“You’re asking me if you really were special?”
When I said yes, she regarded me with hard eyes.
“It is not so easy to find a potential laotong,” she admitted. “I had several diviners looking throughout the countryside for someone I could match to my niece. True, I would have preferred someone from a higher family, but Diviner Hu found you. Your eight characters matched perfectly to my niece’s. But he would have come to me anyway, because, yes, your feet were that special. Your fate was destined to change, with or without my niece as your laotong. And now I hope her fate has been changed because of her relationship to you. I told many lies, so she might have a chance at life. I will never apologize to you for that.”
I stared into Madame Wang’s overly rouged face, considering. I wanted to hate her, but how could I? She had done the best she could for the one person who mattered more to me in the world than any other.
SINCE SNOW FLOWER’S elder sister would not deliver the third-day wedding books, I went in her place. My natal family sent a palanquin, and in a short time I arrived in Jintian. No decorations or raucous sounds of a wedding band gave any hint that anything special was happening in the village on that day. I simply stepped out of my palanquin onto a dirt pathway in front of a house with a low-slung roof and a pile of wood against the wall. To the right of the door was something that looked like a gigantic wok embedded in a brick platform.
A feast should have been prepared for my arrival. It wasn’t. The top women in the village should have greeted me. They did, but the coarseness of their dialect, even though only a few li from Tongkou, told me a lot about the unsavory quality of the people who lived here.
When the time came to read the sanzhaoshu, I was ushered into the main room. On the surface, the house resembled my natal home. Drying chilies hung from the central beam. The walls were of rough unpainted brick. I had hoped these similarities to my home would be reflected in the people who lived there. I did not encounter Snow Flower’s husband on this occasion, but I did meet his mother, and she was a dreadful creature. Her eyes were set close together and her lips had the thinness that connotes a narrow mind and a mean spirit.
Snow Flower came into the room, sat on a stool next to the display of her third-day wedding books, and waited quietly. Although I felt I had changed with marriage, she did not look different to my eyes. The women of Jintian clustered around the sanzhaoshu, running their dirty fingers over them. They talked among themselves about the stitching on the edges and the paper cutouts, but none of them said a word about the quality of the writing or the thoughts expressed. After a few minutes, the women took positions around the room.
Snow Flower’s mother-in-law walked to a bench. Her feet had not been as badly bound as my mother’s, but an oddness to her gait marked her class even more than the guttural sounds that spewed from her mouth. She sat down, glanced with distaste at her new daughter-in-law, and then focused her unfeeling eyes on me. “I understand you have married into the Lu family. You are very lucky.” The words were polite, but the way she spoke them suggested that I had bathed in offal. “People say that you and my daughter-in-law are well versed in nu shu. The women of our village don’t value this pastime. We can read it, but we believe it is better to hear it.”
I thought otherwise. This woman was like my mother, illiterate in nu shu. I glanced around the room, sizing up the other women. They hadn’t commented on the writing because they probably knew very little of it themselves.
“We have no need to hide our thoughts in scribbles on paper,” Snow Flower’s mother-in-law continued. “Everyone in this room knows what I think.” When uneasy laughter greeted this comment, she raised three fingers to silence her friends. “It would amuse us to hear you read my daughter-in-law’s sanzhaoshu. Estimations of my daughter-in-law’s worth coming to us from a big-house girl in Tongkou will be most appreciated.”
Everything that woman said was a verbal sneer. I reacted as a seventeen-year-old girl might. I picked up the third-day wedding book that Snow Flower’s mother had prepared and opened it. I imagined her refined voice and tried to re-create it as I chanted.
“I present this letter to your noble home on this third day after your wedding. I am your mother, and we have now been separated for three days. Misfortune struck our family, and now you marry out to a hard village.” As was the custom for a third-day wedding book, the subject shifted, and Snow Flower’s mother addressed the new family. “I hope you will show my daughter compassion for the poverty of her dowry. Even the top layer is plain. Please don’t mention it.” It went on in this way, talking about Snow Flower’s family’s bad luck, their fall from social status, and the poverty they now experienced, but my eyes swept right over these written characters as though they didn’t exist. Instead, I made up new words. “A good woman like our Snow Flower should fall into a good place. She deserves a decent family.”
I set the book down. The room was very quiet. I picked up the third-day wedding book I’d written for Snow Flower and opened it. My eyes sought out Snow Flower’s mother-in-law. I wanted her to know that my laotong would always have a protector in me.
“People may speak of us as girls who married out,” I sang, in the direction of Snow Flower, “but we will never be separated in our hearts. You go down; I go up. Your family butchers animals. My family is the best in the county. You are as close to me as my own heart. Our futures are tied together. We are like a bridge over a wide river. We walk side by side.” I wanted Snow Flower’s mother-in-law to hear me. But her eyes stared back at me suspiciously, her thin lips pressed into a slash of displeasure.
As I came to the end, again I added a few new sentiments. “Don’t express misery where others can see you. Don’t let sobbing build. Don’t give ill-mannered people a reason to make fun of you or your family. Follow the rules. Smooth your anxious brow. We will be old sames forever.”
Snow Flower and I were not given an opportunity to speak. I was led back to my palanquin and returned home to my natal family. Once I was alone, I unpacked our fan and opened it. A third of the folds now had writing commemorating moments that were special to us. That seemed about right, for we had lived more than a third of what was considered a long life for women in our county. I looked at all the things that had happened in our lives up to that point. So much happiness. So much sadness. So much intimacy.
I went to the last entry where Snow Flower had written of my marriage into the Lu family. It covered half of a single fold in the fan. I mixed ink and pulled out my finest brush. Just below her good wishes for me, I carefully limned new strokes: A phoenix soars above a common rooster. She feels the wind around her. Nothing will tether her to the ground. Only now that I was alone and with those words written did I finally face the truth of Snow Flower’s fate. In the garland at the top I painted a wilted flower from which little tears dripped. I waited until the ink dried.
Then I closed the fan.
The Temple of Gupo
MY PARENTS WERE HAPPY TO SEE ME WHEN I RETURNED. THEY were happier still with the sweet cakes that my in-laws sent as gifts. But to be honest, I was not so happy to see them. They had lied to me for ten years, and my insides churned with loathsome emotions. I was no longer the little girl who could let river water wash away unpleasant feelings. I wanted to accuse my family, but for my own welfare I still needed to follow the rules of filial piety. So I rebelled in small ways, isolating myself emotionally and physically as best I could.