During this last year, however, he had begun to notice a further change in himself. It was insidious, hardly noticeable from one day to another, but it was there. He was losing the desire to attend to things. He walked up the hill at dawn less often. His studies were becoming more desultory. He wished he could turn the estate over to his son.
—
Ru-Hai and the boy did not come that day, but they came the next, arriving at noon, Ru-Hai riding a strong horse and his son a sturdy pony, which the groom took care of. The little gaggle of servants had all known Ru-Hai since he was a boy, so there were many greetings before the three of them sat down to eat a meal together, and Shi-Rong had a chance to observe his grandson. He wanted to like the boy and to be liked by him.
It had to be said, his grandson was not quite what he had expected. Of course, he reminded himself, it had been some years since he’d seen Bao-Yu, and naturally the child had grown a lot. All the men of the mother’s family were large, so it really wasn’t surprising if, already, one could see young Bao-Yu was going to be a big, flat-faced sort of fellow when he grew up. But he was very polite and respectful. Shi-Rong was grateful his father had seen to that—even if the boy did wolf his food.
During the meal Shi-Rong asked Ru-Hai for news about his wife and two daughters, and received a promise that the entire family would come for Qingming the following spring. Then, so as not to leave him out of the conversation, Shi-Rong asked his grandson about his studies at school. How far had he progressed with Confucius?
“He does all right,” Ru-Hai answered for him, a little too quickly perhaps. “He has a good head for mathematics,” he added.
“Ah,” said Shi-Rong a little absently. “I am glad to hear it.” And he gave the boy an encouraging nod.
If Shi-Rong was slightly puzzled by his grandson so far, he was entirely disconcerted when, after the meal was over and they were about to walk up the hill to visit the ancestral tombs, Bao-Yu suddenly lay down on his back in the courtyard and invited his grandfather to stand on his stomach.
“What does he want?” Shi-Rong asked Ru-Hai.
“He wants you to stand on his stomach,” his son replied with a smile. “He’s always asking people to do that.”
“He can jump on it if he wants,” the boy cried proudly.
“Certainly not. Tell him to get up at once,” said Shi-Rong crossly.
“It’s all right, Father,” said Ru-Hai, “he just wants to impress you with how strong he is.” It seemed to Shi-Rong that both Ru-Hai and his son had taken leave of their senses. Was this any way to show respect to a grandfather?
“He can lie there all day,” he said, “but I’ve got better things to do than jump up and down on him.” And taking his son firmly by the arm, he started to leave the courtyard. If the boy was crestfallen, however, he didn’t show it. He just bounced up and trotted after them.
“It’s all right, you know, Father,” said Ru-Hai. “Remember what they say: strong in body, strong in mind.”
“He needs exercise,” Shi-Rong replied drily.
—
It was a fine afternoon. The view from the tombs across the huge valley was magnificent.
“You have been here before,” Shi-Rong said to the boy, who looked uncertain.
“He doesn’t remember,” said Ru-Hai.
Quietly Shi-Rong showed the boy the tombs. “This is my father, your great-grandfather. Here is his father and his…” For several minutes he went reverently from tomb to tomb, saying a few words about each. Then he and Ru-Hai and the boy prayed for all their ancestors. Bao-Yu behaved very properly, and Shi-Rong told him: “You must remember this day for the rest of your life, when you and your father and your grandfather prayed together at the tombs of our ancestors. Will you promise me to do that?”
“Yes, Grandfather,” he said.
“He will remember this time,” said Ru-Hai.
“Good. Let us look at the view. It will be fine today.” Indeed, Shi-Rong could scarcely remember a day when it had been clearer. “You like the view?” he asked Bao-Yu.
“I do, Grandfather.” The boy nodded vigorously.
“Our family’s been looking at this view for hundreds of years,” Shi-Rong said. “This river valley is where Chinese history began. We don’t even know when we first came here, it’s so long ago. And whatever we do in life, we always finally come home and look over the river. My father did. So will your father, I daresay.” He glanced at Ru-Hai.
“Of course,” said Ru-Hai.
“And me too?” asked the boy.
“I can’t see any point in moving, can you?”
“Oh no,” said his grandson, “I can’t.”
“Well then, we agree,” said Shi-Rong. “What else do you know about the river?”
“It runs within its banks because of the irrigation works of Yu the Great.”
“The civilization of the Yellow River owes everything to him. When did he live?”
“Legend says four thousand years ago.”
“Good boy. And did he have illustrious ancestors?”
“He was tenth generation in descent from the Yellow Emperor, who may have been a god.”
“Well,” Shi-Rong remarked to Ru-Hai, “my grandson knows the most important things.” He gave the boy a smile of approval. “Perhaps I’ll jump on his stomach after all.”
“It needs dredging again,” said the boy unexpectedly.
“Yes, it probably does,” Shi-Rong agreed, but with some surprise.
“He wants to dredge it,” his father explained.
“I want to be like Yu the Great,” Bao-Yu declared.
“He wants to be an emperor?” Shi-Rong asked in astonishment.
“No, Father.” Ru-Hai laughed. “He wants to be an engineer.”
“An engineer?” Shi-Rong frowned. “That sounds rather mechanical. We don’t become engineers in this family,” he told the boy, “though you can employ engineers, of course.”
“You forget, Father,” Ru-Hai
