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《雪花与秘扇/Snow Flower and The Secret Fan（英文版）》作者：冯莉萨

十九世纪的中国，女人必须缠足，生活与外界几乎完全隔绝。在湖南省一个偏远地区的妇女，发展出她们独特的沟通密码：女书。有些少女结盟为“老同”，如同精 神上的婚配，情谊可延续一生。这些妇女在扇子及巾帕上绣写女书，并编唱故事歌谣，藉以互通心迹，从封闭的世界中暂时走出，分享彼此的希望、梦想以及成就。

金莲与雪花的关系，起始于一把丝扇上的邀约。她们年仅七岁便结为老同。随着时光转移，历经饥荒与叛乱，她们一同省思媒妁之言的婚姻、寂寞、以及为人母亲的欢 喜和悲伤。两个女人在彼此身上找寻慰藉，延续成一种支持彼此生存的情感连结。然而一场误解的产生，让她们终生的友谊遭到崩解的威胁。

《雪花与秘扇》这部杰出的小说，真实地带领读者回朔到中国史上，一个令人好奇又伤感的时代。本书与阿瑟?高登（Arthur Golden）所著之《艺伎回忆录》(Memoirs of a Geisha)相互呼应，对人物时代的背景以及情感的起伏有极细腻的描绘。作者以打动心灵的文字，探索人际中极为奥妙的一种关系：女性之间的友谊。

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan

Lisa See

I am what they call in our village “one who has not yet died”—a widow, eighty years old.Without my husband, the days are long. I no longer care for the s ecial foods that Peonyand the others prepare for me. I no longer look forward to the hap

pppy events that settleunder our roof so easily. Only the past interests me now. After all this time, I can finallysa the things I couldn’t when I had to depend on my natal family to raise me or rely onmy

yy husband’s family to feed me. I have a whole life to tell; I have nothing left to lose and

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few to offend.

I am old enough to know only too well my good and bad qualities, which were often oneand the same. For my entire life I longed for love. I knew it was not right for me—as a girland later as a woman—to want or expect it, but I did, and this unjustified desire has beenat the root of every problem I have experienced in my life. I dreamed that my motherwould notice me and that she and the rest of my family would grow to love me. To wintheir affection, I was obedient—the ideal characteristic for someone of my sex—but I wastoo willing to do what they told me to do. Hoping they would show me even the mostsimple kindness, I tried to fulfill their expectations for me—to attain the smallest boundfeet in the county—so I let my bones be broken and molded into a better shape. When Iknew I couldn’t suffer another moment of pain, and tears fell on my bloody bindings, mymother spoke softly into my ear, encouraging me to go one more hour, one more day, onemore week, reminding me of the rewards I would have if I carried on a little longer. Inthis way, she taught me how to endure—not just the physical trials of footbinding andchildbearing but the more torturous pain of the heart, mind, and soul. She was alsopointing out my defects and teaching me how to use them to my benefit. In our country,we call this type of mother love teng ai. My son has told me that in men’s writing it iscomposed of two characters. The first means pain; the second means love. That is amother’s love.

The binding altered not only my feet but my whole character, and in a strange way I feelas though that process continued throughout my life, changing me from a yielding child toa determined girl, then from a young woman who would follow without questionwhatever her in-laws demanded of her to the highest-ranked woman in the count whoenforced strict village rules and customs. By the time I was forty, the rigidity of my

yyfootbinding had moved from my golden lilies to my heart, which held on to injustices andgrievances so strongly that I could no longer forgive those I loved and who loved me.

My only rebellion came in the form of nu shu, our women’s secret writing. My first breakwith tradition came when Snow Flower—my laotong, my “old same,” my secret-writingpartner—sent me the fan that sits here on my table, and then again after I met her. Butapart from who I was with Snow Flower, I was resolved to be an honorable wife, apraiseworthy daughter-in-law, and a scrupulous mother. In bad times my heart was asstrong as jade. I had the hidden might to withstand tragedies and sorrows. But here I am—a widow, sitting quietly as tradition dictates—and I understand that I was blind for toomany years.

Except for three terrible months in the fifth year of Emperor Xianfeng’s reign, I havespent my life in upstairs women’s rooms. Yes, I have gone to the temple, traveled back tomy natal home, even visited with Snow Flower, but I know little about the outer realm. Ihave heard men speak of taxes, drought, and uprisings, but these subjects are farremoved from my life. What I know is embroidery, weaving, cooking, my husband’sfamily, my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, and nu shu. My life

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course has been a normal one—daughter days, hairpinning days, rice-and-salt days, andnow sitting quietly.one—daughter days, hairpinning days, rice-and-salt days, andnow sitting quietly.

So here I am alone with my thoughts and this fan before me. When I pick it up, it’s strange how light it feels in my hands, for it records so much joy and so much grief. I open itquickly, and the sound each fold makes as it spreads reminds me of a fluttering heart.Memories tear across my eyes. These last forty years, I have read it so many times that itis memorized like a childhood song.

I remember the day the intermediary handed it to me. My fingers trembled as I openedthe folds. Back then a simple garland of leaves adorned the upper edge and only one message trickled down the first fold. At that time I didn’t know many characters in nu shu, so my aunt read the words. “I understand there is a girl of good character and women’s learning in your home. You and I are of the same year and the same day. Couldwe not be sames together?” I look now at the gentle wisps that compose those lines and see not only the girl that Snow Flower was but the woman she would become— persevering, straightforward, outward-looking.

My eyes graze along the other folds and I see our optimism, our joy, our mutualadmiration, our promises to each other. I see how that simple garland grew to be an elaborate design of interwoven snow blossoms and lilies to symbolize our two lives together as a pair of laotong, old sames. I see the moon in the upper right-hand corner shining down on us. We were to be like long vines with entwined roots, like trees thatstand a thousand years, like a pair of mandarin ducks mated for life. On one fold, Snow Flower wrote, We of good affection shall never sever our bond. But on another fold I see the misunderstandings, the broken trust, and the final shutting of the door. For me, love was such a precious possession that I couldn’t share it with anyone else, and it eventuallycut me away from the one person who was my same.

I am still learning about love. I thought I understood it—not just mother love but the love for one’s parents, for one’s husband, and for one’s laotong. I’ve experienced the other types of love—pity love, respectful love, and gratitude love. But looking at our secret fan with its messages written between Snow Flower and me over many years, I see that Ididn’t value the most important love—deep-heart love.

These last years I have copied down many autobiographies for women who never learnednu shu. I have listened to every sadness and complaint, every injustice and tragedy. I have chronicled the miserable lives of the poorly fated. I have heard it all and written it alldown. But if I know much about women’s stories, then I know almost nothing aboutmen’s, except that they usually involve a farmer fighting against the elements, a soldier inbattle, or a lone man on an interior quest. Looking at my own life, I see it draws from thestories of women and men. I am a lowly woman with the usual complaints, but inside Ialso waged something like a man’s battle between my true nature and the person I should

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I am writing these pages for those who reside in the afterworld. Peony, my grandson’swife, has promised to make sure that they are burned at my death, so my story will reachthem before my spirit does. Let my words explain my actions to my ancestors, to myhusband, but most of all to Snow Flower, before I greet them again.

Daughter Days

Milk Years

my name is lily. i came into this world on the fifth day of the six month of the third year ofEmperor Daoguang’s reign. Puwei, my home village, is in Yongming County, the county ofEverlasting Brightness. Most people who live here are descended from the Yao ethnictribe. From the storytellers who visited Puwei when I was a girl, I learned that the Yaofirst arrived in this area twelve hundred years ago during the Tang dynasty, but mostfamilies came a century later, when they fled the Mongol armies who invaded the north.Although the people of our region have never been rich, we have rarely been so poor thatwomen had to work in the fields.

We were members of the Yi family line, one of the original Yao clans and the mostcommon in the district. My father and uncle leased seven mou of land from a richlandowner who lived in the far west of the province. They cultivated that land with rice,cotton, taro, and kitchen crops. My family home was typical in the sense that it had twostories and faced south. A room upstairs was designated for women’s gathering and forunmarried girls to sleep. Rooms for each family unit and a special room for our animalsflanked the downstairs main room, where baskets filled with eggs or oranges and stringsof dryi chilies hung from the central beam to keep them safe from mice, chickens, or aroaming

ngng pig. We had a table and stools against one wall. A hearth where Mama and Auntdid the cooking occu ied a corner on the opposite wall. We did not have windows in ourmain room, so we kep

ppt open the door to the alley outside our house for light and air in thewarm months. The rest of our rooms were small, our floor was hard-packed earth, and, asI said, our animals lived with us.

I’ve never thought much about whether I was happy or if I had fun as a child. I was a so-sogirl who lived with a so-so family in a so-so village. I didn’t know that there might beanother way to live, and I didn’t worry about it either. But I remember the day I began tonotice and think about what was around me. I had just turned five and felt as though I hadcrossed a big threshold. I woke up before dawn with something like a tickle in my brain.That bit of irritation made me alert to everything I saw and experienced that day.

I lay between Elder Sister and Third Sister. I glanced across the room to my cousin’s bed.Beautiful Moon, who was my age, hadn’t woken up yet, so I stayed still, waiting for mysisters to stir. I faced Elder Sister, who was four years older than I. Although we slept inthe same bed, I didn’t get to know her well until I had my feet bound and joined thewomen’s chamber myself. I was glad I wasn’t looking in Third Sister’s direction. I alwaystold myself that since she was a year younger she was too insignificant to think about. I第 4 页 共 189 页

don’t think my sisters adored me either, but the indifference we showed one another was just a face we put on to mask our true desires. We each wanted Mama to notice us. We each vied for Baba’s attention. We each hoped we would spend time every day with Elder Brother, since as the first son he was the most precious person in our family. I did not feelthat kind of jealousy with Beautiful Moon. We were good friends and happy that our lives would be linked together until we both married out.

The four of us looked very similar. We each had black hair that was cut short, we were very thin, and we were close in height. Otherwise, our distinguishing features were few.Elder Sister had a mole above her lip. Third Sister’s hair was always tied up in little tufts,because she did not like Mama to comb it. Beautiful Moon had a pretty round face, whilemy legs were sturdy from running and my arms strong from carrying my baby brother.

“Girls!” Mama called up the stairs to us. That was enough to wake up the others and get us all out of bed. Elder Sister hurriedly got dressed and went downstairs. Beautiful Moon and I were slower, because we had to dress not only ourselves but Third Sister as well.Then together we went downstairs, where Aunt swept the floor,

Uncle sang a morning song, Mama—with Second Brother swaddled on her back—pouredthe last of the water into the teapot to heat, and Elder Sister chopped scallions for the rice porridge we call congee. My sister gave me a tranquil look that I took to mean that shehad already earned the approval of my family this morning and was safe for the rest ofthe day. I tucked away my resentment, not understanding that what I saw as her self-satisfaction was something closer to the cheerless resignation that would settle on my sister after she married out.

“Beautiful Moon! Lily! Come here! Come here!”

My aunt greeted us this way each and every morning. We ran to her. Aunt kissedBeautiful Moon and patted my bottom affectionately. Then Uncle swooped in, swept up Beautiful Moon in his arms, and kissed her. After he set her back down, he winked at me and pinched my cheek. You know the old saying about beautiful people marryingbeautiful people and talented people marrying talented people? That morning Iconcluded that Uncle and Aunt were two ugly people and therefore perfectly matched.Uncle, my father’s younger brother, had bowlegs, a bald head, and a full shiny face. Auntwas plump, and her teeth were like jagged stones protruding from a karst cave. Her bound feet were not very small, maybe fourteen centimeters long, twice the size of whatmine eventually became. I’d heard wicked tongues in our village say that this was thereason Aunt—who was of healthy stock, with wide hips—could not carry a son to term.I’d never heard these kinds of reproaches in our home, not even from Uncle. To me, they had an ideal marriage; he was an affectionate rat and she was a dutiful ox. Every day they provided happiness around the hearth.

My mother had yet to acknowledge that I was in the room. This is how it had been for as long as I could remember, but on that day I perceived and felt her disregard. Melancholy第 5 页 共 189 页

sank into me, whisking away the joy I had just felt with Aunt and Uncle, stunning me withits power. Then, just as quickly, the feeling disappeared, because Elder Brother, who was six years older than I was, called me to help him with his morning chores. Having been born in the year of the horse, it is in my nature to love the outdoors, but even more important I got to have Elder Brother completely to myself. I knew I was lucky and thatmy sisters would hold this against me, but I didn’t care. When he talked to me or smiled atme I didn’t feel invisible.

We ran outside. Elder Brother hauled water up from the well and filled buckets for us tocarry. We took them back to the house and set out again to gather firewood. We made a pile, then Elder Brother loaded my arms with the smaller sticks. He scooped up the restand we headed home.

When we got there, I handed the sticks to Mama, hoping for her praise.

After all, it’s not so easy for a little girl to lug a bucket of water or carry firewood. ButMama didn’t say anything.

Even now, after all these years, it is difficult for me to think about Mama and what Irealized on that day. I saw so clearly that I was inconsequential to her. I was a third child,a second worthless girl, too little to waste time on until it looked like I would survive my milk years. She looked at me the way all mothers look at their daughters—as a temporary visitor who was another mouth to feed and a body to dress until I went to my husband’shome. I was five, old enough to know I didn’t deserve her attention, but suddenly I cravedit. I longed for her to look at me and talk to me the way she did with Elder Brother. Buteven in that moment of my first truly deep desire, I was smart enough to know that Mama wouldn’t want me to interrupt her during this busy time when so often she had scoldedme for talking too loudly or had swatted at the air around me because I got in her way.Instead, I vowed to be like Elder Sister and help as quietly and carefully as I could.