The Moon Pearl

by Ruthanne Lum McCunn

  As though she could hide from the Chows by studying the ground, Mei Ju bowed her head.

  “That’s better,” Young Chow sneered.

  Under her breath, Mei Ju begged Rooster and Shadow to lower their heads as well.

  “Why should we?” Rooster protested, but softly. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Shadow, bobbing down her own head, reminded, “With Empress, we got away with more when we pretended to listen.”

  As Rooster bent her neck, the Chows broke into raucous guffaws. Afraid she’d rear her head up again, Mei Ju crooked her elbow so that it squeezed Rooster’s arm. “Please.”

  Unlike the Chows who’d stopped walking altogether, Shadow and Mei Ju had paused for scarcely more than a moment or two, Rooster not at all. And out of the corner of her eyes, Mei Ju suddenly saw the men’s dirty sandaled feet. “We’re passing them.”

  Indeed, the feet soon disappeared from sight. “They’re behind us now.”

  “Look at that!” Young Chow bellowed. “Those sluts have gone and combed their hair into men’s queues! What nerve! We should cut them off.”

  “Ai,” Mei Ju quavered beneath his roar. “I never thought …”

  “Don’t pay them any mind,” Rooster hissed.

  “Those aren’t queues,” Old Man Chow jeered. “They’re fox tails.”

  Young Chow snorted. “Those whores are sly as foxes alright.”

  Mei Ju shivered. “What should we do?”

  “Keep walking.” Rooster veered towards the river. “They’re not going to come after us.”

  The Chows didn’t. But their loud taunting had brought people out of the closest houses, and more than a few of these took up where the Chows had left off.

  “They’re going to drown themselves.”

  “That’s what they should have done in the first place.”

  “Well said! Whoever heard of girls choosing for themselves?”

  “Only wantons would act so boldly.”

  “And now that they’ve disgraced their families with their shamelessness, what can they do except kill themselves?”

  Mei Ju had thought Rooster’s decision to avoid going through the village wise. But the longer they walked along the riverbank without hurling themselves in, the worse the heckling became. With her head bowed, Mei Ju couldn’t see their abusers, and the voices were so distorted with hate that they were unrecognizable. Or perhaps she was too frightened to make them out.

  Finally, they reached the water peddlers. Pulling her arm free, Rooster leaped onto the nearest boat. Mei Ju and Shadow followed, giving rise to derisive cries, roars of disapproval.

  Mei Ju, wishing she could make their abusers disappear, rubbed the palms of her hand over her eyes, her ears.

  “We’ve come to buy,” Rooster calmly told Shorty, whose boat they’d boarded.

  “And sell,” Shadow said, unwrapping their small bundle of embroidery.

  As she unfurled her most recent achievement—a golden phoenix rising in a night sky—Shorty’s eyes gleamed bright as his two silver teeth.

  Turning to the people ashore who were shouting, “Jump!” “Jump now!” he blubbered, “You don’t mean that! What’ll I do for customers? For trade?”

  Scabby Woo, the peddler tied up beside Shorty, picked at his scaly skin and mock-wailed shrilly, “Ai yah! Take pity on us! Ai yah!”

  A few people snickered. Others continued to hurl insults, and the most boisterous among these climbed on board the boats, crowding the small decks so terribly that Mei Ju feared she and Rooster and Shadow would be forced into the water.

  Throwing his arms up to Heaven, Shorty thanked the Gods for his windfall of customers while insinuating himself protectively between the spinsters and their abusers. Scabby Woo placed his right hand over his left fist and comically jerked his head and hands up and down in welcome to those who’d boarded his floating store.

  “Wai, what about me?” Big Mouth, whose boat was on the other side of Scabby Woo’s, shouted. “I have goods to sell too.”

  Several people teetering over the gunnel of Scabby Woo’s boat flung themselves, laughing, onto Big Mouth’s deck.

  Big Mouth slapped his paunch. “This belly of mine thanks you.”

  Little by little, the three water peddlers managed to diffuse the crowd’s anger, to create a space for conducting business—coming to terms with Rooster over cooking pots, rice, and other necessities; examining the samples of embroidery Shadow showed them, negotiating agreements for marketing future work. The terms, though, were so much to the peddlers’ advantage that Mei Ju didn’t know how they’d be able to fill their rice bowls.

  Only One Heaven

  IN SHADOW’S memory, thieves had stolen fish from Strongworm’s outlying ponds and stripped the leaves from entire fields of mulberry; bandits had successfully kidnapped Old Bloodsucker’s eldest son for a large ransom and robbed those foolish enough to risk taking to the road alone and unarmed. But the village itself had never been attacked, and the hut, despite its considerable distance from the closest house, was within the boundaries of the area patrolled by the nightwatch. During the first nights of their spinsterhood, Shadow nevertheless jumped at every sound, including the nightwatch’s gong, his shouted assurance that all was well.

  So did Mei Ju, who fretted the nightwatch would turn a blind eye should bullies like Young Chow attempt an assault. Indeed, Mei Ju insisted on shuttering the window and securing it, as well as the door, with makeshift crossbars of bamboo from the grove, then taking their cleaver to bed.

  But Rooster, declaring they were under Gwoon Yum’s protection, slept soundly from the start despite the suffocating heat, bedboards warped from damp, the irritating whine of mosquitoes trapped inside. She didn’t even fully wake when slapping at the mosquitoes or scratching the welts from their bites, the sharp stings of spiders, bugs that continued to crawl out of the porous mud walls no matter how much the three scoured and scrubbed.

  After a dozen or so uneventful nights, Rooster convinced Mei Ju to leave their window unshuttered. A few more, and Mei Ju’s anxious tossing stopped, the bedmat beneath her became as quiet as the section under Rooster. Shadow, however, couldn’t settle into sleep, not with Elder Brother still angry at her.

  Twice now they had passed in the street and he’d turned from her, refusing to return her greeting. Yet Elder Sister-in-law seemed to have recovered from the shock of her near fall. Why else would she be squatting on the river bank washing the family’s clothes?

  Of course, had Shadow not vowed spinsterhood, she’d be in the wormhouse and Mama could be doing the wash. Was that why Elder Brother remained angry? Didn’t he realize that she, Shadow, would gladly help at home and somehow make up for the loss of her bride price if he and their parents would let her?

  Since she couldn’t tell him directly, Shadow considered writing him a letter—rejected the idea. She did not want to remind him of their previous quarrel, and should her letter be seen by their father, it would not only fuel their parents’ condemnation of her but engulf Elder Brother in their anger as well.

  So Shadow began work on a meh dai, baby carrier, that would show Elder Brother her true heart feelings. Because she had to devote her days to embroidering for her livelihood, she made the carrier at night while Rooster and Mei Ju slept. And since there was no spare cash to buy fabric, Shadow cut up the least worn of her three tunics and pants for the carrier’s central square, the four long strips of cloth that extended from each corner as ties.

  At the top center of the square, she sewed a triangle of cloth five layers thick to represent the five blessings: riches, long life, peace, virtue, good health. Directly below, she embroidered a pair of mandarin ducks to signify her hope for her brother’s marital happiness. Under the ducks, she stitched blue ripples for a lake; two pink lotus blooms on a single stem to express her further hope that they could return to sharing harmony. Finally, Shadow tripled the usual number of reinforcing stitches on the joins for each tie so her concern fo
r the baby’s safety would be clear.

  Placing the completed carrier in the top tier of the basket she’d borrowed from home, Shadow carefully lowered the crossbar from the door, stole out of the hut and through the village, hoisted all over her family’s courtyard wall.

  Since newly hatched silkworms require almost constant feeding, Yun Yun’s motherin-law had ordered her to quit her marriage bed for the wormhouse at the start of each new generation. Seven times, then, during the past season, Yun Yun—disguising her enthusiasm as learned obedience—had hurried to make up a pallet for herself on the floor between the shelves of hungry worms.

  These periods of incessant chopping, feeding, and cleaning exhausted Yun Yun. But her nights in the wormhouse were undisturbed except by the tiny creatures in her care. And, her heart aflutter, Yun Yun could snatch moments when she’d slip into her pallet and quietly sing:

  “I lie waiting for my sister, my friend,

  Waiting for my Lucky.

  My Lucky whose body is soft and warm,

  Whose breath is sweet.

  My Lucky who pledged friendship forever,

  Who vowed she’d come to me in my dreams.”

  Soon, very soon, Yun Yun would smell Lucky’s distinctive musky scent, see her generously wide mouth spread in a smile bright as her own. Damp and feverish with excitement, Yun Yun would stretch out her arms and embrace Lucky. Then, slowly, tantalizingly slowly, they’d unbutton each other’s tunics, revealing milky skin kissed by moonlight. Next off were their tight undershirts, so their breasts, smooth and tasty as almond cream, could spring free. Then their pants would fall, exposing their downy gateways to hidden treasure. Skin to skin at last, they’d rekindle the joy they’d found in the girls’ house from coming together as one.

  Of course, Old Granny in the girls’ house had taught them, “Once you’re married, you must honor your husband as if he were Heaven itself. You’d also do well to remember that there’s only one Heaven, and to seek more than one in this mortal life is to invite disaster.” But Yun Yun’s need for Lucky was greater than her fear. Nor did Lucky ever refuse Yun Yun’s call. Not so long as Yun Yun was alone in the wormhouse.

  With the end of the silk season, however, came the end of Yun Yun’s stolen happiness, any chance of escape from Young Chow. And when he invaded her, as he did night after night, often more than once, Yun Yun would silently cry:

  “You’re the mountain dog

  That bites me as I pass,

  Tearing off my skin,

  Drinking my blood.”

  Mei Ju couldn’t remember a day when her grandmother had not reminded the family, “Grandfather was chosen to serve as an elder on both the clan and the village councils because of his upright character. So it’s important for every one of you, no matter how young, to watch yourselves in all you do and say. You must be especially careful not to bring shame on our family in any way.” And during Mei Ju’s final month at home, Grandmother had frequently added, “Grandchildren, take Bak Ju as your example. She understood that just as there’s only one Heaven, we each have only one family, and family, like Heaven, is paramount, more important than self. That’s why she sacrificed herself.”

  Mei Ju, then, had realized her grandmother and parents and aunts and uncles wouldn’t soon forgive her for raising her own desires above theirs. Never for a moment, however, had Mei Ju imagined Shadow’s easygoing brother and parents would suddenly turn unyielding as Grandmother. Nor had Mei Ju ever guessed Rooster’s parents would openly condemn her for shaming their family.

  To Mei Ju’s further surprise, Rooster defended her parents. “How else can they placate Old Bloodsucker? Or convince my brother’s patron in the clan school that the blame for my behavior doesn’t lie with them, that they’re giving Laureate good family teaching?”

  “I wish we could somehow prove ourselves,” Shadow sighed.

  “We already are,” Rooster said, throwing wide her arms to encompass the hut clean of dust, cobwebs, and debris; the neat piles of embroidery ready for delivery to the water peddlers; the vegetables they were growing in the patch of ground just outside the window.

  Mei Ju beamed proudly at what they’d accomplished. “People are beginning to recognize we’re capable. Respectable, too. The talk against us isn’t anywhere as strong as it was three months ago.”

  Shadow’s eyes puddled. “Only because everyone’s talking about Yun Yun’s father and brother coming all the way from Twin Hills for her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Our fathers and brothers won’t even return our greetings when they see us in the street, and I have yet to catch so much as a glimpse of my niece.”

  “You know the weather’s turned too cool to safely bring a baby outdoors,” Mei Ju soothed. “But …”

  “But other people can—and do—see her indoors.” Shadow’s stream of tears turned into a sea. “I’ve heard them say she’s tiny and sickly.”

  Mei Ju had, too. Moreover, they placed the blame for the puny babe on Shadow for frightening her sister-in-law. But Mei Ju dismissed these assessments as gossip. “And gossips like nothing better than to exaggerate.”

  Sniffing hard, Shadow smeared her face dry with her sleeves. “Don’t you see? I thought vowing independent spinsterhood would let us keep our families, everything that was good in our lives. Instead, we’ve become outcasts.”

  “Not entirely. Strongworm’s Council of Elders has the power to expel us from the village the way it did the Tankas.” Rooster bowed in the direction of the niche she’d made into an altar for Gwoon Yum. “But thanks to the Goddess, no one has hauled us before the Council, and the elders haven’t ordered us to come before them either.”

  Mei Ju thought of the Tankas who, their usefulness ended, had been driven from the hut now sheltering her friends and herself. Grandfather’s concubine had also been driven out when her usefulness ended. Why hadn’t her friends and herself?

  Mei Ju understood why no one in the village spoke up for them though. After her failed attempt to prevent Second Uncle from carrying his daughter out into the open to die, she’d never again spoken up for another person either at home or in the girls’ house. Nor had she ever seen Shadow confront anyone openly. Only Rooster had.

  She’d been especially vigorous in challenging Empress’s mistreatment of Lightning and Thunder. These girls, born within a month of each other, had been inseparable from the time they were small children, and they went in and out of each other’s houses as though they were one. Yet Empress would order them to sit apart.

  “Why should they?” Rooster would challenge.

  “Haven’t you learned unquestioning obedience yet?” Empress would screech.

  Rooster would bravely shout back, and she’d persist for as long as was necessary to safeguard Lightning and Thunder from Empress’s spite.

  Rooster’s championship of the pair ended when she began studying, however. “I still sympathize with Lightning and Thunder, I just can’t jeopardize my one chance to acquire book learning,” she’d confided.

  Was it possible that Rooster, Shadow, and herself also had silent sympathizers, Mei Ju wondered.

  A Lick of Hope

  FEW DAYS passed that Yun Yun didn’t mistake a man working the oar of a skiff in the river or stooped over in a field for her father; a woman fetching water from the village well or stepping out of a house or into the temple for her mother. Or Yun Yun might suddenly catch the particular odor of her grandfather’s tobacco, hear her grandmother urging her to take another bowl of rice, one of her brothers reciting a lesson, laughing, asking her for a story or a lullaby. And for the brief moment before Yun Yun reminded herself that she was in Strongworm not Twin Hills, that the distance between the two villages was too great for visiting, she’d feel a sharp lick of hope.

  So when Yun Yun, responding to a steady rapping, threw open the Chows’ front door and saw her father and youngest brother, she wasn’t unduly surprised, and she quickly extinguished the hope flickering in her chest with a fit of blinking,
a stern, “You’re dreaming again.”

  Shrieking, “Elder Sister,” Third Brother hurled himself at Yun Yun, wrapped his little arms around her hips, and buried his baby face into her belly, unwittingly pressing against raw bruises inflicted by Young Chow the night before.

  Yun Yun winced. The muscles in her father’s jaw tightened, the cords of veins in his neck and forehead pulsed so violently they threatened to burst out of his skin, and Yun Yun realized the bridal guide, when taking her gifts to her family after her wedding, must have told all.

  Heedless of her many hurts, Yun Yun scooped up Third Brother and hugged him close, hiding her face in the thick tuft of hair springing over his forehead, nuzzling his chubby cheeks and neck, breathing in his milky scent. Behind them, Old Lady Chow swept into the common room like a chill winter wind.

  Her skin prickling with gooseflesh, Yun Yun raised her head from her brother’s and stammered, “Motherin-law, my father and Third Brother have come.”

  Her father bowed, handed Old Lady Chow a basket of choice dried red dates. Her voice stony as her face, she accepted, invited him in, ordered Yun Yun to pour tea.

  As her father and motherin-law settled into the pair of blackwood chairs adjacent to the family altar, Yun Yun—still hugging her baby brother tight—walked to the table under the window on the wall opposite. Reluctantly, she loosened her hold just enough so she could perch him on a hip and reach for the teapot in the padded basket.

  Straddled across Yun Yun’s hip, Third Brother bounced up and down, squealing, “You’re coming home!” whenever he got even remotely close to her ear. And with every bounce, his knees and feet struck Yun Yun’s many hurts anew. But her heart beat so wildly at the prospect of home that she scarcely noticed. Fearful his flailing would knock over the teapot or break a cup and bring down her motherin-law’s wrath, however, Yun Yun set Third Brother down.

  “Yun Yun is home,” Old Lady Chow said tartly.

  “No,” Third Brother howled, rolling on the floor and thrashing the air with his arms and legs as if he were having a fit. “No.”