“How about her future?” the mother interrupted. “We are not here to hear about the past. The past is easy.”
The fortuneteller cleared his throat and spat into the dust next to his feet. “Madam, you are right. The past is easy. It is the future that is hard. Big changes are coming soon. People are spilling grains on the ground, letting animals eat full-grain. This is a bad omen. The people will be punished for wasting food.”
“Sir, I’m a humble woman. What is going on in the world does not concern me. The dynasty changes and the emperor changes, but whatever happens, people still live the way they always have. In this village, heaven is high and the emperor is far away. I want to know my daughter’s fortune, and that is all.”
“Madam, you’re wrong this time. The changes that are coming are different from any dynasty changes in the history of China. I don’t know whether it is a blessing or a calamity, but we will be witnessing changes that are unlike anything that had ever happened before. The emperor will not be far away any more. What’s the use of knowing one person’s fortune? Nothing can alter the forces that spring from the changes of the stars, the earth, the sun, and the moon.”
“Mr. Fortuneteller, please don’t waste your breath telling me what’s going to happen to the emperor. I won’t pay you for it. All I want to know is my daughter’s fortune.”
“Yes, Madam. This little girl will be able to see more than you and I can ever see. She will travel to far places. She will marry a rich husband and she will have a son.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fortuneteller.” The mother bowed and bowed, and could not help smiling to herself as she counted three copper coins and placed them in the fortuneteller’s palm. She walked away holding her daughter’s hand, thinking that she knew it all along. Her daughter would not spend the rest of her life having children and growing old in a poor man’s home. She would wear jewelry, and she would have servants. A rich husband meant that she would be taken care of all the days of her life. A son meant that she would not lose her husband to another woman. What more could any woman want? Good fortune!
***
Because of the fortune-teller, Silver Pearl knew, by the time she reached the marriageable age of fifteen, that her husband would be a learned gentleman from a rich family. She knew this on that sunny day when a young carpenter came into the tofu shop to buy a few pieces of dry tofu. He saw that Silver Pearl was pretty and started to tease her, saying that he bet she would taste just like the tender flesh of the softest tofu. Silver Pearl blushed and looked at him from the corners of her eyes, and she knew that he would never enter her life. She ignored his words and his broad shoulders under his work shirt, which was stained yellow with sweat. Her heart was jumping like a young deer, hitting her rib cage. The smell of fresh wood shavings and sweat, and the way he looked at her, was exciting. He was not handsome. He had heavy lips and thin mischievous eyes. But what she remembered most were his hands—thick and rough, large-knuckled, and covered with calluses.
Silver Pearl had noticed his hands when he gave her a red silk handkerchief. She did not want to accept his gift. But when the carpenter dropped a square silk handkerchief—light like air and slippery like water—into her hands, she held onto the redness with both hands as if she was holding a pool of blood from her own heart while his hands cupped around hers. Silver Pearl knew it wasn’t proper and she was ashamed as she tried hard to stop herself from trembling. She felt the wet palms of his hands and the warmth of his fingers. She felt his gaze burning on her face, and she was afraid to look up and see him. She just kept looking at his hands.
Silver Pearl did not tell her mother about the silk handkerchief. She tied the red silk around her wrist when she went to sleep at night, and if she had dreams that night, she had forgotten them. She only knew that she wanted more, and she must have more. She wanted to be wrapped by the finest satin from head to toe every season of the year. And her husband’s hands would be soft and white with a green jade ring on the index finger of his left hand. His long fingers would leisurely flip the pages of a book of poems from Tang Dynasty. He would never have to sweat to earn his livelihood.
The night before Silver Pearl’s wedding, her mother talked throughout most of the night. She said, “My daughter, after tomorrow, you will belong to your husband’s family. They say that a married daughter is like spilled water, never to be recovered. But when you become the young mistress of the Su family, don’t forget your parents. Your father and I have worked hard all our lives, and we are no longer young. Parents raise sons to prevent hardship in their old age. Since your poor little brother died, you are all we have.” The mother’s voice broke. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and continued. “I have prayed for this happy occasion ever since you were born. Your destiny is about to be realized. From now on, your life will be different. Always remember that even though you are An Ling’s second wife, you are his proper wife—not a concubine. If the first wife ever comes back, she will be the concubine. The little girl of the first wife will have to call you ‘Mother’. You will be married into the family with the full ceremony of a wife, nothing less. Treat the girl kindly, but you don’t need to bribe her with candy or new clothes. Only concubines wanting to win the master’s favor would do that. Don’t heed the girl. She will soon become some other family’s daughter-in-law.
“Don't mention the first wife. Think of her as dead. You are the wife now. Take care of your husband and bear him sons. Please your husband and fulfill his wishes so he won’t go to other women.”
***
On her wedding night, Silver Pearl sat on the slippery satin bedspread, exhausted and confused. A bridesmaid was wiping away at tea stains on Silver Pearl’s skirt. The room was crowded with bawdy wedding guests. It was the custom to have the guests carouse and make fun of the new couple in their wedding chamber. An Ling stood near the window, smoking a cigarette while he looked on as if he were a bystander. The wedding guests were drunk and laughing, their faces red and shiny. A distant cousin of An Ling’s was particularly rowdy. He was a short heavy-set man. He shouted in a loud voice that resembled a broken gong, “We want the bride to sing a song!”
“Or dance for us!” someone echoed.
“If you don’t agree, you will have to kiss the groom,” the cousin declared. He smacked his lips loudly and the crowd roared.
“When is the bride going to have sons?” a woman chuckled.
“The sooner the better. The groom cannot wait!” Everyone laughed and applauded.
“Why doesn’t the bride smile? Is she afraid of her wedding night?”
The cousin went over to An Ling and dragged him toward the bed and chanted, “The groom kisses the bride. The groom kisses the bride.”
An Ling jerked his hand away from his cousin’s grasp. The room quieted down for a moment. The bridesmaid quickly said: “The bride is shy and very tired. Why don’t we ask the new couple to hold hands?”
The crowd applauded, covering their collective embarrassment. The groom was cheerless and in poor spirit. The bridesmaid pulled An Ling’s hands and Silver Pearl’s hands together. The guests were finally satisfied and left the room.
An Ling’s hand was soft and white, just as Silver Pearl expected. Silver Pearl realized that she was still holding his hand after he has already let go of hers. She withdrew her fingers and lowered her head as far down as she could. She could feel her heart beating wildly, and her hands were shaking. She glanced at her skirt and saw the tea stain. A wave of blood rushed to her face as she recalled how the first wife’s daughter broke the teacup earlier, splattering hot tea all over her red wedding skirt. When Silver Pearl looked up in a panic, she had been chilled by the sight of the little girl’s stony face. She could tell, unmistakably, that Little Jade disliked her. Silver Pearl shot another glance at Little Jade and saw that she would not look at her. It was intentional, thought Silver Pearl.
An Ling blew out the double red candles. He said, “It’s getting late. Go to sleep.”
Moonlight filled the room with blue light and shadows. Silver Pearl stood up and started to undress. Her legs were numb. She struggled out of her wedding gown and crawled into bed in her long underwear. There was only one pillow and one quilt on the large spring mattress bed. It was the first time Silver Pearl had slept on a spring mattress. She sank into the soft bed, using a corner of the pillow and quilt, facing the wall. She could sense An Ling getting into the bed, his long, heavy body lying next to her. He did not use the pillow, but merely pulled half of the quilt over himself and slept.
It was not until the next morning that Silver Pearl got a good look at her husband. Looking at the face she had waited for all her life, she felt that she had known him all along, as if she had seen his face many times before, but she never felt a part of him belonged to her—not even now, when she was pregnant with his child.
An Ling was an impenetrable wall. Silver Pearl could not begin to guess his changing moods. She thought about that carpenter. She had known what he wanted. She knew that he was looking for her to smile. When she pretended to be angry and called him a dead man, how his heart must have ached! When he ate that soft tofu, she knew he thought of her. Oh, it was easy, Silver Pearl thought indulgently.
With An Ling, everything was difficult. She was clumsy in front of him. He did not pay attention to her. He thought nothing of her hair, clothes, and expensive, imported perfumes. He smiled blankly as she demanded his attention, complimenting her lightly. She could not create a chain to weigh him down. She knew An Ling took care of her only because she belonged to him. Silver Pearl still kept that silk handkerchief at the bottom of her trunk. She wondered whether she would encounter the carpenter when she returned to her parents’ house. She wondered what he would think of her. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to see him again—or rather, she wanted him to see her. Somehow, they would meet on the street, and with a look of recognition, they would greet each other casually, awkwardly. The village was small. The chance would come.
Chapter 8: Step-grandparents' House
Inside the wagon, Little Jade pretended to sleep under a red coyote fur. Her father and stepmother were smoking cigarettes, narrowing their eyes as they blew out white curls of smoke. They were on their way to Little Jade’s step-grandparents’ house. Little Jade had said goodbye to Orchid two days ago when An Ling let the servants go. Orchid was to return to her family in the next village. Everybody scattered after the grandmother’s death.
The driver whipped the horses as the wagon rolled down the bumpy hillside road. In the midst of the pounding of the horses’ hooves, the driver sang against the fierce north wind. The wind tore words away from his lips as quickly as he uttered them and threw them into the mountains behind. He fought the wind and sang to warm his blood and to strengthen his nerves. The countryside was desolate and deadly quiet—except for the shrieks of ravens on the high branches of the pine trees and the howls of wolves from the mountains. The road ahead was deserted. The driver could not see any cooking smoke rising from the nearby villages. It was day, but the sky was dark and low. A storm was coming.
The driver clenched his teeth and whipped the horses harshly, calling: “Go faster!” The horses’ neighing ripped open the boundless silence on these dangerous, abandoned roads, and made the travelers’ hearts tremble with fear. The driver felt the hard iron of his handgun against his waist. Little Jade heard broken phrases of the driver’s singing.
“The heaven is cruel... the heaven is blind... punishes the good, rewards the evil ... People are like pigs and dogs ... pieces of meat on a chopping board ... pieces of meat on a chopping board ...”
She hid her face under the longhaired fur rug, smelling the scent of dead animal skin and thick cigarette smoke. Little Jade listened to the pounding of the hooves.
Little Jade had heard many stories about the bandits. Orchid had told her that when the dark force of the earth and bright force of the heavens were not in harmony, there were bound to be catastrophes. Little Jade had asked why. Orchid said that she didn’t know why and that she was only repeating what her grandfather had told her.
Orchid’s grandfather was a cripple. His left leg was gone. He limped around with a walking stick. One leg of his trousers hung loosely. He had a hard brown face and a broad grin, and most of his teeth were missing. He was the leader of a gang of beggars that went from village to village asking for money and food. They knocked on the front and back doors of each house, chanting, “Masters and Mistresses, have a good heart, live a long life, give me some money, give me some food. Gold and silver roll into your house, have ten sons and ten daughters-in-law, good luck go to you, bad luck come to me, have a good heart, live a long life.”
Little Jade’s grandmother had had a good heart. Orchid had been sick when the old Mistress took her in from the beggar. The old beggar would come to visit Orchid several times a year. Whenever he saw Little Jade, he always politely called her “Little Lady.” Grandmother would never let Little Jade stay in the kitchen to listen to the stories he told Orchid. Little Jade had to leave the kitchen until he left. Then she would beg Orchid to repeat his stories.
“The bandits have no families and no children,” Orchid started one of her stories. “They smell like wild animals because they eat raw meat dripping with blood. During the famine, when all the animals are eaten, the bandits kill people and make steamed buns, using their meat for fillings. They tie the victim to a tree and cut off his legs and arms, piece by piece, while he’s still alive. This way the meat stays fresh.” Orchid told stories in a hushed voice, drawing Little Jade forward to listen.
“The bandits are a mean lot,” Orchid continued. “When they run out of silver, they kidnap the sons of the rich and demand ransoms. But once someone is kidnapped, it’s usually hopeless. If he doesn’t die, he loses half his life anyway. The bandits cut off his tongue so he can’t speak, pierce his eyes with a needle so he can’t see, and fill his ears with hot candle wax so he can’t hear. It would be worse to live than to die. The bandits are sent down by the heavenly emperor to purge the earth, to show that the gods are all-powerful and to test the wills of men, and to find out whether they curse or pray to heaven.”
Maybe Orchid’s grandfather used to be a bandit. He probably lost his leg in a battle. Afterwards, he couldn’t ride a horse and couldn’t be a bandit any more. Or maybe he was a victim, cursing the gods under his breath as he watched a bandit swing an ax at his leg, and fainted in his own blood. Or maybe he really was just a beggar, old and crippled, living in abandoned temples and eating wild dogs.
***
An Ling left Little Jade at her step-grandparents’ house and left. Accompanied by a bodyguard, he went to settle business affairs with a family member in the port city of Tianjin. He promised Little Jade that he would come back as soon as he could, so the family could spend the New Year together. Little Jade did not like it there. But she had no choice. It was too dangerous to live in the empty old house, the father said, for now the country was falling into what he called “large chaos.” “During small chaos,” he explained, “it is better to go into the city. During large chaos, it is better to hide in the country.”
Each morning, the step-grandfather went off to work in his shop. The step-grandmother stayed home to look after her daughter and Little Jade. Silver Pearl had also brought a maid from the estate to help out around the small house. Silver Pearl’s pregnancy was beginning to show. She spent most of the day with her mother. When Silver Pearl and her mother wanted to talk, one of them would give Little Jade a handful of candies and say, “Little Jade, why don’t you go somewhere to play?”
The house was small, with only three rooms. There were no wings, no courtyards, and no front yard. A small kitchen in the back was dark and full of the smells of oil and smoke. It connected to a narrow strip of back yard where a few old hens and their chicks walked to and fro. The ground was littered with chicken droppings. The main room also doubled as a dining room with the ancestral altar on
the wall. The altar displayed bright pink paper flowers in a porcelain vase, two red candle stubs in yellow brass holders, a pewter urn without incense, ancestral spirit tablets, and small statues of different gods: a fat Buddha smiling and holding his belly, which spilled out of the opening of his robe, and a white-robed Kwan Yin standing on a lotus blossom, her bare feet visible beneath her flowing skirt. She was holding a bottle in her left hand and a branch of willow in her right hand. She smiled at Little Jade with recognition. Little Jade was drawn to the statue. She went up close and reached over to touch the edge of her robe. Dust came off the statue and onto her fingers.
Looking at the statue of Kwan Yin, Little Jade felt somehow comforted. She knelt down and closed her eyes and prayed, “Kwan Yin Pusa, please help me, help me.” She lowered her eyes and recited the lotus sutra from memory. The sutra is long and reassuring and tells how Kwan Yin will help anyone in any danger, should it be fire, flood, attack by fierce animals or bandits, just pray to Kwan Yin and everything will be fine. She forgot certain lines but repeated the lines she remembered over and over. It made her feel as if her grandmother was next to her, right then and there.
Little Jade stood up and looked around the room. She saw the round dining table in the middle of the room. Six chairs surrounded it, all painted a dark red. The walls were decorated with square pictures drawn on red paper. One depicted a naked fat boy sitting on a lily pad, playing with two jumping carps—a lucky symbol for sons, and another one was of the God of Longevity who was pictured as a laughing old man with a long white beard and a walking stick. There was a picture of the God of Good Fortune who had a square face and fat ears. His earlobes drooped down to his shoulders. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the table. She took an orange and returned to her room.
Her room was partitioned off from the main room. It had no windows. In the narrow space, there was a small hard bed and a small square wooden table. On top of the table, there was a red candle in a white china dish, a jade-colored cup with leftover sweet tea inside, and some red strings for tying braids. A red blanket was thrown over the bed. Her shoes and a chamber pot were under the bed. The room was cold despite the small coal stove burning in the corner.
Daughter of the Bamboo Forest Page 7
