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Authors: Pearl S. Buck
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know now that I do love. Here is the misery! If I did not love, I could be careless. What is a woman’s body? It is only a thing, to be kept or given away. There is no pride in it when one does not love. It is only priceless when one loves—and is loved again.”
She had no need to speak the name. Sakota knew it was Jung Lu.
“It is too late, Sister,” Sakota said. She stroked Yehonala’s smooth wet cheeks. “There is no escape now, Sister.”
Yehonala pushed her hands away. “Then I must die,” she said, her voice breaking, “for truly I will not live.” And she put her head down on her cousin’s shoulder again and wept.
Now this little Sakota had the soft heart of a woman in whom is only gentleness, and so while she soothed Yehonala with her hands, stroking her forehead and her cheeks, she plotted in her heart as to what she could do to help her. To leave the palace or even the Forbidden City was not possible. If a concubine escaped there was no place for her in the known world. If Yehonala returned to her uncle’s house, who was Sakota’s father, then the whole family might be killed for her sin. Yet where else can a runaway woman hide? If she mingles with strangers do they not all inquire to know who she is, for is it not told everywhere with noise and commotion if a concubine runs from the palaces of the Dragon Emperor? Whatever help, whatever comfort, must be found only within the walls themselves. Intrigue there was a plenty, and though no man could sleep within the walls of this city at night, save only the Son of Heaven, nevertheless women had their lovers by day.
Yet how could she, the Imperial Consort, stoop to bargain with eunuchs and so put herself in their power? She could not do this. Not only fear but delicacy, too, forbade.
“Dear Cousin,” she said, hiding her thoughts, “you must speak with Jung Lu. Ask him to tell my father that you cannot stay where you are. Perhaps my father can buy you free, or exchange you for some other one, or he can say you have gone mad. Not now, you understand, Cousin, for indeed I hear that our lord is much in love with you. But later, Cousin, when your turn is over, and another takes your place, perhaps it can be done.”
Sakota said this innocently, for she loved no man, and was not jealous, but Yehonala felt a prick of pride. What, was she to be displaced? If Sakota said this, then it must be that she had heard it already murmured among the women and the eunuchs. She sat up in bed and pushed her tumbled hair away from her face.
“I cannot ask my kinsman to come to me—you know that, Sakota! Gossip would flare from court to court. But you may send for him, Sakota. He is your kinsman, too. Send for him and tell him I will surely kill myself. Tell him that I care nothing for anyone, only to get myself free again. Here is a prison, Sakota—we are all in prison!”
“I am happy enough,” Sakota said, mildly. “It is pleasant here, I think!”
Yehonala turned her eyes sidewise on her cousin. “You are happy anywhere—so long as you can sit in peace and embroider bits of satin!”
Sakota’s eyelids fell and her small mouth curved down. “What else is there to do, Cousin?” she asked sadly.
Yehonala flung back her hair and caught it in one hand and twisted it into a great knot behind her head. “There—there—there—” she cried. “It is what I am saying! There is nothing to do—I cannot go on the street, I cannot so much as put my head outside the gate to see if there is a play at the corner, I have not seen one play since I came here and you know I have ever loved to see a play. My books, yes—my painting? Well, I paint. For whom? Myself! It is not enough—not yet! And at night—”
She shivered and drew up her legs and laid her proud head down upon her knees.
Sakota sat silent for a long moment. Then, knowing that she had no comfort for this young and stormy woman, whom indeed she could not understand, since not by storm can a woman
She had no need to speak the name. Sakota knew it was Jung Lu.
“It is too late, Sister,” Sakota said. She stroked Yehonala’s smooth wet cheeks. “There is no escape now, Sister.”
Yehonala pushed her hands away. “Then I must die,” she said, her voice breaking, “for truly I will not live.” And she put her head down on her cousin’s shoulder again and wept.
Now this little Sakota had the soft heart of a woman in whom is only gentleness, and so while she soothed Yehonala with her hands, stroking her forehead and her cheeks, she plotted in her heart as to what she could do to help her. To leave the palace or even the Forbidden City was not possible. If a concubine escaped there was no place for her in the known world. If Yehonala returned to her uncle’s house, who was Sakota’s father, then the whole family might be killed for her sin. Yet where else can a runaway woman hide? If she mingles with strangers do they not all inquire to know who she is, for is it not told everywhere with noise and commotion if a concubine runs from the palaces of the Dragon Emperor? Whatever help, whatever comfort, must be found only within the walls themselves. Intrigue there was a plenty, and though no man could sleep within the walls of this city at night, save only the Son of Heaven, nevertheless women had their lovers by day.
Yet how could she, the Imperial Consort, stoop to bargain with eunuchs and so put herself in their power? She could not do this. Not only fear but delicacy, too, forbade.
“Dear Cousin,” she said, hiding her thoughts, “you must speak with Jung Lu. Ask him to tell my father that you cannot stay where you are. Perhaps my father can buy you free, or exchange you for some other one, or he can say you have gone mad. Not now, you understand, Cousin, for indeed I hear that our lord is much in love with you. But later, Cousin, when your turn is over, and another takes your place, perhaps it can be done.”
Sakota said this innocently, for she loved no man, and was not jealous, but Yehonala felt a prick of pride. What, was she to be displaced? If Sakota said this, then it must be that she had heard it already murmured among the women and the eunuchs. She sat up in bed and pushed her tumbled hair away from her face.
“I cannot ask my kinsman to come to me—you know that, Sakota! Gossip would flare from court to court. But you may send for him, Sakota. He is your kinsman, too. Send for him and tell him I will surely kill myself. Tell him that I care nothing for anyone, only to get myself free again. Here is a prison, Sakota—we are all in prison!”
“I am happy enough,” Sakota said, mildly. “It is pleasant here, I think!”
Yehonala turned her eyes sidewise on her cousin. “You are happy anywhere—so long as you can sit in peace and embroider bits of satin!”
Sakota’s eyelids fell and her small mouth curved down. “What else is there to do, Cousin?” she asked sadly.
Yehonala flung back her hair and caught it in one hand and twisted it into a great knot behind her head. “There—there—there—” she cried. “It is what I am saying! There is nothing to do—I cannot go on the street, I cannot so much as put my head outside the gate to see if there is a play at the corner, I have not seen one play since I came here and you know I have ever loved to see a play. My books, yes—my painting? Well, I paint. For whom? Myself! It is not enough—not yet! And at night—”
She shivered and drew up her legs and laid her proud head down upon her knees.
Sakota sat silent for a long moment. Then, knowing that she had no comfort for this young and stormy woman, whom indeed she could not understand, since not by storm can a woman
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