Snow Flower and the Secret Fan Read online

  When Madame Wang saw we were all waiting, she wiggled her bottom on the stool to get comfortable and began the saga. “There once was a pious woman with few prospects.” She had grown quite plump in recent years, which made her slower and more deliberate in her storytelling and in her movements. “Her family married her to a butcher—the lowest possible match for a woman devoted to the Buddhist way. As devout as she was, she was a woman first and gave birth to sons and daughters. Still, Wife Wang did not eat fish or meat. She recited sutras for hours each day, especially the Diamond Sutra. When she wasn’t reciting, she begged her husband not to slaughter animals. She warned him of the bad karma that would come to him in the next life if he continued his profession.”

  The matchmaker put a hand on Snow Flower’s thigh in a comforting gesture. I would have found that old woman’s hand oppressive, but Snow Flower didn’t push it away.

  “But Husband Wang told her—and some might say rightly—that his family had been butchers for more generations than anyone could count,” Madame Wang continued. “ ‘You continue to recite the Diamond Sutra,’ he said. ‘You will be rewarded in your next life. I will keep slaughtering animals. I will buy land in this life and be punished in the next.’ ”

  Wife Wang knew she was doomed for sleeping with her husband, but when he tested her knowledge of the Diamond Sutra and found that she could recite it without flaw, he gave her a room of her own so she could remain celibate for the rest of their married life.

  “Meanwhile,” Madame Wang went on, and once again her hand traveled to Snow Flower, where it rested lightly on the back of her neck, “the King of the Afterworld sent out spirits to look for those of great virtue. They spied on Wife Wang. Once convinced of her purity, they enticed her to visit the afterworld to recite the Diamond Sutra. She knew what this meant: They were asking her to die. She begged them not to make her leave her children, but the spirits refused to hear her pleas. She told her husband to take a new wife. She instructed her children to be good and obey their new mother. As soon as these words left her mouth, she fell to the floor, dead.

  “Wife Wang experienced many trials before she was brought at last to the King of the Afterworld. Through all her tribulations he had been watching her, noting her virtue and piety. Just like her husband, he demanded that she recite the Diamond Sutra. Although she missed nine words, he was so pleased with her efforts—both during her lifetime and in the afterlife—that he rewarded her by allowing her to return to the world of the living as a baby boy. This time she was born into the home of a learned official, but her real name was written on the bottom of her foot.

  “Wife Wang had led an exemplary life, but she was only a woman,” the matchmaker reminded us. “Now, as a man, she excelled at everything she did. She attained the highest rank as a scholar. She gained riches, honor, and prestige, but as much as she accomplished she missed her family and longed to be a woman again. At last she was presented to the emperor. She told him her story and implored him to let her return to her husband’s home village. Just as had happened with the King of the Afterworld, this woman’s courage and virtue moved the emperor, but he saw something more—filial piety. He assigned her to her husband’s home village as a magistrate. She arrived wearing full scholar regalia. When everyone came out to kowtow, she stunned the gathering by taking off her manly shoes and revealing her true name. She told her husband—now very old—that she wanted to be his wife again. Husband Wang and the children went to her tomb and opened it. The Jade Emperor stepped out and announced that the entire Wang family could transcend this world for nirvana, which they did.”

  I believed Madame Wang told this story to tell me about my future. My Lu husband and his family, as esteemed and respected as they were in the county, might do things that could be considered offensive or even polluted. Also, it was the nature of a man born under the sign of the tiger to be fiery, spirited, and impulsive. My husband might lash out at society or scoff at binding traditions. (This is not as bad as being a butcher, I admit, but these traits could be dangerous nevertheless.) I, as a woman born under the sign of the horse, could help my husband fight these bad traits. A horse woman should never be afraid to take the lead and steer her mate clear of trouble. To me, this was the true meaning of “The Tale of Wife Wang.” Maybe she could not make her husband do what she wanted him to do, but through her piety and good works she not only saved him from the condemnation brought about by his polluted acts, she also helped her whole family reach nirvana. It is one of the few didactic tales told to us that has a happy ending, and on that late autumn day in the month before my marriage it made me happy.

  But otherwise my feelings were mixed during Sitting and Singing. I was sad I would be leaving my family, but just as I had with my footbinding I tried to see something bigger—not that tiny slice of life I could see from our lattice window but a panorama like the ones Snow Flower and I saw when we peeked out the window of Madame Wang’s palanquin. I was convinced that a new and better future lay ahead of me. Perhaps it was something in my nature; a horse would wander the world if it could. I was happy to be going somewhere new. Naturally, I’d like to say that Snow Flower and I followed our horse natures exactly as the horoscopes outline, but horses—and people—are not always obedient. We say one thing and do another. We feel one way; then our hearts open in another direction. We see one thing but don’t understand that blinders hinder our vision. We plod along a well-loved path and then see a road, an alleyway, a river that tempts us. . . .

  This is how I felt, and I thought that Snow Flower, my old same, would feel the same as I did, but she was a mystery to me. Snow Flower’s wedding was a month after mine, but she seemed neither excited nor sad. Instead she was unusually subdued, even as she sang the proper words during our chanting and worked diligently on the third-day wedding book she was making for me. I thought perhaps she was more nervous than I was about the wedding night.

  “I’m not afraid of that,” she quipped, as we folded and wrapped my quilts.

  “I’m not either,” I said, but I don’t think either of us spoke with much conviction. In my daughter days, when I’d still been allowed to play outside, I’d seen animals do bed business. I knew I was going to do something like that, but I didn’t understand how it would happen or what I was supposed to do. And Snow Flower, who usually knew so much more than I did, was no help. We were both waiting for one of our mothers, elder sisters, my aunt, or even the matchmaker to explain how to do this chore as they had taught us how to do so many others.

  Since we were both uncomfortable with the topic, I tried to guide the conversation toward our plan for the next few weeks. Instead of returning home immediately after my marriage, I would go straight to Snow Flower’s house for her month of Sitting and Singing. I needed to help her with her wedding preparations as she was helping me with mine. I had been wanting to go to her house for ten years now, and in some ways I was more excited about that than in meeting my husband, because I had heard about Snow Flower’s home and family for so long, while I knew almost nothing about the man I was going to marry. Still, although I was filled with anticipation—at last I’d be going to Snow Flower’s house!—she seemed vague about the details.

  “Someone from your in-laws’ home will bring you to me,” Snow Flower said.

  “Do you think my mother-in-law will join us for your Sitting and Singing?” I asked. This would please me, because she would see me with my laotong.

  “Lady Lu is too busy. She has many duties, just as you will one day.”

  “But I’ll get to meet your mother, elder sister, and . . . who else will be invited?”

  I had expected that Mama and Aunt would be part of Snow Flower’s rituals. She seemed so much a member of our family that I thought she would want them there.

  “Auntie Wang will come,” she said.

  The matchmaker would probably make several appearances during Snow Flower’s Sitting and Singing, just as she had at mine. For Madame Wang, our marrying out was th
e completion of years of hard work, meaning that her final payments were due. She wouldn’t miss any occasion where she could show to other women—the mothers of potential clients—her splendid results.

  “Other than Auntie Wang’s presence, I don’t know what my mother has planned,” Snow Flower continued. “Everything will be a surprise.”

  We were silent as we each folded another quilt. I glanced at her and her features seemed tight. For the first time in many years, my old insecurities bubbled up. Did Snow Flower still feel I was unworthy of her? Was she embarrassed to have the women of Tongkou meet my mother and aunt? Then I remembered that we were talking about her Sitting and Singing. It should be exactly as Snow Flower’s mother wanted it to be.

  I took a strand of Snow Flower’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I can’t wait to meet your family. It’s going to be a happy time.”

  She still seemed drawn as she said, “I worry that you’ll be disappointed. I’ve said so much about my mama and baba—”

  “And Tongkou and your house—”

  “How can they be as good as what you’ve imagined?”

  I laughed. “You’re silly to worry. Everything I have in my mind comes from your beautiful word pictures.”

  THREE DAYS BEFORE

  my wedding, I began the ceremonies associated with the Day of Sorrow and Worry. Mama sat on the fourth step leading to the upstairs chamber, the women of our village came to witness the laments, and everyone went ku, ku, ku, with much sobbing all around. Once Mama and I finished our crying and singing to each other, I repeated the process with my father, my uncle and aunt, and my brothers. I may have been brave and looking forward to my new life, but my body and soul were weak from hunger, because a bride is not allowed to eat for the final ten days of her wedding festivities. Do we follow this custom to make us sadder at leaving our families, to make us more yielding when we go to our husbands’ homes, or to make us appear more pure to our husbands? How can I know the answer? All I know is that Mama—like most mothers—hid a few hard-boiled eggs for me in the women’s chamber, but these did little to give me strength, and my emotions weakened with each new event.

  The next morning, nervousness jolted me awake, but Snow Flower was right beside me, her soft fingers on my cheek, trying to calm me. I would be presented to my in-laws today, and I was so afraid that I couldn’t have eaten even if I’d been allowed to. Snow Flower helped me put on the wedding outfit I had made—a short collarless jacket cinched with a belt over long pants. She slipped the silver bangles my husband’s family had sent onto my wrist, then helped me put on their other gifts—the earrings, necklace, and hairpins. My bracelets jangled together, while the silver charms I’d sewn onto my jacket tinkled harmoniously. On my feet I wore my red wedding shoes and on my head an elaborate headdress with pearly balls and silver trinkets—all of which quivered when I walked or moved my head or when my feelings broke through. Red tassels hung down in front of my headdress, forming a veil. The only way I could see and still maintain proper decorum was to look straight down.

  Snow Flower led me downstairs. Just because I couldn’t see didn’t mean that I didn’t have many emotions tumbling through my body. I heard my mother’s ragged footsteps, my aunt and uncle speaking to each other in gentle voices, and the scrape of my father’s chair as he rose. Together we walked to Puwei’s ancestral temple, where I thanked my ancestors for my life. The whole time, Snow Flower was at my side, guiding me through the alleyways, whispering encouragement and reminding me to hurry if I could because my in-laws would be arriving soon.

  When we got home, Snow Flower and I went back upstairs. To keep me still, she held my hands and tried to describe what my new family was doing.

  “Close your eyes and picture this.” She leaned in close, and my tassels fluttered with each word she spoke. “Master and Lady Lu must be beautifully dressed. They, along with their friends and relatives, have departed for Puwei. They are accompanied by a band, which announces to everyone along the route that on this day they have possession of the roadway.” She lowered her voice. “And where is the groom? He waits for you in Tongkou. In just two more days you will see him!”

  Suddenly we heard music. They were almost here. Snow Flower and I went to the lattice window. I parted my tassels and looked out. We still couldn’t see the band or the procession, but together we watched as an emissary walked down our alleyway, stopped at our threshold, and presented my father with a letter on red paper declaring that my new family had come for me.

  Then the band turned the corner, followed by a large crowd of strangers. Once they reached our house, the usual commotion commenced. Down below, people threw water and bamboo leaves on the band, accompanied by the customary laughter and jokes. I was called downstairs. Again, Snow Flower took my hand and guided me. I heard women’s voices sing: “Raising a girl and marrying her off is like building a fancy road for others to use.”

  We went outside, and Madame Wang introduced both sets of parents. I had to be at my most demure at this moment when my in-laws first glimpsed me, so I couldn’t even whisper to Snow Flower to describe what they looked like or if she could gauge what they thought of me. Then my parents led the way to the ancestral temple, where my family hosted the first of many celebratory meals. Snow Flower and other girls from our village sat around me. Special dishes were brought out. Alcohol was served. Faces turned red. I was the subject of much teasing by the men and old women. All through the banquet, I sang laments and the women replied. By now I hadn’t eaten a real meal for seven days, and the smell of all that food made me dizzy.

  The next day—the Day of the Big Singing Hall—featured a formal lunch. My handiwork and all of the third-day wedding books were displayed, accompanied by more singing by Snow Flower, the women, and me. Mama and Aunt led me to the center table. As soon as I was seated, my mother-in-law set before me a bowl of soup that she’d prepared to symbolize the kindness of my new family. I would have given anything to have just a few sips of the broth.

  I could not see my mother-in-law’s face through my veil, but when I looked down through the tassels and saw golden lilies that seemed as small as my own, I felt a wave of panic. She hadn’t worn the special pair of shoes I’d made for her. I could see why. The embroidery on these shoes was far better than anything I had done. I was disgraced. Surely my parents were embarrassed and my in-laws disenchanted.

  At this terrible moment, Snow Flower came to my side and took my arm again. Custom dictated that I leave the party, so she escorted me out of the temple and back home. She helped me upstairs, and then lifted off my headdress, removed the rest of my wedding clothes, and buttoned me into a nightdress and my sleeping slippers. I stayed quiet. The perfection of my mother-in-law’s shoes gnawed at me, but I was afraid to say anything, even to Snow Flower. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me too.

  Very late that night, my family returned home. If I was going to get any advice about bed business, it had to happen now. Mama came into the room and Snow Flower left. Mama looked worried, and for a second I thought she’d come to tell me that my in-laws wanted to back out of the arrangement. She rested her cane on the bed and sat down beside me.

  “I have always told you that a true lady lets no ugliness into her life,” she said, “and that only through pain will you find beauty.”

  I nodded modestly, but inside I was practically screaming in terror. She had used these phrases again and again during my footbinding. Could bed business be that bad?

  “I hope you will remember, Lily, that sometimes we can’t avoid ugliness. You have to be brave. You have promised to be united for life. Be the lady you were meant to be.”

  And then she stood up, balanced on her cane, and hobbled out of the room. I was not relieved by what she had said! My resolve, my adventurousness, and my strength had completely weakened. I truly felt like a bride—afraid, sad, and very scared now to leave my family.

  When Snow Flower came back in and saw I was white with fear, she took
my mother’s spot on the bed and tried to comfort me.

  “For ten years you have trained for this moment,” she gently reassured me. “You obey the rules set down in The Women’s Classic. You are soft in your words but strong in your heart. You comb your hair in a demure manner. You don’t wear rouge or powder. You know how to spin cotton and wool, weave, sew, and embroider. You know how to cook, clean, wash, keep tea always warm and ready, and light the fire in the hearth. You take good and proper care of your feet. You remove your old bindings each night before bed. You wash your feet thoroughly and use just the right amount of scent before putting on clean bindings.”

  “What about . . . bed business?”

  “What about it? Your aunt and uncle have been happy doing this thing. Your mama and baba have done it enough to have many children. It can’t be as hard as embroidery or cleaning.”

  I felt a little better, but Snow Flower wasn’t done. She helped me into the bed, curled around me, and continued praising me.

  “You will be a good mother, because you are caring,” she whispered in my ear. “At the same time, you will be a good teacher. How do I know this? Look at all the things you have taught me.” She paused for a moment, making sure my mind and body had absorbed what she’d said, before going on in a much more matter-of-fact manner. “And besides, I saw the way the Lus looked at you yesterday and today.”

  I twisted out of her arms and turned to face her. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  “Remember when Lady Lu brought you the soup?”

  Of course I remembered. That was the beginning of what I imagined to be my lifetime of humiliation.

  “Your whole body trembled,” Snow Flower continued. “How did you do that? The entire room noticed. Everyone commented on your fragility combined with restraint. As you sat there with your head tilted down, showing what a perfect maiden you are, Lady Lu looked over you to her husband. She smiled in approval and he smiled back. You will see. Lady Lu is strict, but her heart is kind.”