by Lisa See
“But—”
“And the way the whole Lu party examined your feet! Oh, Lily, I’m sure everyone in my village is happy to know that one day you will be the new Lady Lu. Now try to sleep. You have many long days ahead of you.”
We lay face-to-face. Snow Flower put a hand on my cheek in her usual way. “Close your eyes,” she ordered softly. I did as I was told.
THE NEXT DAY
my in-laws arrived in Puwei early enough to pick me up and get me back to Tongkou by late afternoon. When I heard the band on the outskirts of the village, my heart began to race. I couldn’t help it, but tears leaked from my eyes. Mama, Aunt, Elder Sister, and Snow Flower all cried as they led me downstairs. The groom’s emissaries arrived at the threshold. My brothers helped load my dowry into waiting palanquins. Again I wore my headdress, so I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard my family’s voices as we went through the final traditional calls and responses.
“A woman will never become valuable if she doesn’t leave her village,” Mama cried out.
“Goodbye, Mama,” I chanted back to her. “Thank you for raising a worthless daughter.”
“Goodbye, daughter,” Baba said softly.
With the sound of my father’s voice, my tears came down in twin streams. I clung to the railing leading to the upstairs chamber. Suddenly I didn’t want to go.
“As women, we are born to leave our home villages,” Aunt sang out. “You are like a bird flying into a cloud, never to return.”
“Thank you, Aunt, for making me laugh. Thank you for showing me the true meaning of sorrow. Thank you for sharing your special talents with me.”
Aunt’s sobs echoed back to me from her dark place. I couldn’t leave her to mourn alone. My tears matched hers.
Looking down, I saw Uncle’s sun-browned hands on mine, pulling my fingers away from the railing.
“Your flower-sitting chair waits for you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion.
“Uncle . . .”
Then I heard the voices of my siblings, each of them wishing me farewell. I wanted to see them with my eyes instead of being blinded by those red tassels.
“Elder Brother, thank you for the goodness you have shown me,” I chanted. “Second Brother, thank you for letting me care for you when you were a baby in split pants. Elder Sister, thank you for your patience.”
Outside, the band played louder. My hands reached out. Mama and Baba took them and helped me over the threshold. As I stepped over it, my tassels swung momentarily back and forth across my face. In little flashes I saw my palanquin covered in flowers and red silk. My hua jiao—flower-sitting chair—was beautiful.
Everything I had been told since my betrothal was arranged six years ago flooded my mind. I was marrying a tiger, the best match for me, according to our horoscopes. My husband was healthy, smart, and educated. His family was respected, rich, and generous. I had glimpsed these things already in the quality and quantity of my bride-price gifts, and now I saw them again with my flower-sitting chair. I loosened my grip on my parents’ hands and they let go of me.
I took two blind steps forward and stopped. I couldn’t see where I was going. I reached out my hands, longing for Snow Flower to take them. As she always had, she came to me. With her fingers wrapped around mine, she led me to the palanquin. She opened the door. All around me I heard crying. Mama and Aunt sang a sorrowful melody—the usual one to say goodbye to a daughter. Snow Flower leaned in close and whispered so no one could hear.
“Remember, we are old sames forever.” Then she took something from inside her sleeve and tucked it inside my jacket. “I made this for you,” she said. “Read it on your way to Tongkou. I will see you there.”
I got into the palanquin. The bearers lifted me up and I was on my way. Mama, Aunt, Baba, Snow Flower, and some friends from Puwei followed my escorts and me to the edge of the village, calling out final good wishes. I sat alone in the palanquin, crying.
Why was I making such a fuss when I would return to my natal home in three days? I can explain it this way: The phrase we use for marrying out is buluo fujia, which means not falling into your husband’s home immediately. The luo means falling, like the falling of leaves in autumn or falling in death. And in our local dialect, the word for wife is the same as the word for guest. For the rest of my life I would be merely a guest in my husband’s home—not the kind you treat with special meals, gifts of affection, or soft beds, but the kind who is forever viewed as a foreigner, alien and suspect.
I reached into my jacket and pulled out Snow Flower’s package. It was our fan, wrapped in cloth. I opened it, anticipating the happy words she would have written. My eyes scanned the folds until I saw her message: Two birds in flight—hearts beating as one. The sun shines upon their wings, drenching them with healing warmth. The earth spreads below them—all theirs. In the garland at the top of the fan, two small birds soared together: my husband and me. I loved that Snow Flower had placed my husband in our dearest possession.
Next I spread open on my lap the handkerchief that had been wrapped around the fan. Looking down, my tassels swinging with the movement of the bearers, I saw she had embroidered a letter to me in our secret language to celebrate this most special moment.
The letter began in the traditional opening to a bride:
I feel knives in my heart as I write to you. We promised each other that we would never be a step apart, that a harsh word would never pass between us.
These words came from our contract, and I smiled at the memory.
I thought we would have our whole lives together. I never believed this day would come. It is sad that we came into this life wrong—as girls—but this is our fate. Lily, we have been like a pair of mandarin ducks. Now everything changes. In the coming days you will learn things about me. I have been restless and filled with apprehension. In my heart and in my mouth I have been weeping, thinking you will no longer love me. Please know that whatever you think of me, my opinion of you will never change.
Snow Flower
Can you imagine how I felt? Snow Flower had been very quiet these past weeks, because she’d been concerned that I would no longer love her. But how could that be? In my flower-sitting chair on my way to my husband, I knew nothing would ever change my feelings for Snow Flower. I had a terrible sense of foreboding and wanted to yell to the bearers to take me home so that I could ease my laotong’s fears.
But then we arrived at Tongkou’s main gate. Firecrackers spit and popped; the band clanged, tooted, and drummed their instruments. People unloaded my dowry. These things had to be taken straightaway to my new home so my husband could change into the wedding clothes I’d made for him. Then I heard a terrible but familiar sound. It was that of a chicken having its neck cut. Outside my flower-sitting chair, someone spattered the chicken’s blood on the ground to ward off any evil spirits that might have arrived with me.
At last my door opened, and I was helped out by a woman regarded to be the head of the village. The actual head woman was my mother-in-law, but for this purpose it was the woman in Tongkou with the most sons. She led me to my new home, where I stepped over the threshold and was presented to my in-laws. I knelt before them, touching my head to the ground three times. “I will obey you,” I said. “I will work for you.” Then I poured tea for them. After this, I was escorted to the wedding chamber, where I was left alone with the door open. I was now just moments away from meeting my husband. I had been waiting for this since the first time Madame Wang came to my house to see my feet, yet I was totally flustered, agitated, and confused. This man was a total stranger, so I was naturally curious about him. He would be the father of my children, so I was anxious about how that business was going to happen. And I had just received a mysterious letter from my old same and I was consumed with worry for her.
I heard people move a table to bar the door. I tilted my head just so, my tassels parted, and I saw my in-laws stack my wedding quilts on the table and place two cups of wine—one tied w
ith green thread, the other with red thread, then both of them tied together—on top of the pile.
My husband entered the anteroom. Everyone cheered. This time I did not try to peek. I wanted to be as conventional as I could in this first meeting. From his side of the table, he pulled the red thread. From my side, I pulled the green thread. Then he jumped up on the table right onto the quilts and leaped into the room. With that action we were officially married.
What could I tell about my husband in the first instant that we stood side by side? I could smell that he had made a general cleaning of his body. By looking down I could see that the shoes I’d made for him were handsome on his feet and that his red wedding trousers were the exact right length. But the moment passed, and we moved on to Teasing and Getting Loud in the Wedding Chamber. My husband’s friends burst in, unsteady on their feet and feeble in their words from too much drink. They gave us peanuts and dates so we would have many children. They gave us sweets so we would have a sweet life. But they didn’t just hand a dumpling to me like they did to my husband. No! They tied the dumpling with a string and dangled it just above my mouth. They made me jump for it, making sure I never reached my goal. All the while, they made jokes. You know the kind. My husband would be as strong as a bull tonight, or I would be as submissive as a lamb, or my breasts looked like two peaches ready to burst the fabric of my jacket, or my husband would have as many seeds as a pomegranate, or if we used a particular position we would be guaranteed a first son. This is the same everywhere—low-class talk permitted on the first night of any marriage anywhere. And I played along, but inside I was growing more frantic.
I had been in Tongkou for hours. Now it was late at night. Outside on the street, villagers were drinking, eating, dancing, celebrating. A new round of firecrackers was set off, signaling everyone to go home. At long last, Madame Wang closed the door to the wedding chamber and my husband and I were alone.
He said, “Hello.”
I said, “Hello.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m not supposed to eat for another two days.”
“You have peanuts and dates,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone if you want to eat them.”
I shook my head and the little balls on my headdress shook and the silver pieces chimed prettily. My tassels parted and I saw that his eyes were cast down. He was looking at my feet. I blushed. I held my breath, hoping to still the tassels so he wouldn’t glimpse the emotions on my cheeks. I didn’t move and neither did he. I was sure he was still examining me. All I could do was wait.
Finally, my husband said, “I’ve been told you’re very pretty. Are you?”
“Help me with my headdress and find out for yourself.”
This came out more tartly than I intended, but my husband just laughed. A few moments later, he set the headdress on a side table. He turned back to face me. We were perhaps a meter apart. He searched my face and I boldly searched his. Everything Madame Wang and Snow Flower had said about him was true. He bore no pockmarks or scars of any kind. He was not as dark-skinned as Baba or Uncle, which told me that his hours in the family fields were few. He had high cheekbones and a chin that was confident but not impudent. An unruly shock of hair fell across his forehead, giving him a carefree look. His eyes sparkled with good humor.
He stepped forward, took my hands in his, and said, “I think we could be happy, you and I.”
Could a Yao nationality girl of seventeen hope for better words? Like my husband, I saw a golden future before us. That night, he followed all the correct traditions, even removing my bridal shoes and putting on my red sleeping slippers. I was so accustomed to Snow Flower’s gentle touch that I can’t really describe how I felt having his hands on my feet, except that this act seemed far more intimate to me than what came next. I didn’t know what I was doing, but neither did he. I just tried to imagine what Snow Flower would have done if she were under that strange man instead of me.
ON THE SECOND
day of my marriage, I rose early. I left my husband sleeping and stepped out into the hall. You know that feeling when you are sick with worry? This is how I’d felt from the moment I’d read Snow Flower’s letter, but I couldn’t do anything about it—not during my wedding, last night, or even now. I had to do my best to follow the prescribed course until I saw her again. But it was hard, because I was hungry, exhausted, and my body hurt. My feet were tired and sore from so much walking these last few days. I was uncomfortable in another place too, but I tried to blot out these things as I made my way to the kitchen, where a servant girl about ten years old sat on her haunches, apparently waiting for me. My own servant girl—no one had told me about that. People in Puwei didn’t have servants, but I recognized what she was because her feet had not been bound. Her name was Yonggang, which means brave and strong like iron. (This would prove to be true.) She had already built a fire in the brazier and hauled water to the kitchen. All I had to do was heat the water and take it to my in-laws so they could wash their faces. I also made tea for everyone in the household, and when they came to the kitchen I poured it without spilling a drop.
Later that day, my in-laws sent another round of pork and sweet cakes to my family. The Lus held a big feast in their ancestral temple, yet another banquet where I was not allowed to eat. Before everyone, my husband and I bowed to Heaven and Earth, my in-laws, and the Lu family ancestors. Then we passed through the temple, bowing to everyone who was older than we were. They, in turn, gave us money wrapped in red paper. Then—back to the wedding chamber.
The next day, the third of a marriage, is the one that all brides wait for, because the third-day wedding books that family and friends have made are read. But by now all I could think about was Snow Flower and that I would see her at the event.
Elder Sister and Elder Brother’s wife arrived, bringing the books and food I was finally allowed to eat. Many women from Tongkou joined the females of my husband’s family to read the words, but neither Snow Flower nor her mother came. This was beyond my comprehension. I was deeply hurt . . . and scared by Snow Flower’s absence. There I was at what is considered the happiest of all wedding rites, and I couldn’t enjoy it.
My sanzhaoshu contained all the usual lines about my family’s misery now that I would no longer be with them. At the same time, they extolled my virtues and repeated phrases such as If only we could persuade that worthy family to wait a few years before taking you, or It is sad we are now separated, while entreating my in-laws to be lenient and teach me their family customs with patience. Snow Flower’s sanzhaoshu was also what I expected, incorporating her love of birds. It began, The phoenix mates the golden hen, a match made in heaven. Again, the usual sentiments, even from my laotong.
Truth
IF CIRCUMSTANCES HAD BEEN NORMAL, ON THE FOURTH DAY
after my wedding I would have gone back home to my family in Puwei, but I had long planned to go straight to Snow Flower’s house for her Sitting and Singing month. Now that I was close to seeing her again, I was more anxious than ever. I dressed in one of my good everyday outfits, a water-green silk jacket and pants embroidered with a bamboo pattern. I wanted to make a favorable impression not only on anyone I passed in Tongkou but also on Snow Flower’s family, whom I had heard so much about over these many years. Yonggang, the servant girl, led me through Tongkou’s alleyways. She carried my clothes, embroidery thread, cloth, and the third-day wedding book I had prepared for Snow Flower in a basket. I was happy for Yonggang’s guidance yet uncomfortable with her company. She was one of many things I would have to get used to.
Tongkou was far bigger and more prosperous than Puwei. The alleyways were clean, with no chickens, ducks, or pigs wandering freely. We stopped before a house that looked exactly how Snow Flower had described it—two stories, peaceful and elegant. I had not been there long enough to know the village’s customs, but one thing was exactly the same as in Puwei. We did not yell out greetings or knock to announce our arrival. Yonggang simply opened the main
door to Snow Flower’s house and stepped inside.
I followed right behind and was immediately assailed by a strange odor, which combined night soil and rotting meat with an overlay of something sickeningly sweet. I had no idea what the source of that could be, except that somehow it seemed human. My stomach roiled, but my eyes rebelled even more, refusing to accept what they were seeing.
The main room was much larger than the one in my natal home, but with far less furniture. I saw a table but no chairs. I saw a carved balustrade leading to the women’s chamber, but other than these few things—which showed in their craftsmanship a much higher quality than anything in my natal home—there was nothing. No fire, even. It was late autumn now, and cold. The room was dirty too, with food scraps on the floor. I saw other doors that must have led to bedrooms.
This was not only completely different from what a passerby might have expected from seeing the exterior, but it was vastly different from what Snow Flower had described. I had to be in the wrong place.
By the ceiling were several windows, of which all but one had been sealed. A single ray of light from that window pierced the darkness. In the gloomy shadows, I spotted a woman squatting over a washbasin. She was dressed as a lowly peasant in ragged and dirty padded clothes. Our eyes met and she quickly averted her gaze. Keeping her head down, she stood up into the shaft of light. Her skin was beautiful, as pale and pure as porcelain. She wrapped the fingers of one hand around those of her other hand and bowed.
“Miss Lily, welcome, welcome.” She kept her voice low, not out of deference for my newly acquired higher status but at a timbre that seemed tamped down by fear. “Wait here. I will get Snow Flower.”
Now I was totally shocked. This had to be Snow Flower’s house. But how could it be? As the woman crossed the room to the stairs, I saw she had golden lilies, nearly as small as my own, which to my ignorant eyes seemed remarkable for someone from the servant class.