How Sweet the Bitter Soup

by Lori Qian

  Getting a piece of paper was not quite what either of us had imagined as representing our union as husband and wife. We wanted a wedding ceremony, but time was short and money was even shorter. Although Spring Festival would have been a wonderful time to get married due all William’s relatives being together, it just seemed impossible. We planned to live with the anticlimactic nature of getting our marriage certificate until we could plan a May wedding in his hometown and, eventually, a church ceremony with my family in Chicago.

  Of course, my real dream would have been to have a temple wedding. In my faith, couples aspire to marry inside one of our Holy Temples, which are different than chapels. They are sacred to us, and a temple marriage symbolizes marrying your sweetheart forever, throughout eternity, not only until death. However, in order to have a temple marriage, both people must be members of the Church ofJesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, obviously, and even then, there are many preparatory steps. That wasn’t going to be possible for us. But somehow, right now, it was okay. If ever there was a day way in the future—if William decided he wanted to learn more about my faith and even adopt it as his own—that would be wonderful, and we could still have a temple ceremony (a sealing, it’s called) and recommit to our marriage inside the temple.

  Although this was important to me, I somehow knew things would work out for William and me. Call it faith, call it love, but I felt peace taking the steps to marry him, even though it wasn’t in the temple. Our circumstances were unique, to say the least, and nothing could have ever prepared me for the reality of meeting the man I would love so deeply, in China.

  At that point, William had no interest in learning anything about my religion. He respected that it was important to me, but it was foreign in every way to him. I understood this and respected his feelings. I hoped that he might change his mind at some point, but his lack of religion certainly wasn’t a deal-breaker for me. Perhaps if we’d been somewhere other than China, I would have approached things differently. Maybe I would have invited him to church, or asked him to at least meet with missionaries. But here, in China, where I chose to adhere to the laws of the land, I knew religion was a sensitive area and I truly knew in my heart that things would work out. I never felt worried or concerned about William having differing beliefs than I had. It just wasn’t an issue at that time, in that context.

  William’s family knew we were broke and that this was the main reason we were putting off the wedding. One day after lunch at Shi Mu’s house, his parents, aunts, and uncles gathered around us and asked if we would consider getting married during Spring Festival if they would help with the cost.

  We were completely shocked! First of all, there were only two weeks left in Spring Festival. That would mean planning a wedding immediately. Second, William’s family was very poor— that was a fact—and rent collectors and other bill collectors had been hounding them for days. They had so many problems of their own and yet here they were, offering us money so we could have an actual wedding.

  We accepted their kind offer and they went to work devising creative ways to come up with the money. Everyone contributed, either financially or with their time. We needed to find a place to have the wedding, make and deliver invitations, plan the food, get some clothes, and, finally, decide on a ceremony. The common practice in William’s hometown was to have a big, wonderful dinner in celebration of a couple getting a marriage certificate, but we wanted something more than that—we wanted a ceremony.

  When we approached his aunts for advice on this, they smiled and said that they just didn’t do that. There was no exchanging of rings, no walking down an aisle. That just wasn’t the convention.

  Convention hadn’t been a part of anything in our relationship, though, so why should our wedding be any different? We sat down one night, pen and notebook in hand, and came up with a plan. We took a little Western tradition and mixed it with things we had read about marriage ceremonies in ancient China. We wanted to include his parents, our wedding rings, walking down the aisle, acknowledging God, and, of course, a kiss. We actually came up with a way to incorporate all of this. Now we had three days to get it all together.

  We found a hotel with a room large enough to accommodate our ceremony. The place was not fancy by Western standards— in fact, it was quite run-down—but was the best hotel in this small town. We cleaned it up ourselves, rearranged the tables and chairs to create an aisle we could walk down, and bought a few inexpensive decorations to give it a better atmosphere. William’s brother bought invitations, and he and William’s father hand-delivered these to all their relatives living in the mountains, the countryside, and the city. We rented some wedding clothes representative of the Qing dynasty era, and came up with some money to hire a chauffeur for the day of the wedding. Two of William’s friends agreed to take the pictures. It seemed we had managed to plan everything.

  On the day prior to the wedding, we visited a few of the countryside relatives to make sure they had received their invitations. One of the neighbors rushed out to give a present, which she delivered to us with a mix of tremendous pride but also bashful humility. It was a large bag and she placed it directly in front of me, and waited for me to take hold. As I did so, I jumped a bit because the bag was moving. “Zhe shiyi geji” she said proudly.

  I tried to smile and not act completely freaked out. “William is my Chinese really off or did she just say this is a chicken?”. “That’s exactly what she said,” he laughed and then we both did the only thing we could do. We thanked her and took our chicken home. Right as we were leaving, though, another woman from the village, who had been panicked that she had nothing to give, ran back home to get eggs from her own chickens, which she delivered to us as well. So, there we were in village number 2, receiving our first wedding gifts. A few eggs and a live chicken.

  When the wedding day had arrived, breakfast that morning seemed quieter—everyone was silent, very unusual for this household. We were all thinking, hoping we’d remembered everything, going over our individual parts. William’s brother needed to arrange for fireworks and take care of the music. His mom was incredibly nervous about handing me the ring during the ceremony. His dad had practiced his welcome speech for hours the night before, and I was trying to remember the words I had to say in Chinese. I was so in awe of William’s family. What must they be thinking right now? Their son brings home this foreign woman and two weeks later, there’s a wedding?

  As we waited outside the room where we would have the ceremony, the guests filed in. The guests ranged from local security bureau officials to peasants and farmers from the countryside. Also present were William’s former classmates. We were both so nervous, but as I heard my father-in-law begin his welcome speech, I was relieved. We were really doing this.

  The aisle we walked down was actually a big red piece of paper, and I held on to my husband’s arm for dear life as we passed down it, since I could see nothing through my red veil.

  We made it to the front, where we bowed to heaven, his parents, and each other, and sealed it all with a kiss. We had done it.

  Never in my life did I imagine that I would get married in a small town in China. Nor could I have imagined a family, other than my own, that would go to such lengths for my happiness. A family that would gather money from wherever they could so that I could have a wedding ceremony, a luxury unheard of in their experience. My in-laws took the money that would have paid bills and used it so that I could wear a dress from the Qing dynasty and little red boots to match. The money Mama had been saving she gave me with her whole heart so that I could get my hair done, buy some earrings, and feel beautiful on my wedding day.

  I thought of Mom, and how I should be with her on this day, like I’d always imagined I would be. Who gets married without their mom? Of course, my heart hurt to think of Dad, as I had always pictured that he would walk me down the aisle and that we could take a picture together, him in his suit, looking handsome and happy. He would have loved William. I thought of
Chrissy and her laugh and her sarcastic but always hilarious comments. I missed her, and I missed Barb. Two sisters, so different from each other and from me, and yet we’d always stayed connected and close. And my niece Shaleen—she would have been excited to be a part of my wedding. Our family had always been close. My parents had taught us to love one another. They’d known how to have fun, to make light of challenging situations. I thought how strange it was, really, that I’d just gotten married without my family there. I wasn’t sad, exactly, but I missed them, and I wished that these two worlds could somehow mesh, even if just for a day.

  Our wedding was a significant event in Huang Mei, and was even mentioned on the local television news program. Many people had never seen a foreigner and it was unheard of to them that a Chinese man and an American woman could fall in love and get married in the man’s hometown. As I looked around at the guests at my wedding and thought of all the events leading up to today—coming to China alone, meeting William, coming by train back to his small hometown—I was quite amazed myself.

  chapter 33

  Because we had planned our wedding so quickly, it never occurred to either of us to plan the wedding night. We had both made certain assumptions about how we would spend the remainder of the day after the guests had all gone home. After the wedding, we went back to William’s parents’ house, where I was surprised to find that most of the wedding guests were there to continue the well-wishing and photo taking. Although this had indeed been the happiest day of my life, I was exhausted. The preparation had been so intense, so incredibly stressful, and now all of that was hitting me. As much as I appreciated the continued love and attention of William’s family and friends, I really wanted all of them to leave. I wasn’t even thinking of a romantic wedding night. In truth, I was thinking of peace, quiet, a nice talk with William, and an early sleep.

  The majority of those guests who had lingered left about an hour later. All the uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and neighbors went home. I looked around and wondered when this other group—about five of William’s classmates—were going to leave.

  Then William excitedly ran up to me and asked if I wanted to go to a beautiful temple. His classmates had arranged for a van to take us, and he thought it would be wonderful to go there on our wedding day. Part of me wanted to cry from exhaustion but I reminded myself of the sweetness of the bitter soup. William hadn’t seen these classmates in so long, and they had come quite a ways to be at our wedding. Taking us to this temple was their gift to us.

  I put on a smile and off we went.

  William’s friends were incredibly nice, polite, conversant, and respectful. The temple was indeed beautiful, and so very peaceful. I was glad that we went. I knew I would be more glad, though, when they dropped us off at home and we could finally take off our Qing dynasty clothes, get comfy, and relax.

  Again, it was not to happen. When we got home, I expected to say good-bye to everyone, but instead they accompanied us upstairs to the apartment. When we walked in, William’s mom invited them to stay for dinner.

  Well, fine, that was the polite thing to do. Chinese people won’t dare send anyone away without first feeding them. We’ll have a nice dinner, I thought, and then they’ll go.

  During dinner, however, one of the friends made a statement that almost brought tears to my eyes. He began talking about a tradition they have in their small town. When a good friend gets married, his friends are to honor him and his new bride by planning a party and playing fun games late into the night. “So, tonight, Lori, we will do this for you!” he said with genuine happiness and excitement.

  I forced a smile and a “xie xie” upon receiving the news.

  William looked at me and for the first time that day, I gave him a look to say, “This is not exactly what I had in mind.” His eyes had worry in them, for he wanted nothing more than my happiness, I knew. He had been so happy all day. From his perspective, this was completely normal and was exactly what he had assumed would happen on our wedding night.

  After dinner that night, we moved into the living room and a few more guests came—the girlfriends and wives of William’s friends. One of them brought a microphone and began to act as a master of ceremonies. The first game, he said, was to tell our love story.

  Now, don’t get me wrong, I love telling our story and I love hearing William tell it even more. On this particular night, though, under what I felt were forced and unnatural circumstances, the anger was rising in my chest and I thought I might explode.

  I didn’t want to be mad at William, but this was my wedding day and I was so incredibly sad. I wanted this guy to shut up and I wanted all of them to get out. I tried to smile and talk, but every time I tried to talk, I thought I might cry. William noticed I wasn’t happy and was trying to do all the talking and keep things light. At one point, he took me aside and asked me what was wrong. But his friends were waiting in the other room and I didn’t want to get into it then, so I simply told him that I was tired and I hoped this party would end soon so we could rest.

  “Okay, my sweetheart, let’s try to move it along quickly. They are doing this to make us happy, so let’s try to go along,” he said, earnestly.

  “I am trying, William.”

  “I know, sweetie.” He frowned. “You’re not happy right now, are you?”

  Because I didn’t want to hurt him I responded with, “Of course I’m happy, I’m just very tired.”

  William told our love story and then it was singing time. This is a very typical custom at Chinese parties. People recite poems, sing a song, or engage in some kind of performance in order to entertain each other. First, William sang a beautiful song—one he had sung months before at a small party we had both attended. He sang beautifully, and then he tried to save me from having to sing by moving on to another game.

  I didn’t want to be a poor sport. I knew it was expected that I sing too, so I did. I have a terrible singing voice but I belted out my version of “From this Moment” by Shania Twain. I could not have felt more awkward.

  After the singing, the night went from bad to worse. Stupid games, some of them humiliating, were next on the agenda. William was feeling uncomfortable too, as clearly his level of maturity had far surpassed that of his friends. The games weren’t bad, they were just silly, and I guess for the most part, William and I are not silly people.

  One game involved me hiding a coin somewhere on my body and him having to find it. He didn’t want to play this game any more than I did. If you were a silly person, an exhibitionist, you would hide the coin in a provocative place and enjoy the cheers of the audience as your new husband searched for it, of course. This was not our style. William nodded toward my foot, and so went I went in the other room, and that’s where I hid the coin—in my shoe. This was much to the disappointment of the crowd, but we really didn’t care.

  There were a few more games before William turned the attention to another new couple and I excused myself to prepare for bed. His friends decided this was their cue to exit. We thanked them for the party and then I went to bed, telling William I wanted to be alone.

  When he finally came in, I wasn’t ready to talk. I didn’t know what to say, so I pretended to be asleep. My heart hurt all night.

  When I woke up, William was right there, staring at me. I began to cry. Then he began to cry.

  “I hated last night,” I said. “I had such different expectations for our wedding night.”

  At first, he thought it was only about the games. He said that he felt bad too, that he didn’t know they’d planned such immature things. When I explained that it was more than that, he honestly didn’t get it. He found it extremely hard to believe that I’d actually expected his friends to come for the wedding and then leave directly afterwards. I told him that in America, that was normal. After people get married, they have a reception, and then the newlyweds are off on the honeymoon.

  He thought this sounded like a rather selfish custom. “But my friends worked s
o hard to get here. They had to take a train and a bus and it took them over twelve hours. I could not just tell them to go right away, especially since they had planned a party for us.”

  Looking at things from his point of view, I could understand what he meant, but my tears flowed anyway. His tears flowed more freely, too, as we both realized it was a true misunderstanding.

  “I’m not a good husband,” William said. “I can’t even make my wife happy on her wedding day. I’m so stupid.”

  My heart broke at these words, at the sound of his sobs, and as I felt his tears against my cheeks. I just wanted to hold him in my arms and console him forever. It seemed he wanted to do the same for me. As I heard him talk, I realized that he really had tried so hard and it hadn’t occurred to him that I could have been hurt by what he thought was normal. As he lay beside me in bed with his fuzzy pajamas, tousled hair, teary eyes, and tender hands, I began to feel very selfish and ashamed. At the same time, I was so grateful that he could see my side, and that he had told me what I needed to hear. That I was the most important person to him and that my happiness meant more than friends, culture, or any other expectations.

  We had both brought completely different ideas to this marriage, and we would need to be so careful about communication in the future. We must never take anything for granted. We talked for a long time that morning, and he reassured me that no matter what the cultural expectations were, I was his wife and I came first. He would never purposely do anything to make me feel uncomfortable. He apologized completely and I did too, for not telling him what I’d needed the previous night. He made me promise that if I ever felt uncomfortable again, I would tell him so that he could fix the situation.

  That day, we ate a late breakfast and lounged around the house. The sun was shining and I hardly felt cold. My mother-in-law fixed my favorite foods and William and I wrote in our journals about the events of the last few weeks. I’d been an avid journal writer since childhood, and I’d given William a journal after coming home from Christmas break. He’d loved the idea of writing his experiences, and it was something we had started to do together every once in a while.