Though we were still at the beginning of our three-year mourning period for Grandmother, life continued. The most agonizing part of my footbinding was behind me. My mother didn’t have to beat me so much, and the pain from the bindings had lessened. The best thing for Beautiful Moon and me to do now was sit and let our feet bond into their new shape. In the early morning hours, the two of us—under Elder Sister’s supervision—practiced new stitches. In the late morning, Mama taught me how to spin cotton; in the early afternoon, we switched to weaving. Beautiful Moon and her mother did the same lessons only in reverse. Late afternoons were devoted to the study of nu shu, with Aunt teaching us simple words with patience and great humor.
Without having to oversee Third Sister’s binding, Elder Sister, now eleven, went back to her studies of the womanly arts. Madame Gao, the local matchmaker, came regularly to negotiate Contracting a Kin, the first of the five stages that would make up the wedding process for both Elder Brother and Elder Sister. A girl from a family much like ours had been found in Madame Gao’s natal village of Gaojia to marry Elder Brother. This was a good thing for the potential daughter-in-law, because Madame Gao did so much business between the two villages that nu shu letters could regularly be sent back and forth. Beyond this, Aunt had married out from Gaojia. Now she would be able to communicate with her family more easily. She was so gleeful that for days everyone could see through her smile and into the great cave of her mouth with all its jagged teeth.
Elder Sister, acknowledged by all who met her to be quiet and pretty, was to marry out to a family better than ours that lived in faraway Getan Village. We were sad that eventually we would not see her as often as we would like, but we would have her company for another six years before the actual marriage, then another two or three years after that before she left us for good. In our county, as is well known, we follow the custom of buluo fujia, not falling permanently into our husbands’ homes until we become pregnant.
Madame Gao was not like Madame Wang in any way. The word to describe her is coarse. Where Madame Wang wore silk, Madame Gao dressed in homespun cotton. Where Madame Wang’s words were as slick as goose fat, Madame Gao’s sentiments were as abrasive as the barks of a village dog. She would come up to the women’s chamber, perch on a stool, and demand to see the feet of all of the girls in the Yi household. Of course, Elder Sister and Beautiful Moon complied. But even though my fate was already under the direction of Madame Wang, Mama said I should show my feet as well. The things Madame Gao said! “The cleft is as deep as this girl’s inner folds. She will make her husband a happy man.” Or, “The way her heel curves down like a sac with her forefoot pointed out just so will remind her husband of his own member. All day long that lucky man will be thinking of bed business.” At the time I did not understand the meaning. Once I did, I was embarrassed that these kinds of things had been spoken in front of Mama and Aunt. But they had laughed along with the matchmaker. We three girls had joined in, but, as I said, these words and their meanings were far beyond our experience or knowledge.
That year, on the eighth day of the fourth lunar month, Elder Sister’s sworn sisters met at our house for Bull Fighting Day. The five girls were already showing how well they would manage their future households by renting out the rice their families had given them to form the sisterhood and using the earnings to finance their celebrations. Each girl brought a dish from home: rice-noodle soup, beet greens with preserved egg, pig’s feet in chili sauce, preserved long bean, and sweet rice cakes. A lot of cooking was done communally too, with all the girls gathering to roll dumplings, which were steamed and then dipped in soy sauce mixed with lemon juice and chili oil. They ate, giggled, and recited nu shu stories like “The Tale of Sangu,” in which the daughter of a rich man remains loyal to her poor husband through many ups and downs until they are rewarded for their fidelity by becoming mandarins; or “The Fairy Carp,” in which a fish transforms itself into a lovely young woman who then falls in love with a brilliant scholar, only to have her true form revealed.
But their favorite was “The Story of the Woman with Three Brothers.” They did not know all of it and they didn’t ask Mama to lead the call-and-response, although she had memorized many of the words. Instead, the sworn sisters begged Aunt to guide them through the story. Beautiful Moon and I joined their entreaties, because this well-loved true-life tale—tragic and darkly funny at the same time—was a good way for us to practice the chanting associated with our special women’s writing.
One of Aunt’s sworn sisters had given the story to her embroidered on a handkerchief. Aunt pulled out the piece of cloth and carefully unfolded it. Beautiful Moon and I came to sit next to her so we could follow the embroidered characters as she chanted.
“A woman once had three brothers,” my aunt began. “They all had wives, but she was not married. Though she was virtuous and hardworking, her brothers would not offer a dowry. How unhappy she was! What could she do?”
My mother’s voice answered. “She’s so miserable, she goes to the garden and hangs herself from a tree.”
Beautiful Moon, elder sister, the sworn sisters, and I joined in for the chorus. “The eldest brother walks through the garden and pretends not to see her. The second brother walks through the garden and pretends not to see that she’s dead. The third brother sees her, bursts into tears, and takes her body inside.”
Across the room, Mama glanced up and caught me staring at her. She smiled, pleased perhaps that I had not missed any words.
Aunt began the story cycle again. “A woman once had three brothers. When she died, no one wanted to care for her body. Though she had been virtuous and hardworking, her brothers would not serve her. How cruel this was! What would happen?”
“She is ignored in death as in life, until her body begins to stink,” Mama sang out.
Again we girls recited the well-known chorus. “The eldest brother gives one piece of cloth to cover her body. The second brother gives two pieces of cloth. The third brother wraps her in as many clothes as possible so she’ll be warm in the afterworld.”
“A woman once had three brothers,” Aunt continued. “Now dressed for her future as a spirit, her brothers won’t spend money on a coffin. Though she was virtuous and hardworking, her brothers are stingy. How unfair this was! Would she ever find rest?”
“All alone, all alone,” Mama chanted, “she plans her haunting days.”
Aunt used her finger to carry us from written character to written character and we tried to follow, although we weren’t fluent enough to recognize most of the characters. “The eldest brother says, ‘We don’t need to bury her in a box. She is fine the way she is.’ The second brother says, ‘We could use that old box in the shed.’ The third brother says, ‘This is all the money I have. I will go and buy a coffin.’ ”
As we came to the end, the rhythm of the story shifted. Aunt sang, “A woman once had three brothers. They have come so far, but what will happen to Sister now? Elder Brother—mean in spirit; Second Brother—cold in heart; but in Third Brother love may come through.”
The sworn sisters let Beautiful Moon and me finish the tale. “Elder Brother says, ‘Let’s bury her here by the water buffalo road’ ” (meaning she would be trampled for all eternity). “Second Brother says, ‘Let’s bury her under the bridge’ ” (meaning she would wash away). “But Third Brother—good in heart, filial in all ways—says, ‘We will bury her behind the house so everyone will remember her.’ In the end, Sister, who had an unhappy life, found great happiness in the afterworld.”