,
“Today she drank a little soup from a fowl,” or “today she ate a little thin gruel of rice.”
So he commanded Ching to ask no more but to do the work well, and it would be enough.
All during the cold dark winter Wang Lung sat often beside O-lan’s bed, and if she were cold he lit an earthen pot of charcoal and set it beside her bed for warmth, and she murmured each time faintly,
“Well, and it is too expensive.”
At last one day when she said this he could not bear it and he burst forth,
“This I cannot bear! I would sell all my land if it could heal you.”
She smiled at this and said in gasps, whispering,
“No, and I would not—let you. For I must die—sometime anyway. But the land is there after me.”
But he would not talk of her death and he rose and went out when she spoke of it.
Nevertheless because he knew she must die and it was his duty, he went one day into the town to a coffin-maker’s shop and he looked at every coffin that stood there ready to be bought, and he chose a good black one made from heavy and hard wood. Then the carpenter, who waited for him to choose, said cunningly,
“If you take two, the price is a third off for the two, and why do you not buy one for yourself and know you are provided?”
“No, and my sons can do it for me,” answered Wang Lung, and then he thought of his own father and he had not yet a coffin for the old man and he was struck with the thought and he said again, “But there is my old father and he will die one day soon, weak as he is on his two legs and deaf and half blind, and so I will take the two.”