by Hua Bai
This talisman would prevent her soul from flying away prematurely. Awu Luruo had once told her that the wool string around the neck of a thirteen-year-old girl is also a reminder that her ancestors had come thousands of miles to Lake Xienami with herds of sheep. It tells her not to forget the hardships they had experienced.
Ami asked Sunamei to call in the big black dog. At
Ami’s bidding, she fed the dog some rice and a piece of
pork. Then she repeated after Ami, “My dear dog, a human being is too delicate and cannot brave endless winds and storms. A human being can live only thirteen years and does not know how to receive axiao. But you dogs are tough, and able to bear all kinds of hardship. You know living means suffering, and you live for sixty years at least. The goddess takes pity on us and lets us exchange our lives with yours.
Hence, human beings enjoy longevity. We are grateful to
you, so we feed you and treat you like a member of the family. We share whatever we have with you.”
These words touched Sunamei’s heart. With her arms
around the black dog’s neck, she kissed its wet nose. After giving the dog her thanks, Sunamei kowtowed to her ancestors, to the hearth god, and to all her relatives. She thanked 5 4
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her ancestors for giving her a soul, and the hearth god for keeping her from cold and hunger, and all her relatives for their kindness in the past and their continuing protection, like woods protecting a frail wildflower.
Now all her family began helping Sunamei serve rice
cakes, melon seeds, popped-rice candies, and buttered tea to entertain the guests who came for her ceremony. Sunamei
walked in front of Ami. She was not used to the change yet.
The headdress was heavy and the new clothes stiff. Every movement produced a gentle rustling. Asi (great-grandmother) was sitting at her usual place on a piece of warm yak hide at the head of the fireplace. Asi had seldom spoken during the past few years, and her throat always made a sort of gurgling sound while her hands counted a string of black beads. Today Asi looked exceptionally happy. She seemed to be smiling. When Sunamei knelt before her, she raised her hands and touched her all over from head to feet. Sunamei knew Asi did so not because of her blindness but because touching was her special way to convey love. Sunamei was the youngest of Asi’s lineage. Today Asi touched with her own hands the fourth generation.
Before the visitors left they all took out their presents.
Some had brought Sunamei shuttles for weaving bands.
Some gave her glossy silk thread. Some gave her new
clothes, necklaces, bracelets, and linen. Every present was delivered with beautiful wishes.
One said, “Our present is as thin as a little stream; yet when you become dabu, this stream will grow into a big river.”
Another said, “These bracelets that never wear out
embody the friendship between our yishe and yours.”
Another said, “Linens never wear out; the land will pro-
duce forever. With your strength and capability, you will never exhaust what you have. If you save what you produce, it will pile up like a mountain.”
“Silk embroidered on linen is like flowers and sunshine
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on the grass. The shadows of worry, no matter how dark,
disappear.”
“With our own eyes, we see your beautiful body, the body of a lucky mother. We hope you bear nine daughters and
nine sons.”
On hearing these wishes, Ami grinned from ear to ear.
She took Sunamei by the hand and saw the guests off at the gate. She thanked them for coming, for their precious presents, and particularly for their wishes, which were far more precious than any presents. After the guests left, all the members of the yishe sat around the fireplace, with the women on the honorable right-hand side, and the men on
the left. Sunamei felt like a newly blooming flower and all happy eyes were fixed on her. Ami led the yishe, though he was not the first in seniority – Asi was still alive and healthy, and there was her ayi as well. Although Sunamei had no amizhi, she had three amiji. The youngest among them was Zhima, only sixteen years old. Being the most
beautiful, charming lady in the whole yishe, Zhima filled the courtyard with her laughter. Even at night, her huagu could not seal in her merry laughter. Sunamei often thought to herself, “Do the men vie with one another to be with Zhima just to hear her laugh?”
Ami was a capable woman. However, she had just passed
fifty. She had given up her huagu and moved to the communal yimei. She forbade her steady axiao, Zhabosi, to visit her.
She told him frankly, “I am no longer in the age of blooming; my years of childbearing have passed. The house
responsibility alone is heavy enough for me to shoulder. You men, unlike women, do not look old even at sixty, and you can still visit young girls’ huagu if they open their doors to receive you.” Zhabosi felt sad, and he cried, too, although he was a big, powerful man. Sunamei was with Ami the night she said good-bye to Zhabosi. She grasped Ami’s skirt and felt pity for Zhabosi. Zhabosi could not come anymore. On each of the previous thousands of nights, he had stayed in 5 6
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Ami’s huagu, and Ami had never received another axiao.
Now he couldn’t come anymore. Where could he possibly
sleep? Could he go to the yimei and lie amid the snoring sounds of her old uncles? In any case, he could not come to Ami, for “Do not come to me anymore” had been said by a
Mosuo woman. A woman has her huagu; a man does not. A man may come in only if a woman opens her door to him. If a woman refuses to open her huagu, a man either stands out in the cold or leaves. Here, the yishe belongs to the women.
Women are hosts, and men are guests.
When Zhabosi tried to hold Sunamei in his arms, she
screamed, even though she overheard from Zhima that Zha-
bosi was her ada. Sunamei thought, “What is ada? and what does ada mean? What is his relation to me? He neither provides me with food and drink, nor works in our fields. He is merely a guest, isn’t he? He is merely my Ami’s guest, and a night guest at that.” When Zhabosi left, Ami moved out of her huagu and left it vacant. Ami actually told Sunamei that her huagu was waiting for a mo – a girl of thirteen.
Now she was thirteen years old. Oh, beautiful Sunamei! Round dewy beads were beginning to flow in a stream.
The breakfast after her thirteenth birthday was exceptionally sumptuous. Ami first served a chunk of salted pork to the ancestors on the altar and spilled a cup of wine and a handful of rice on it. Then she said in a strange, quivering voice, “Dear ancestors, my ancestors who came from the
prairies beyond the horizon and whose souls returned be-
yond the horizon, you drove away tigers and subdued leopards heroically. You opened a path in the cliffs to the Jinsha River. You removed the hilltop in order to grow barley.
Now you have another woman who is ready to pass on the
line from generation to generation. After she accepts the soul the goddess blessed her with, she will begin to have passion and love, and the charms to attract men. Like a sap-5 7
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ling, she has already spread her treetop in the golden sunlight. She knows where to extend her branches and when to bloom and bear fruit. Let her live naturally in this world.
Beauty is being natural. My dear ancestors, please bless her, teach her, and enlighten her. Please let her learn the secret of life and open its only door as soon as possible.” After the prayer, Ami began serving food to everyone. Although on
that day Sunamei was the moon surrounded by stars, Ami
did not give her a morsel more than the other members.
However, everyone’s portion today was larger than usual.
After breakfast, Ami took Sunamei to all the other yishe to wish them a happy New Year. Sunamei could hardly
remember how many yishe she had visited. Everywhere she received the same hospitality, the same rich food, and the same good wishes. Many women of her generation looked
her up and down as if they had never seen her before. Were they attracted by her new apparel or by the person in that apparel? She took a bite of whatever Ami asked her to eat and a sip of whatever Ami wanted her to drink and gave
replies in the way Ami had taught her. In the past, men had never wasted their glances on Sunamei, but today she
looked different in their eyes. Men looked at her in the manner they looked up to amiji – with tenderness, affection, and respect. Sunamei’s heart was trembling with joy, like a
flower in the breeze.
Back home, Ami led Sunamei by the hand, walking
toward the East Wing Bowers. Ami walked slowly in front
and Sunamei followed a step behind. Although without a
smile, Ami’s face, bright and calm, assumed the same coun-tenance as last year when she had taken Sunamei to worship the goddess. Sunamei had started climbing the stairs of the East Wing while still learning how to crawl. Yet today she felt odd, as if she had never been up there before. Why was the pinewood handrail along the stairs full of scars? Ami’s steps slowed on the stairs; she seemed to be recalling the moment she herself had turned thirteen. Had Ami felt
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happy or sad when she turned thirteen? Not until today did Sunamei notice that the tenth step of the stair was a board much thinner than the rest, and it squeaked each time it was tread on. Sunamei thought, “Why didn’t I notice that before?” She had hopped up and down countless times,
merely to exercise her legs. And she had also climbed step by step stealthily in order to overhear her amiji’ s secrets.
Finally, Ami opened the lock of the huagu next to the staircase. She then gave the little key to Sunamei. Sunamei’s heart jumped. Her own key. Although the key was tiny, it could lock a room, and from now on no one but she alone
could open that room. This tiny key could simultaneously lock up her privacy, like that of amiji. All the keys of their yishe hung at Ami’s waist. She is the dabu who took charge of and distributed the wealth of the community.
The huagu had been swept spotlessly clean. The logs in the fireplace at the center of the room were ready to be lit. A gray earthen pot sat on the iron tripod. A bamboo bucket for buttered tea, a pot of tea leaves, and a pot of salt were placed on the hearth. To the left of the fireplace was a wooden bed. And on the wall hung a round mirror the size of a big bowl. Ami, holding Sunamei’s hand, stood for a
while at the open door of the huagu, as if she wanted Sunamei to carefully examine the room that now belonged to
her. Ami’s gentle white cat pushed its way in and squatted at the edge of the fireplace, calling them. Ami stepped in, and Sunamei followed.
As soon as Ami opened the bamboo trunk beside the fire-
place, the clothes and fabric that had been given to her caught Sunamei’s eye. Everything inside was brand-new.
Ami handed the trunk key to her, too. Now Sunamei had
her second key. The straw on the bed was newly spread.
Atop the straw was a large piece of thick sheepskin and a folded blanket with red-square patterns. Sitting on the bed, Ami asked her, “Sunamei, isn’t this room beautiful? From now on you will live in it. Are you afraid?”
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“Yes, my dear Ami.” Sunamei had been sleeping in the
yimei all her life. Like a little kitten, she had nestled among her aged awu and ayi and a crowd of children. Every night Asi’s whistling snore had sent her to dreamland right on time. She had dreamed all sorts of things. Some had been pretty awful. But whenever she woke up she could hear Asi’s snoring and her amu gemi’ s and amu geri’ s mumbling, which eased her mind and sent her back to sleep.
Ami looked at her favorite mo. “Don’t be afraid, Sunamei.
Someone will come to keep you company.”
“Really?” Her wide eyes full of fright, Sunamei asked
Ami, “Is he going to be a stranger?”
“A stranger in time will become an acquaintance.”
“No, Ami. You come sleep with me.”
“I’ll do no such thing. Sunamei, you are thirteen years
old.”
“But Ami, I am still young. Does any man really want to
be my axiao? ”
“Sunamei, you are no longer a child. The moment you
begin living in the huagu, you become a woman. Please remember, this room is assigned to you by Dabu Ami. Now
you are the mistress of this room, and you are your own mistress. You have complete freedom to receive anyone or
decline anyone, all according to your heart and will. The men who come to visit you in our yishe belong to you. You control this huagu, as well as the key hidden next to your heart. Please take care never to lose the key. In the courtyard of the Mosuo, no matter how heroic men may become, none
of them will dream to take the key from a woman. A woman is a human being who produces human beings. Mo! Sunamei, please remember! Remember – ” Ami’s tone and voice
reminded her of the daba’ s sacred prayer. She was trembling.
“Ami, I have learned it by heart.”
“Please repeat it to me, Daughter.”
Sunamei stammered back everything she had been told.
Ami nodded in satisfaction. She embraced Sunamei and
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said to her, “The Mosuo work in the field during the day to produce clothes and food and make love at night both to
continue their line and for enjoyment. They are their own masters during the day and remain their own masters at
night. Only love and true appreciation of love produce joy.
Lack of love and failure to appreciate love bring misery. You cannot be taught to love; you can only experience love, body and soul.”
Sunamei nodded in bewilderment.
Ami laughed. “You nod, don’t you? But, no, you still
don’t understand. You will not understand my words until later. The most important thing is that no matter how
much joy a man may bring you, you cannot surrender to
him the self that belongs to you. Sunamei, always be your own mistress!”
Still Sunamei did not quite understand why Ami had to
warn her repeatedly. Remember: a Mosuo woman is her own
mistress. She thought, “Besides the room Ami just allotted to me, what else belongs to me? I possess nothing. The
property of the whole yishe is guarded by the cluster of keys hanging on Dabu’s waist, isn’t it? I myself have only a thirteen-year-old body and an active, inquisitive mind. But
Ami’s words seem to say that my body is covered with silver and gold.”
Sunamei did not notice when Ami walked out of the
huagu and left the body that now belonged to her alone in the little room that also now belonged to her. But she now saw how she had come to exist in this human world. She
knew she had reached the door of mystery; although it was still shut, she guessed that the location of this mysterious door was nowhere but in herself. What was shut inside the door? She gave her imagination free rein. Imagining gave her a lot of pleasure. She could barely control her tears of joy. The key to the door is in your hand, isn’t it, Sunamei?
The lock is already open. That door to mystery and to the self is waiting for you to push it open. A slight push will 6 1
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give you a crack of light. Then you may p
eep through that crack. But, for now, Sunamei neither wanted nor dared to push that door. Even if she desired desperately and had not the slightest fear, she could not. Her conflicted state of mind confused her. Perhaps she did not feel the urge. She was waiting for that gust of warm wind that made a flower suddenly open.
She kept waiting, quite bewildered, knowing that her
only hope was pinned to a long wait. Her body was satiated with waiting. Night came quietly. She thought, “Was I
waiting for the night? Now night has come. No. Night
deprived the little huagu of its brightness, and even the little round mirror shut its eyes. Then it was dead still. Was I waiting for the stillness? No.” Gradually she detected a stream of noise. Her ears became eyes. She simultaneously heard and “saw” the elders and the children in the yimei.
Yesterday she was one of them. Now she was an observer:
Asi starts her whistling snore that hangs like a haze hanging over children’s dreams. The burned wood sinks in the fireplace, turning into dark-red embers. The big black dog is going on patrol in the courtyard, its gentle steps almost inaudible. The five mules are still in their mangers, munching heartily and snorting.
The huagu next to hers belonged to Zhima. Sunamei heard and “saw” her come home, unlock the door, come in
and make a fire. Soon her little teakettle started singing.
Was it for these noises Sunamei was waiting? No. Then she heard and “saw” Cili, Zhima’s axiao, pass her door to stand in front of Zhima’s huagu. A gentle push made the half-shut door give a loud cry, “Gee – wa,” like that of an innocent baby.
Cili, a tall, ruddy-faced man, fished on the eastern bank of the lake. Every night he canoed across. He had started coming to Zhima’s huagu a month ago. His body always carried the pleasant smell of fish. He entered speechless, nor did Zhima say a word. She poured tea for him. Then they
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sipped tea together. Sunamei was puzzled. Cili did not tell Zhima stories, although a fisherman should be able to
recount tales of the lake or under the sea. To him, handed-down tales plus newly made-up ones must be like fish
