The Good Earth

23

Now lotus, seeing Wang Lung distraught in her presence, and thinking of things other than her beauty, pouted and said,

“If I had known that in a short year you could look at me and not see me, I would have stayed in the tea house.” And she turned her head away as she spoke and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes so that he laughed and seized her hand and he put it against his face and smelled of its fragrance and he answered,

“Well, and a man cannot always think of the jewel he has sewn on his coat, but if it were lost he could not bear it. These days I think of my eldest son and of how his blood is restless with desire and he must be wed and I do not know how to find the one he should wed. I am not willing that he marry any of the daughters of the village farmers, nor is it meet, seeing that we bear the common name of Wang. Yet I do not know one in the town well enough to say to him, ‘Here is my son and there is your daughter,’ and I am loath to go to a professional matchmaker, lest there be some bargain she has made with a man who has a daughter deformed or idiot.”

Now Lotus, since the eldest son had grown tall and graceful with young manhood, looked on the lad with favor and she was diverted with what Wang Lung said to her and she replied, musing,

“There was a man who used to come in to me at the great tea house, and he often spoke of his daughter, because he said she was such an one as I, small and fine, but still only a child, and he said, ‘And I love you with a strange unease as though you were my daughter; you are too like her, and it troubles me for it is not lawful,’ and for this reason, although he loved me best, he went to a great red girl called Pomegranate Flower.”

“What sort of man was this?” asked Wang Lung.

“He was a good man and his silver was ready and he did not promise without paying. We all wished him well, for he was not begrudging, and if a girl was weary sometimes he did not bawl out as some did that he had been cheated, but he always said courteously as a prince might, or some might from a learned and noble house, ‘Well, and here is the silver, and rest, my child, until love blooms again.’ He spoke very prettily to us.” And Lotus mused until Wang Lung said hastily to waken her for he did not like her to think on her old life,

“What was his business, then, with all this silver?”

And she answered, “Now and I do not know but I think he was master of a grain market, but I will ask Cuckoo who knows everything about men and their money.”

Then she clapped her hands and Cuckoo ran in from the kitchen, her high cheeks and nose flushed with the fire, and Lotus asked her,

“Who was that great, large, goodly man who came to me and then to Pomegranate Flower, because I was like his little daughter, so that it troubled him, although he ever loved me best?”

And Cuckoo answered at once, “Ah, and that was Liu, the grain dealer. Ah, he was a good man! He left silver in my palm whenever he saw me.”

“Where is his market?” asked Wang Lung, although idly, because it was woman’s talk and likely to come to nothing.

“In the street of the Stone Bridge,” said Cuckoo.

Then before she finished the words Wang Lung struck his hands together in delight and he said,

“Now then, that is where I sell my grain, and it is a propitious thing and surely it can be done,” and for the first time his interest was awake, because it seemed to him a lucky thing to wed his son to the daughter of the man who bought his grain.

When there was a thing to be done, Cuckoo smelled the money in it as a rat smells tallow, and she wiped her hands upon her apron and she said quickly,

“I am ready to serve the master.”

Wang Lung was doubtful, and doubting, he looked at her crafty face, but Lotus said gaily,

“And that is true, and Cuckoo shall go and ask the man Liu, and he knows her well and the thing can be done, for Cuckoo is clever enough, and she shall have the matchmaker’s fee, if it is well done.”

“That will I do!” said Cuckoo heartily and she laughed as she thought of the fee of good silver on her palm, and she untied her apron from her waist and she said busily, “Now and at once will I go, for the meat is ready except for the moment of cooking and the vegetables are washed.”

But Wang Lung had not pondered the matter sufficiently and it was not to be decided so quickly as this and he called out,

“No, and I have decided nothing. I must think of the matter for some days and I will tell you what I think.”

The women were impatient, Cuckoo for the silver and Lotus because it was a new thing and she would hear something new to amuse her, but Wang Lung went out, saying,

“No, it is my son and I will wait.”

And so he might have waited for many days, thinking of this and that, had not one early morning, the lad, his eldest son, come home in the dawn with his face hot and red with wine drinking, and his breath was fetid and his feet unsteady. Wang Lung heard him stumbling in the court and he ran out to see who it was, and the lad was sick and vomited before him, for he was unaccustomed to more than the pale mild wine they made from their own rice fermented, and he fell and lay on the ground in his vomit like a dog.

Wang Lung was frightened and he called for O-lan, and together they lifted the lad up and O-lan washed him and laid him upon the bed in her own room, and before she was finished with him the lad was asleep and heavy as one dead and could answer nothing to what his father asked.

Then Wang Lung went into the room where the two boys slept together, and the younger was yawning and stretching and tying his books into a square cloth to carry to school, and Wang Lung said to him,

“Was your elder brother not in the bed with you last night?”

And the boy answered unwillingly,

“No.”

There was some fear in his look and Wang Lung, seeing it, cried out at him roughly,

“Where was he gone?” and when the boy would not answer, he took him by the neck and shook him and cried, “Now tell me all, you small dog!”

The boy was frightened at this, and he broke out sobbing and crying and said between his sobs,

“And Elder Brother said I was not to tell you and he said he would pinch me and burn me with a hot needle if I told and if I do not tell he gives me pence.”

And Wang Lung, beside himself at this, shouted out,

“Tell what, you who ought to die?”

And the boy looked about him and said desperately, seeing that his father would choke him if he did not answer,

“He has been away three nights altogether, but what he does I do not know, except that he goes with the son of your uncle, our cousin.”

Wang Lung loosed his hand then from the boy’s neck and he flung him aside and he strode forth into his uncle’s rooms, and there he found his uncle’s son, hot and red of face with wine, even as his own son, but steadier of foot, for the young man was older and accustomed to the ways of men. Wang Lung shouted at him,

“Where have you led my son?”

And the young man sneered at Wang Lung and he said,

“Ah, that son of my cousin’s needs no leading. He can go alone.”

But Wang Lung repeated it and this time he thought to himself that he would kill this son of his uncle’s now, this impudent scampish face, and he cried in a terrible voice,

“Where has my son been this night?”

Then the young man was frightened at the sound of his voice and he answered sullenly and unwillingly, dropping his impudent eyes,

“He was at the house of the whore who lives in the court that once belonged to the great house.”

When Wang Lung heard this he gave a great groan, for the whore was one well known of many men and none went to her except poor and common men, for she was no longer young and she was willing to give much for little. Without stopping for food he went out of his gate and across his fields, and for once he saw nothing of what grew on his land, and noted nothing of how the crop promised, because of the trouble his son had brought to him. He went with his eyes fixed inward, and he went through the gate of the wall about the town, and he went to the house that had been great.

The heavy gates were swung back widely now, and none ever closed them upon their thick iron hinges, for any who would might come and go in these days, and he went in, and the courts and the rooms were filled with common people, who rented the rooms, a family of common people to a room. The place was filthy and the old pines hewed down and those left standing were dying, and the pools in the courts were choked with refuse.

But he saw none of this. He stood in the court of the first house and he called out,

“Where is the woman called Yang, who is a whore?”

There was a woman there who sat on a three-legged stool, sewing at a shoe sole, and she lifted her head and nodded toward a side door opening on the court and she took up her sewing again, as though many times she had been asked this question by men.

Wang Lung went to the door and he beat on it, and a fretful voice answered,

“Now go away, for I am done my business for this night and must sleep, since I work all night.”

But he beat again, and the voice cried out, “Who is it?”

He would not answer, but he beat yet again, for he would go in whether or not, and at last he heard a shuffling and a woman opened the foor, a woman none too young and with a weary face and hanging, thick lips, and coarse white paint on her forehead and red paint she had not washed from her mouth and cheeks, and she looked at him and said sharply,

“Now I cannot before tonight and if you like you may come as early as you will then in the night, but now I must sleep.”

But Wang Lung broke roughly into her talking, for the sight of her sickened him and the thought of his son here he could not bear, and he said,

“It is not for myself—I do not need such as you. It is for my son.”

And he felt suddenly in his throat a thickening of weeping for his son. Then the woman asked,

“Well, and what of your son?”

And Wang Lung answered and his voice trembled,

“He was here last night.”

“There were many sons of men here last night,” replied the Woman, “and I do not know which was yours.”

Then Wang Lung said, beseeching her,

“Think and remember a little slight young lad, tall for his years, but not yet a man, and I did not dream he dared to try a woman.”

And she, remembering, answered,

“Were there two, and was one a young fellow with his turned to the sky at the end and a look in his eye of knowing everything, and his hat over one ear? And the other, as you say, a tall big lad, but eager to be a man!”

And Wang Lung said, “Yes—yes—that is he—that is my son!”

“And what of your son?” said the woman.

Then Wang Lung said earnestly,

“This: if he ever comes again, put him off—say you desire men only—say what you will—but every time you put him off I will give you twice the fee of silver on your palm!”

The woman laughed then and carelessly and she said in sudden good humor,

“And who would not say aye to this, to be paid for not working? And so I say aye also. It is true enough that I desire men and little boys are small pleasure.” And she nodded at Wang Lung as she spoke and leered at him and he was sickened at her coarse face and he said hastily,

“So be it, then.”

He turned quickly and he walked home, and as he walked he spat and spat again to rid him of his sickness at the memory of the woman.

On this day, therefore, he said to Cuckoo,

“Let it be as you said. Go to the grain merchant and arrange the matter. Let the dowry be good but not too great if the girl is suitable and if it can be arranged.”

When he had said this to Cuckoo he went back to the room and he sat beside his sleeping son and he brooded, for he saw how fair and young the boy lay there, and he saw the quiet face, asleep and smooth with its youth. Then when he thought of the weary painted woman and her thick lips, his heart swelled with sickness and anger and he sat there muttering to himself.

And as he sat O-lan came in and stood looking at the boy, and she saw the clear sweat standing on his skin and she brought vinegar in warm water and washed the sweat away gently, as they used to wash the young lords in the great house when they drank too heavily. Then seeing the delicate childish face and the drunken sleep that even the washing would not awaken, Wang Lung rose and went in his anger to his uncle’s room, and he forgot the brother of his father and he remembered only that this man was father to the idle, impudent young man who had spoiled his own fair son, and he went in and he shouted,

“Now I have harbored an ungrateful nest of snakes and they have bitten me!”

His uncle was sitting leaning over a table eating his breakfast, for he never rose until midday, seeing there was no work he had to do, and he looked up at these words and he said lazily,

“How now?”

Then Wang Lung told him, half-choking, what had happened, but his uncle only laughed and he said,

“Well, and can you keep a boy from becoming a man? And can you keep a young dog from a stray bitch?”

When Wang Lung heard this laughter he remembered in one crowded space of time all that he had endured because of his uncle; how of old his uncle had tried to force him to the selling of his land, and how they lived here, these three, eating and drinking and idle, and how his uncle’s wife ate of the expensive foods Cuckoo bought for Lotus, and now how his uncle’s son had spoiled his own fair lad, and he bit his tongue between his teeth and he said,

“Now out of my house, you and yours, and no more rice will there be for any of you from this hour, and I will burn the house down rather than have it shelter you, who have no gratitude even in your idleness!”

But his uncle sat where he was and ate on, now from this bowl and now from that, and Wang Lung stood there bursting with his blood, and when he saw his uncle paid no heed to him, he stepped forward with his arm upraised. Then the uncle turned and said,

“Drive me out if you dare.”

And when Wang Lung stammered and blustered, not understanding, “Well—and what—well and what—” his uncle opened his coat and showed him what was against its lining.

Then Wang Lung stood still and rigid, for he saw there a false beard of red hair and a length of red cloth, and Wang Lung stared at these things, and the anger went out of him like Water and he shook because there was no strength left in him.

Now these things, the red beard and the red length of cloth were sign and symbol of a band of robbers who lived and marauded toward the northwest, and many houses had they burned and women they had carried away, and good farmers they had bound with ropes to the threshold of their own houses and men found them there next day, raving mad if they lived and burnt and crisp as roasted meat if they were dead. And Wang Lung stared and his eyes hung out of his head, and he turned and went away without a word. And as he went he heard his uncle’s whispered laughter as he stooped again over his rice bowl.

Now Wang Lung found himself in such a coil as he had never dreamed of. His uncle came and went as before, grinning a little under the sparse and scattered hairs of his grey beard his robes wrapped and girdled about his body as carelessly as ever, and Wang Lung sweated chilly when he saw him but he dared not speak anything except courteous words for fear of what his uncle might do to him. It was true that during all these years of his prosperity and especially during the years when there were no harvests or only very little and other men had starved with their children, never had bandits come to his house and his lands, although he had many times been afraid and had barred the doors stoutly at night. Until the summer of his love he had dressed himself coarsely and had avoided the appearance of wealth, and when among the villagers he heard stories of marauding he came home and slept fitfully and listened for sounds out of the night.

But the robbers never came to his house and he grew careless and bold and he believed he was protected by heaven and that he was a man of good fortune by destiny, and he grew heedless of everything, even of incense of the gods, since they were good enough to him without, and he thought of nothing except of his own affairs and of his land. And now suddenly he saw why he had been safe and why he would be safe so long as he fed the three of his uncle’s house. When he thought of this he sweated heavy cold sweat, and he dared to tell no one what his Uncle hid in his bosom.

But to his uncle he said no more of leaving the house, and to his uncle’s wife he said with what urging he could muster,

“Eat what you like in the inner courts and here is a bit of silver to spend.”

And to his uncle’s son he said, although the gorge rose in his throat, yet he said,

“Here is a bit of silver, for young men will play.”

But his own son Wang Lung watched and he would not allow him to leave the courts after sundown, although the lad grew angry and flung himself about and slapped the younger children for nothing except his own ill-humor. So was Wang Lung encompassed about with his troubles.

At first Wang Lung could not work for thinking of all the trouble that had befallen him, and he thought of this trouble and that, and he thought, “I could turn my uncle out and I could move inside the city wall where they lock the great gates every night against robbers,” but then he remembered that every day he must come to work on his fields, and who could tell what might happen to him as he worked defenseless, even on his own land? Moreover, how could a man live locked in a town and in a house in the town, and he would die if he were cut off from his land. There would surely come a bad year, moreover, and even the town could not withstand robbers, as it had not in the past when the great house fell.

And he could go into the town and go to the court where the magistrate lived and say to him,

“My uncle is one of the Redbeards.”

But if he did this, who would believe him, who would believe a man when he told such a thing of his own father’s brother? It was more likely that he would be beaten for his unfilial conduct rather than his uncle suffer, and in the end he would go in fear of his life, for if the robbers heard of it, they would kill him for revenge.

Then as if this were not enough Cuckoo came back from the grain merchant and although the affair of the betrothal had gone well, the merchant Liu was not willing that anything should take place now except the exchange of the betrothal papers, for the maid was too young for marriage, being but fourteen years old, and it must wait for another three years. Wang Lung was dismayed at three more years of this lad’s anger and idleness and mooning eyes, for he would not go to school now two days out of ten, and Wang Lung shouted at O-lan that night when he ate,

“Well, and let us betroth these other children as soon as we are able, and the sooner the better, and let us marry them as soon as they begin to yearn, for I cannot have this over again three more times!”

And the next morning he had not slept but a little through the night, and he tore off his long robes and kicked off his shoes, and as was his wont when the affairs of his house became too deep for him, he took a hoe and he went to his fields, and he went through the outer court where the eldest girl sat smiling and twisting her bit of cloth through her fingers and smoothin it, and he muttered,

“Well, and that poor fool of mine brings me more comfort than all the others put together.”

And he went out to his land day after day for many days.

Then the good land did again its healing work and the sun shone on him and healed him and the warm winds of summer wrapped him about with peace. And as if to cure him of the root of his ceaseless thought of his own troubles, there came out of the south one day a small slight cloud. At first it hung on the horizon small and smooth as a mist, except it did not come hither and thither as clouds blown by the wind do, but it stood steady until it spread fanwise up into the air.

The men of the village watched it and talked of it and fear hung over them, for what they feared was this, that locusts had come out of the south to devour what was planted in the fields. Wang Lung stood there also, and he watched, and they gazed and at last a wind blew something to their feet, and one stooped hastily and picked it up and it was a dead locust, dead and lighter than the living hosts behind.

Then Wang Lung forgot everything that troubled him. Women and sons and uncle, he forgot them all, and he rushed among the frightened villagers, and he shouted at them,

“Now for our good land we will fight these enemies from the skies!”

But there were some who shook their heads, hopeless from the start, and these said,

“No, and there is no use in anything. Heaven has ordained that this year we shall starve, and why should we waste ourselves in struggle against it, seeing that in the end we must starve?”

And women went weeping to the town to buy incense to thrust before the earth gods in the little temple, and some went to the big temple in the town, where the gods of heaven were, and thus earth and heaven were worshipped.

But still the locusts spread up into the air and on over the land.

Then Wang Lung called his own laborers and Ching stood silent and ready beside him and there were others of the younger farmers, and with their own hands these set fire to certain fields and they burned the good wheat that stood almost ripe for cutting and they dug wide moats and ran water into them from the wells, and they worked without sleeping. O-lan brought them food and the women brought their men food, and the men ate standing in the field, gulping it down as beasts do, as they worked night and day.

Then the sky grew black and the air was filled with the deep still roar of many wings beating against each other, and upon the land the locusts fell, flying over this field and leaving it whole, and falling upon that field, and eating it as bare as winter. And men sighed and said “So Heaven wills,” but Wang Lung was furious and he beat the locusts and trampled on them and his men flailed them with flails and the locusts fell into the fires that were kindled and they floated dead upon the waters of the moats that were dug. And many millions of them died, but to those that were left it was nothing.

Nevertheless, for all his fighting Wang Lung had this as his reward: the best of his fields were spared and when the cloud moved on and they could rest themselves, there was still wheat that he could reap and his young rice beds were spared and he was content. Then many of the people ate the roasted bodies of the locusts, but Wang Lung himself would not eat them, for to him they were a filthy thing because of what they had done to his land. But he said nothing when O-lan fried them in oil and when the laborers crunched them between their teeth and the children pulled them apart delicately and tasted them, afraid of their great eyes. But as for himself he would not eat.

Nevertheless, the locusts did this for him. For seven days he thought of nothing but his land, and he was healed of his troubles and his fears, and he said to himself calmly,

“Well, and every man has his troubles and I must make shift to live with mine as I can, and my uncle is older than I and he will die, and three years must pass as they can with my son and I shall not kill myself.”

And he reaped his wheat and the rains came and the young green rice was set into the flooded fields and again it was summer.