The Moon Pearl

by Ruthanne Lum McCunn

  Then Baba, his face purple with anger, lashed out at Mama for talking about freedom at all and for not being stricter. “Haven’t I always said raising children is like raising silkworms? For good results, care must be taken from birth.”

  Mama claimed he was the one teaching deceit by selling pieces of Rooster’s embroidery for her on the sly. Elder Brother, raising his voice above theirs, shouted that Elder Sister-in-law was complaining about a pain in her belly and asking for white flower oil.

  Instantly Mama abandoned the argument and gave Elder Sister-in-law her full attention. Baba turned from yelling at Mama to accusing Shadow of possibly harming his unborn grandchild. When Shadow tried to defend herself, Elder Brother bellowed for quiet, adding, “Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

  That Elder Brother would blame her for Elder Sister-in-law’s distress cut Shadow to the quick. Since he’d asked for quiet, however, she didn’t dare speak, not even to apologize or offer help. She simply flung on her hat and hurtled out the door.

  Now, bolting blindly through the village, Shadow feared Elder Brother might have taken her departure as proof of her thoughtlessness. Worse, she might really have harmed Elder Sister-in-law and her baby.

  Motes of dust hung in the shaft of sunlight pouring through the rain shelter’s one window. Yet the air seemed dank to Mei Ju. Breathing as shallowly as she could, she’d decreased the frequency of her sneezes. But she couldn’t stop sneezing altogether, and with each explosion, Mei Ju jounced Shadow, seated beside her on the hut’s narrow bench.

  Shadow, sunk into gloom, didn’t seem to hear either the sneezes or Mei Ju’s apologies. Perched on a stool across the table from them, Rooster greeted each fresh assault with a bright, “Dai gut lai see, good fortune!”

  Bobbing her head in acknowledgment, Mei Ju thought dolefully that they could certainly use every one of Rooster’s wishes and more. In truth, surveying the hut’s crumbling walls and festoons of cobwebs, Mei Ju couldn’t understand how Rooster could sustain her joy.

  “Cheer up, you two,” Rooster urged. “I know talking to our parents was like chickens talking to ducks. But can’t you see my near escape is proof of Heaven’s approval?”

  Mei Ju, wanting desperately to believe her, begged Rooster, “Tell us again what happened.”

  Her eyes aglow and her voice so highly pitched with excitement it reverberated off the mud walls, Rooster obliged.

  “Well, you know how Old Bloodsucker prides himself on squeezing cash out of people with none? He apparently forced my parents into negotiations with a matchmaker, and they’ve been meeting at Old Bloodsucker’s and had already picked out a groom and matched horoscopes and done everything except present betrothal gifts.

  “So you see, if we’d delayed making our vows by so much as a day, it would’ve been too late for me. I would’ve been trapped into marrying.

  “Hnnnh, if we hadn’t made our vows to Seh Gung and Gwoon Yum, my father would’ve ripped the pins out of my hair and combed it back into two plaits himself!”

  Retrieving her statue of Gwoon Yum from the basket, Rooster held it tenderly against her cheek, and Mei Ju imagined the clay image cooling her own heated skin.

  “The Goddess really saved me,” Rooster said, wiping off the rickety table with a broad sweep of her sleeve.

  A cloud of dust billowed into Mei Ju’s nostrils, causing a flurry of sneezes.

  “Good fortune, good fortune, good fortune,” Rooster crowed.

  She set the statue on the table, rotated it so Gwoon Yum faced Shadow. “You bought her for me, remember?”

  Mei Ju, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, sensed rather than saw Shadow nod.

  “Gwoon Yum hasn’t forgotten either,” Rooster assured softly.

  Smiling, she began, “Gwoon Yum was born the daughter of a king. Yet she didn’t care about earthly riches or power. What she wanted was to remain pure. To shave her head and become a charity spinster, a nun. Her father, however, wanted her to marry, and when she wouldn’t, he ordered her beheaded.”

  As Rooster paused for breath, Mei Ju eagerly took up the familiar tale.

  “Of course, the executioner didn’t dare disobey the king. But when his sword struck Gwoon Yum, it shattered without hurting her. Then Gwoon Yum’s father ordered her suffocated, and when her soul left her body, it descended to Hell.”

  Rooster cocked her head encouragingly at Shadow, and Mei Ju, recognizing Rooster’s intent, fell silent. But the only sounds were their breathing, the buzz of flies foraging in the mounds of rubbish littering the floor, gnats circling their faces and necks, their wrists and hands.

  Mei Ju waved away the gnats, laced her fingers through Shadow’s, murmuring, “Come on.”

  When there was no response, Rooster pushed the statue of Gwoon Yum forward, and Shadow—hesitantly at first, then more strongly—at last picked up where Mei Ju had left off.

  “Gwoon Yum’s presence in Hell turned it into Paradise. So, to save his kingdom, the King of Hell restored Gwoon Yum’s life, and she was transported on a lotus flower to an island in the Southern Sea, where she lives as a healer and from which she sails on her Boat of Mercy to help those in trouble.”

  Steadying the statue with one hand, Rooster curled her other hand into a fist and rapped her knuckles against the scarred tabletop, beating out the rhythm for Gwoon Yum’s song.

  Together they chanted:

  “Look back on the way I have traveled

  And judge if a better be found.

  No husband to claim my devotion,

  No motherin-law to control my every breath;

  No children to pull at my hands,

  No fetters on the wings of my soul.

  As free as the wind on the mountain,

  Or the birds that soar up to the sun,

  With jade and opals I deck me,

  With the moon pearl I am crowned.

  Who faithfully follows my footsteps

  May share in my infinite gain;

  And she who is brave enough to relinquish,

  Will know what it is to attain.”

  With each line, it seemed to Mei Ju that their voices grew stronger, and she felt herself becoming less and less troubled by their families’ anger, the wretched state of the hut, their uncertain future.

  Shadow didn’t feel drawn to the passion that happy husbands and wives—like Elder Brother and Elder Sister-in-law—shared. When choosing a life without a husband, however, Shadow had understood that she’d also be forgoing motherhood. And unlike Rooster, who was afraid of dying in childbirth, and Mei Ju, who claimed she’d had her fill of babies from caring for her little brother and cousins, Shadow wanted children.

  She’d told herself she could fulfill that desire by helping to raise her brother’s sons and daughters. Now she wasn’t sure, and at the words, “No children to pull at my hands,” in Gwoon Yum’s song, Shadow’s eyes and throat flooded with tears for the babies she’d never birth, the possible loss of the babe growing in Elder Sister-in-law’s belly. Nevertheless, Shadow couldn’t wish she and her friends had delayed their vows until Elder Sister-in-law’s baby was safely delivered; otherwise Rooster would have been trapped into marriage.

  Thinking of the babe in Elder Sister-in-law’s belly, Shadow became aware of the growling in her own, remembered she hadn’t bought a cooking pot or rice, and as the song ended, she shot off the bench, forgetting Mei Ju had hold of one hand. Their arms pulled taut, and Mei Ju was jerked half to her feet before letting go.

  Shadow, released, headed for the door.

  Mei Ju ran after her. “Where are you going?”

  “We’ve got nothing to cook with, nothing to eat.”

  “Never mind,” Rooster said.

  What? Shadow, spinning round, saw Rooster had lain the statue of Gwoon Yum flat on the dust-covered table and was smoothing down her loose-fitting tunic with her long, thin fingers. As the faded blue cotton flattened against Rooster, Mei Ju’s eyes widened, Shadow became acutely embarrassed at
how she filled her own tunic so completely that the seams threatened to split.

  “We’ve become spinsters, not Goddesses,” Shadow muttered.

  Rooster, no less dramatic or amazing than a conjuror, lifted her tunic, plucked an egg from the pocket of her undergarment, and set it on the table at Gwoon Yum’s feet.

  Mei Ju applauded. Smiling, she demanded, “More! More!”

  Shadow knew that had Mei Ju not seen something indicating there were additional hidden eggs, she wouldn’t be calling for more. And, taken aback by her own blindness, Shadow wondered what else she’d failed to notice, who else she’d misjudged.

  With great flourish, Rooster continued extracting eggs one by one, laying them on the table. Beautifully white, the eggs gleamed bright as the moon pearl on the Goddess’s head. Indeed, they scarcely seemed less magical.

  “Looks like our rooster is a hen,” Shadow told Mei Ju.

  Rooster grinned. “Since I know where Strongworm’s more adventurous hens like to roam and nest, I decided to bring us some of their droppings. Too bad my pocket’s not bigger.”

  Taking a pin from her hair, she pierced the top of the sixth and final egg. “Let’s eat.”

  As Rooster carefully enlarged the pinprick into a hole through which she could drink, Shadow and Mei Ju returned to the table.

  “Wah, none of them cracked,” Mei Ju observed.

  The eggs, without blemish, reminded Shadow more than ever of Gwoon Yum’s moon pearl, the many difficulties she’d overcome before it became hers, and she felt ashamed at how easily she’d become dispirited.

  Mei Ju handed Shadow an egg, took one for herself. Rooster propped up the statue of Gwoon Yum and raised her egg to the Goddess as an offering before draining it. Shadow, cradling her egg between her palms, savored its warmth, the warmth of her good friends.

  New Lives

  MEI JU recognized Rooster’s ingenuity in suggesting they live in Strongworm’s rain shelter. Not only was it free, but since it was situated on a strip of common land between the fields and the village proper, they couldn’t be thrown out of the hut the way Grandmother had evicted the concubine from her little house.

  Mei Ju also recognized Rooster’s cunning in proposing they sell their embroidery through the water peddlers. Everybody in Strongworm relied on the peddlers for goods they couldn’t grow or make themselves; and all the peddlers cared about was whether their customers had the cash to buy their goods. Old Bloodsucker wouldn’t interfere. Even the clan elders wouldn’t. Furthermore, if Rooster was as shrewd in business dealings as she was clever at planning, she’d drive a hard bargain with the peddlers for serving as middlemen.

  Where the hut was at the north end of Strongworm, however, the water peddlers tied up their boats near the temple at the southern end. To reach them, then, required walking the entire length of the village, and the prospect filled Mei Ju with dismay.

  By now, Rooster’s parents would have told Old Bloodsucker that their daughter could not marry. Doubtless he’d have taken the news badly, and his roars would’ve been heard by his family and workers, who’d have gossiped to others with willing ears and busy tongues. Then, too, there’d been plenty of shouting in Shadow’s family, her own.

  While Mei Ju had been declaring her spinsterhood to Ma, Grandmother had rushed in from the outhouse, whooping, “You’ll never guess what I just heard. That Shadow’s gone and made vows of spinsterhood or some such nonsense, and those foolish Fungs are beside themselves. Hnnnh, what did they expect when they provided such poor home teaching? Didn’t I always say that girl would come to no good?”

  In her hurry, Grandmother had not finished knotting her pants, and with her head bent over as she’d tugged and pulled, she hadn’t seen Mei Ju, who—aided by her mother—had escaped through the front door. Out on the street, Mei Ju had heard the shocked voices of the Fungs as well as Grandmother. Surely other neighbors had, too, and had since repeated every word many times over.

  Mei Ju—fearful the gossips would scold as fiercely as their families—dreaded facing them.

  Seeking delay, she suggested, “Let’s tidy ourselves before we go.”

  In truth, Shadow and Rooster—with hair straggling over their faces and down their backs—were a mess, and bringing out the pow fa and combs from the tiered basket, Mei Ju advised, “You’d best start over.”

  Rooster tossed her head, shaking loose pins. “How were you able to comb your hair up so neatly?”

  Shadow fussed with her collapsing bun. “And make everything stay in place?”

  “Don’t forget, I’ve braided my little cousins’ and brother’s hair for years. And before joining the girls’ house, I used to watch my mother and aunts comb my grandmother’s hair every morning.”

  Eager to perform a task that was comfortingly familiar, Mei Ju stepped behind Shadow and deftly finished unravelling the remnants of her bun. “Here, Rooster can watch me fix your hair. Then I’ll do Rooster’s and you can watch.”

  Carefully Mei Ju untangled the worst snarls with her fingers. Then she drew ever finer-toothed combs through the hair, stopping and straightening out each of the remaining snags strand by strand—not to protract the time it would take, but to keep from hurting Shadow, and because the concentration required helped ease the roiling in herself.

  With surprising speed, the snags became fewer, the strokes longer and longer. And when Mei Ju could slide the comb repeatedly from scalp to ends in unbroken runs, she worked the pow fa into the sleek, silk-soft hair so that not even a wisp would stray.

  Gathering up Shadow’s hair for braiding, Mei Ju mused wistfully, “I wish all our difficulties could be overcome this simply.”

  “Don’t!” Rooster barked.

  Shadow flinched. Mei Ju sprang back as if she’d been bitten.

  “Sorry. It’s just that you can stop right there. See?” Rooster pointed at Gwoon Yum whose hair, peeking out from beneath her shawl at her forehead and shoulders, was as free of ties as the Goddess herself.

  “We’d really be untidy then,” Shadow said. “And we couldn’t embroider properly, not with our hair falling over our faces and getting tangled in our thread.”

  Mei Ju pulled Shadow’s gleaming hair back tightly, bound it at the nape. “Look, this is the secret to being neat. Tie the hair before braiding it, and then again at the end of the plait, before coiling it into a bun.”

  Rooster thrust out her chin stubbornly. “With buns, we could be mistaken for married women.”

  Mei Ju, dividing Shadow’s bound hair for braiding, felt her stiffen.

  “Maybe I didn’t startle Elder Sister-in-law so much as I offended her.”

  Remembering Ma’s outrage, Mei Ju shuddered, and as her Angers skillfully wove a five-strand plait, she searched for an alternative to the wifely bun. Leaving their hair loose was out of the question. Nor could they go back to girlish pigtails. Which left shaving their heads like nuns. No. Anything but that.

  Mei Ju secured the end of the plait she was braiding and, having failed to come up with a replacement for the bun, began making one. Fear of what it might provoke, however, weighed down her arms and made her fingers thick and clumsy so that the plait tumbled out of her grasp.

  She eyed the glistening black rope of hair swinging from Shadow’s neck to her waist. “What about a single plait?”

  Reaching back, Shadow fingered the uniform ridges of braiding approvingly. “This will set us apart from both wives and girls.”

  “Yes,” Rooster agreed.

  Mei Ju pulled out the pins from her bun, allowing the plait to unfurl down her back and hang free. “Good.”

  The hut had a door facing Strongworm’s flagstone road. Its window looked out onto a small open space skirted by a dense bamboo grove. At Mei Ju’s urging, the three set out for the water peddlers through the window. “That way no one will know we’ve moved in here until we’ve had a chance to secure it.”

  Climbing out one by one, they dashed across the open space and ducked into the bambo
o. Rooster led the way. Behind her, Shadow cradled their little bundle of embroidery samples. Mei Ju, forcing one leg after the other, brought up the rear.

  Thorny undergrowth crackled beneath their feet, scratching their ankles, snagging their pants. Slender branches scraped against their widebrimmed hats, slapping their shoulders and legs, stinging. Still they pushed on.

  Mei Ju, swallowing the yelps that leaped to her throat, peered anxiously at the sky. To her relief, the slivers and patches she caught through the breaks in the canopy of green remained clear of rainclouds, so the chances of passersby stopping in the hut and finding their tiered basket were slim. And by the time they had to quit the grove for the road, the sun was high, meaning morning rice was over, most people already back at work in their fields or wormhouses.

  For a while, the road was clear. As they approached the village proper, though, Young Chow and his father emerged from behind the rows of houses, headed in their direction.

  Deep in coversation, the Chows didn’t seem aware of them. Even so, Mei Ju wedged herself between Shadow and Rooster, tucking her arms through theirs.

  Shadow clutched the bundle to her chest. “Perhaps they’ll pass without noticing us.”

  “What are you two afraid of? The Chows can’t beat us like they do Yun Yun,” Rooster said.

  At the sound of her voice, father and son looked up, halted abruptly.

  “You dare show your faces?” Old Man Chow spat. “What gall!”

  Young Chow leered cruelly. “We should smear their faces with mud. That’ll teach them some humility.”

  At the first lash of their tongues, Mei Ju wanted to run. She felt Rooster tense, Shadow freeze as if turned to stone.

  “Let’s go back,” Mei Ju whispered.

  “No,” Rooster blazed, quickening her step.

  Shadow dug in her heels, and Mei Ju, stretched awkwardly between the two, tugged at Rooster’s arm, trying to pull her back.

  Rooster slowed but did not stop. “How will we ever get to the water peddlers if we let bullies run us indoors with their threats?”

  “You’re right.” Shadow, coming back to life, lunged forward, forcing Mei Ju to continue walking too.