“You talk! I thought maybe all you could do was write beautiful words.”
“Maybe I don’t talk as much as you,” I responded quietly, my feelings hurt. She was the great-granddaughter of an imperial scholar and far more knowledgeable than the daughter of a common farmer.
She picked up my hand. Hers was dry and hot, her chi burning high. “Don’t worry. I don’t care if you’re quiet. My talking always gets me in trouble because I often don’t think before I speak, while you will be an ideal wife, always choosing your words with great care.”
You see? Right there on that first day we understood each other, but did that stop us from making mistakes in the future?
Madame Wang opened the door to the palanquin. “Come along, girls. Everything is arranged. Ten steps will get you to your destination. More than that, and I would break my promise to your mothers.”
We stood not far from a paper goods stand decorated with red streamers, good luck couplets, red and gold double-happiness symbols, and painted images of the goddess Gupo. A table in front was piled with the most colorful items for sale. Aisles on either end allowed patrons to enter the stand, which was protected from the hubbub of the street by three long tables on the sides. In the middle of the stand, a small table was set with ink, brushes, and two straight-back chairs. Madame Wang told us to select a piece of paper for our contract. Like any child I had made small choices, like which piece of vegetable to pick from the main bowl after Baba, Uncle, Elder Brother, and every other older member of our household had already dipped their chopsticks into the dish. Now I was overwhelmed by the selection, my hands wanting to touch all the merchandise, while Snow Flower, at just seven and a half, was discriminating, showing her better learning.
Madame Wang said, “Remember, girls, I will pay for everything today. This is only one decision. You have others to make, so don’t dawdle.”
“Of course, Auntie,” Snow Flower responded for both of us. Then she asked me, “Which do you like?”
I pointed to a large sheet of paper that by its very size seemed the most appropriate for the importance of the occasion.
Snow Flower ran her forefinger over the gold border. “The quality of the gold is poor,” she said; then she held the sheet up toward the sky. “The paper is as thin and transparent as an insect wing. See how the sun shines through it?” She set it down on the table and stared into my eyes in that earnest way of hers. “We need something that will show for all time the precious nature and durability of our relationship.”
I could barely comprehend her words. She spoke a slightly different dialect than I was familiar with in Puwei, but this was not the only reason for my incomprehension. I was coarse and stupid; she was refined, and already her house learning had extended beyond what my mother and even my aunt knew.
She pulled me deeper into the stand and whispered, “They always keep the better things back here.” In her regular voice, she said, “Old same, how do you find this one?”
This was the first time that anyone had ever asked me to look—really look—at something, and I did. Even to my uneducated eye, I could see the difference between what I had chosen on the street side of the stand and this. It was smaller in size and less gaudy in its decoration.
“Test it,” Snow Flower said.
I picked it up—it felt substantial in my hands—and held it up to the sunlight just as Snow Flower had done. The paper was so thick that the sun came through only as a dull red glow.
In wordless agreement we handed the paper to the merchant. Madame Wang paid for it and for us to write our contract at the center table in the stand. Snow Flower and I sat down opposite each other.
“How many girls do you think have sat in these chairs to write their contracts?” Snow Flower asked. “We must write the best contract ever.” She frowned a little and asked, “What do you think it should say?”
I thought about the things my mother and aunt had suggested. “We’re girls,” I said, “so we should always follow the rules—”
“Yes, yes, all the usual things,” Snow Flower said, a little impatiently, “but don’t you want this to be about the two of us?”
I was unsure of myself, while she seemed to know so much. She’d been here before and I’d never been anywhere. She seemed to know what should be included in our contract, and I could only rely on what my aunt and mother imagined should be in it. Every suggestion I made came out like a question.
“We’re to be laotong for life? We will always be true? We will do chores together in the upstairs chamber?”
Snow Flower regarded me in the same forthright way she had in the palanquin. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Had I said the wrong thing? Had I said it in the wrong way?
A moment later she picked up a brush and dipped it in ink. Quite apart from seeing all my shortcomings today, she knew from our fan that my calligraphy was not as good as hers. But as she began to write I saw she had taken my suggestions. My sentiments and her beautiful phrasing swirled together, taking two girls and creating one common thought.
We believed that the sentiments on that piece of paper would last forever, but we could not foresee the turmoil that lay ahead. Still, I remember so many of the words. How could I not? They became the words of my heart.
We, Miss Snow Flower of Tongkou Village and Miss Lily of Puwei Village, will be true to each other. We will comfort each other with kind words. We will ease each other’s hearts. We will whisper and embroider together in the women’s chamber. We will practice the Three Obediences and the Four Virtues. We will follow Confucian instruction as found in The Women’s Classic by behaving as good women. On this day, we, Miss Snow Flower and Miss Lily, have spoken true words. We swear a bond. For ten thousand li, we will be like two streams flowing into one river. For ten thousand years, we will be like two flowers in the same garden. Never a step apart, never a harsh word between us. We will be old sames until we die. Our hearts are glad.
Madame Wang watched us solemnly as we both signed our names in nu shu at the bottom. “I am happy with this laotong match,” she announced. “Like a marriage between a man and woman, the kind ones go with kind ones, the pretty ones go with pretty ones, and the clever ones go with clever ones. But unlike marriage, this relationship should remain exclusive. No”—and here she allowed herself a small cackle—”concubines allowed. You understand my meaning, girls? This is a joining of two hearts that cannot be torn apart by distance, disagreement, loneliness, better marriage position, or by letting other girls—and later women—come between you.”
We took our ten steps back to the palanquin. For so many months, walking had been agony, but right then I felt like Yao Niang, the first tiny-footed lady. When that woman of legend danced on a golden lotus, she gave the illusion of floating on a cloud. Every step I took was cushioned by great happiness.
The bearers carried us to the center of the fair. This time when we stepped out, we were in the heart of the marketplace. On a slight rise I could see the red walls, gilt decorative carvings, and green-tile roof of the temple. Madame Wang slipped us each a piece of cash and told us to buy gifts to celebrate the day. If I had never had the opportunity to make a choice for myself, I certainly had never been given the responsibility of spending money. In one hand I held the coin; in the other I held Snow Flower’s hand. I tried to think of what this girl beside me could want, but with so many wonderful things around me my mind dulled with the possibilities.
Thankfully Snow Flower took charge again. “I know just the thing!” she squealed. She took a couple of quick steps as if to run and hobbled to a stop. “Sometimes I still forget my feet,” she said, her face tight with pain.