Wherein
a son is
born and
there is
great rejoicing
FROM the time of Kuei Ping’s earliest memory she had known that among her people the crown of womanhood was the bearing of a son who would perpetuate the name and the virtue of his ancestors. Feeling the first stirring of a new life entrusted to her, she was filled with joy in the privilege that was hers, a joy that was at times almost overpowered by the fear that she might fail in fulfillment of that trust. Daily she went to the temple of the Merciful One begging the Goddess of One Hundred Children to grant unto her a male child.
Other women waited in the temple also for their turn within the prayer gate, buying faggots of incense to burn before the altar, dropping gifts of money and touching infants’ shoes to the hem of the Goddess’ robe. At times, in these new days of life in the small courtyard where Fuh Tang had founded their home, her thoughts turned to those earlier teachings in school, precepts from the foreign Bible. Kuei Ping had even whiled away idle hours, while she waited for her husband’s return from his duties as clerk, by reading the translation her teacher had given her. But now in her time of greatest need she turned back to old familiar ways of worship through which her mother before her had reached toward an unknown power, behind the wall of earthly life.
Carried by the devious ways of tongue and ear, by which news can travel the length of an empire without need of telephone wires, the knowledge of Kuei Ping’s hopes reached the heart of the Yen compound. One morning as she walked with Fuh Tang to the outer gateway, Chang An stood requesting admittance from the gateman. She offered no explanation of her coming save that Madame Yen could no longer give her shelter and that she had come to them for a roof. Thus without loss of face on the part of her elders Kuei Ping was given the comfort of an older woman.
Under the busy fingers of the two the garments prepared for the child grew to a needlessly large heap. Kuei Ping, eager in her preparation, made tiger caps and sewed bright buttons like eyes in the toes of shoes that she knew in her thoughtful moments were in sizes large enough for walking children. Chang An gave suggestions as to the cutting of innumerable padded coats and long hooded caps for winter, and for the scanty garments of bright red for summer. Together they made ready the cradle of peach wood that the child might be rocked safely into a long life.