At first my family seemed unaware of the change in me. They continued to do and say the customary things and I did my best to refuse their overtures. My mother wanted to examine my private parts, but I denied her this, pleading embarrassment. My aunt inquired about bed business, but I turned away from her, pretending I was too shy. My father tried to hold my hand, but I implied that now I was a married woman this kind of affection was no longer appropriate. Elder Brother sought my company to laugh and share stories; I told him he should do these things with his wife. Second Brother saw my face and kept his distance; I did nothing to change that, suggesting modestly that when he had a wife of his own he would understand. Only Uncle—with his baffled look and nervous hopping—elicited any sympathy from me, but I confided nothing. I did my chores. I worked quietly in the upstairs chamber. I was polite. I held my tongue, because all of them, except my younger brother, were my elders. Even as a married woman, I had no standing to accuse them of anything.
But I could not act like this and go unnoticed for long. To Mama, my behavior—though courteous in every respect—was unacceptable. We were too many people in a small household for one person to take up so much space with what she considered to be my pettiness.
I was home five days when Mama asked Aunt to go downstairs for tea. As soon as Aunt was gone, my mother crossed the room, leaned her cane against the table where I sat, grabbed my arm, and sank her nails into my flesh.
“Do you think you are too good for us now?” She hissed her accusation as I knew she would. “Do you think you are superior because you did bed business with the son of a headman?”
I raised my eyes to hers. I had never shown her disrespect. Now I revealed the anger on my face. She held my gaze, believing she could weaken me with her cold eyes, but I did not look away. Then, in one swift movement, she released my arm, drew back, and hit me hard across the face. My head jolted to the side then came back to center. My eyes sought hers again, which only offended Mama further.
“You dishonor this house with your behavior,” she said. “You’re beyond disgraceful.”
“Beyond disgraceful,” I mused in a low tone, knowing that my calm echo would aggravate her even more. Then I grasped her arm and yanked her down so that we were face-to-face. Her cane clattered to the floor.
From downstairs, my aunt called up. “Are you all right, Sister?”
Mama replied lightly. “Yes, just bring the tea when it’s ready.”
My body shook from the emotions raging beneath my skin. Mama felt them and smiled in her knowing way. I dug my nails into her flesh as she had done to me. I kept my voice low so that no one in the house could hear what I said. “You are a liar. You—and everyone in this family—deceived me. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about Snow Flower?”
“We didn’t tell you out of kindness to her,” she whined. “We love Snow Flower. She was happy here. Why should we have changed the way you saw her?”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. She’s my laotong.”
My mother jutted her chin stubbornly and changed tactics. “Everything we did was for your own good.”
I dug my nails deeper. “Your good, you mean.”
I knew the physical pain I was causing her, but instead of grimacing she now twisted her features into something kind and beseeching. I knew she would try to justify herself, but I never could have imagined the excuse she would conjure up.
“Your relationship to Snow Flower and your perfect feet meant a good marriage, not only for you but for your cousin as well. Beautiful Moon was to be happy.”
This diversion from what I was upset about was almost more than I could bear, but I held on to my composure.
“Beautiful Moon died two years ago.” My voice came out hoarsely. “Snow Flower came to this house ten years ago. Yet you never found the time to tell me of her circumstances.”
“Beautiful Moon—”
“This is not about Beautiful Moon!”
“You took her outside. If you hadn’t, she would still be here today. You broke your aunt’s heart.”
I should have expected this manipulation of the facts from my monkey mother. Even so, the accusation was too harsh, too cruel to be believed. But what could I do? I was a filial daughter. I still had to rely on my family until I got pregnant and moved away. How could a girl born under the sign of the horse ever triumph in battle against the devious monkey?
My mother must have sensed her advantage, because she went on. “A proper daughter would thank me—”
“For what?”
“I gave you the life I could never have because of these.” She motioned to her deformed feet. “I wrapped and bound your feet, and now you have received the reward.”
Her words transported me back to the hours when I experienced the worst pain of my footbinding and she had often repeated a version of that promise. With horror, I realized that during those awful days she had not been showing me mother love at all. In some twisted way, the pain she inflicted on me had to do with her own selfish wants and desires.
The fury and disappointment I felt seemed unbearable. “I will never again expect any kindness from you,” I spat out, releasing her arm in disgust. “But remember this. You made it so that one day I would have the power to control what happens to this family. I will be a good and charitable woman, but do not for once think that I will forget what you did.”
My mother reached down, picked up her cane, and leaned on it. “I pity the Lu family for having to take you in. The day you leave here will be the most blessed in my life. Until then, do not try this nonsense again.”
“Or what? You won’t feed me?”
Mama looked at me as though I were a stranger. Then she turned and hobbled back to her chair. When Aunt came upstairs with tea, nothing was said.
And that’s how things remained, for the most part. I softened toward the others: my brothers, Aunt, Uncle, and Baba. I wanted to cut Mama out of my life completely, but my circumstances wouldn’t allow that. I had to remain in the house until I got pregnant and was ready to give birth. And even when I moved to my husband’s home, tradition would require me to travel back to my natal home several times a year. But I tried to keep an emotional distance from my mother—though on most days we were in the same room—by acting as though I’d matured into a woman and no longer needed tenderness. This was the first time I would do this—properly follow customs and rules on the outside, let loose my emotions for a few terrible moments, and then quietly hang on to my grievance like an octopus to a rock—and it worked for everyone. My family accepted my behavior, and I still looked like a filial daughter. Later I would do something like this again, for very different reasons and with disastrous results.
SNOW FLOWER WAS dearer to me than ever. We wrote each other often, and Madame Wang delivered our letters. I worried about her circumstances—if her mother-in-law was treating her well, how she tolerated bed business, and whether things had worsened in her natal home—and she fretted that I no longer cared for her in the same way. We wanted to see each other, but we didn’t have the excuse of visiting to work on our dowries, and the only trips we were allowed to take were to our husbands’ homes for conjugal visits.
I went to my husband four or five nights a year. Every time I left, the women in my natal household cried for me. Every time I carried my own food, since my in-laws would not provide my meals until I fell permanently into their home. Every time I stayed in Tongkou, I was encouraged by how I was treated. Every time I returned home, my family’s emotions were bittersweet, for each night away from them made me seem more precious and made the fact that I would soon leave forever a reality.