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That year, Snow Flower came to stay with us for all of Catching Cool Breezes Festival,which takes place during the hottest time of year when the stores from the previous harvest are nearly gone and the new harvest is not yet ready. This means that married-inwomen, the lowest in any household, are sent back to their natal homes for days or sometimes weeks. We call it a festival, but it is really a series of days that remove unwanted eaters from their in-laws’ tables.

Elder Sister had just moved into her husband’s home permanently. Her first child was about to be born and there was nowhere else she could possibly be. Mama was visitingher family and had taken Second Brother with her. Aunt had also gone to her natal home,while Beautiful Moon was staying with her sworn sisters across the village. Elder Brother’s wife and baby daughter were Catching Cool Breezes with her natal family.

Baba, Uncle, and Elder Brother were happy to be left alone. They wanted nothing from Snow Flower and me except hot tea, tobacco, and sliced watermelon. So for three days and nights of the weeks-long Catching Cool Breezes Festival, Snow Flower and I were

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alone in the upstairs chambherttp:

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On the first night, we lay side by side, wearing our bindings and sleeping slippers, ourinner garments, and our outer garments. We pushed our bed under the lattice window,hoping to catch a cool breeze, but there was none, just torrid stillness. The moon wouldbe full soon. The light beams that streamed in reflected off our sweaty faces, making us feel even hotter. The next night, which was even warmer, Snow Flower suggested we shed our outer garments. “No one is here,” she said. “No one will know.” It brought relief,but we longed for something cooler.

On our third night alone together, the moon was full, and the upstairs chamber was awash in a bright blue glow. When we were sure the men were sleeping, we peeled offour outer and inner garments. We wore nothing but our bindings and our sleepingslippers. We felt air move across our bodies, but it was not a cool breeze and we were stillas warm as if we were fully clothed.

“This is not enough,” Snow Flower said, stealing my thought right out of my mind.

She sat up and reached for our fan. Slowly she opened it and began to wave it back and forth over my body. As hot as the air was against my skin, it was still a luxurious feeling.But Snow Flower frowned. She closed the fan and set it aside. She searched my face, then let her eyes travel down my neck across my breasts to the flat of my stomach. I shouldhave felt embarrassed by the way she stared, but she was my laotong, my old same. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

Looking up, I saw her bring her forefinger to her mouth. The tip of her tongue darted out.In the bright light of the full moon I saw it pink and glistening. In the most delicategesture, she let the tip of her finger glide across that wet surface. Then she brought her finger down to my stomach. She drew a line to the left, then another in the oppositedirection, followed by something like two crosses. The wetness was so cool on my skinthat goose bumps rose up. I shut my eyes and let the feeling ripple through me. Then, so fast, the wetness disappeared. When I opened my eyes, Snow Flower was staring into them.

“Well?” But she didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a character,” she explained. “Tell me whichone it is.”

Suddenly I understood what she’d done. She’d written a nu shu character on my stomach.We had been doing something like this for years, drawing characters in the dirt withsticks or on each other’s hands or backs with our fingers.

“I’ll do it again,” she said, “but pay attention.”

She licked her finger and it was no less a fluid movement than the first time she’d done it.As soon as that wetness touched my skin, I couldn’t help closing my eyes. The feelingmade my body heavy and breathless. A stroke to the left to create a sliver of moon, another sliver below that and in reverse of the first, two strokes to the right to create the

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first cross, then another two strokes to the left to create the second. Again I kept my eyesclosed until the momentary chill left my body. When I opened them, Snow Flower waslooking down at me inquisitively.

“Bed,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said, her voice low. “Close your eyes. I will write another.” This timeshe wrote the character much tighter and smaller in a spot just next to my right hip bone.This one I recognized immediately. It was a verb that meant to light.

When I said this, she brought her face down to mine and whispered in my ear, “Good.”

The next character swirled across my stomach next to the opposite hip bone.

“Moonlight,” I said. I opened my eyes. “The bed is lit by moonlight.” She smiled at myrecognition of the opening line to the Tang dynasty poem she had taught me; then weswitched positions. As she had done with me, I took time to look at her body: theslenderness of her neck, the small mounds that formed her breasts, the flat expanse of herstomach that was as inviting as a new piece of silk waiti for embroidery stitches, thetwin hip bones that protruded sharpl , below that a triang

ngngle identical to my own, thentwo slim legs tapering down until they

yy disappeared into her red silk sleeping slippers.

You have to remember that I was not yet married. I still did not know the ways of a manand wife. Only later did I learn that nothing is more in-timate for a woman than hersleeping slippers and nothing is more erotic for a man than seeing the white skin of anaked woman against the bright redness of those slippers, but on that night I can tell youthat my eyes lingered on them. They were Snow Flower’s summer pair. For herembroidery design she had invoked the Five Poisons—centipedes, toads, scorpions,snakes, and lizards. These were the traditional symbols used to counteract the evilsbrought on by summer—cholera, plague, typhoid, malaria, and typhus. Her stitches wereperfect, just as her entire body was perfect.

I licked my finger and looked at the whiteness of Snow Flower’s skin. When my wet fingertouched her stomach just above her belly button, I felt her intake of breath. Her breastsrose, her stomach hollowed, and goose bumps shimmered across her flesh.

“I,” she said. This was correct. I wrote the next character below her belly button. “Think,” she said. Then I followed exactly what she had done and wrote on the flesh adjacent toher right hip bone. “Light.” Now her left hip bone. “Snow.” She knew the poem, so therewas no mystery to the words, just the sensations of writing and reading them. I hadfollowed every place that she had written on my body. Now I had to find a new spot. Ichose that soft place where the two sides of her ribs came together above her stomach. Iknew from my own body that this area was sensitive to touch, to fear, to love. SnowFlower shivered beneath my fingertip as I wrote. “Early.”

Just two more words to finish the line. I knew what I wanted to do, but I hesitated. I let第 58 页 共 189 页

my fingertip float along the tip of my tongue. Then, emboldened by the heat, themoonlight, and the way her skin felt against my own, I let my wet finger write on one ofher breasts. Her lips parted and her breath came out in a tiny moan. She did not speak thecharacter and I did not demand one. But for my last character in the line, I lay on my sidenext to Snow Flower so I could see up close the way her skin would respond. I licked myfinger, wrote the character, and watched her nipple tighten and pucker. We stayedcom letely still for a moment. Then, with her eyes still shut, Snow Flower whispered thecomp

pplete phrase: “I think it is the light snow of an early winter morning.”

She rolled on her side to face me. She put her hand tenderly on my cheek as she did everynight since we had begun sleeping together all those years ago. Her face glowed in themoonlight. Then she let her hand move down along my neck over my breast down to myhip. “We have two more lines.”

She sat up and I rolled onto my back. I thought I was hot these past nights, but now,naked, in the moonlight, I felt as though a fire burned inside me far hotter than anythingthe gods could inflict on us through the mere cycles of the seasons.

I made myself concentrate when I realized where she was planning on writing the firstcharacter. She had moved to the end of the bed and had lifted my feet onto her lap. Just onthe inside of my left ankle directly above the edge of my red sleeping slipper she began towrite. When she was done, she turned her attention to my right ankle. From there, shealternated from limb to limb, always staying just above the bindings. My feet—thoseplaces of so much pain and sorrow, so much pride and beauty—tingled with pleasure. Wehad been old sames for eight years, yet we had never been this close. The line when shewas done: “Looking up, I enjoy the full moon in the night sky.”

I was eager for her to experience what I had felt. I held her golden lilies in my hands, thenset them to rest on my thighs. I chose the spot that had been most exquisite for me: theshallow between the ankle bone and the tendon that rose up the back of the leg. I wrotethe character, which can mean bending over, kowtowing, or prostrating oneself. On herother ankle I traced the word I.

I set her feet down and wrote a character on her calf. After this, I moved to a spot on theinside of her left thigh just above her knee. My last two characters were high up on herthighs. I leaned down to concentrate on writing the most perfect characters possible. Iblew on my strokes, knowing the sensation it would cause, and watched as the hairbetween her legs swayed in response.

Afterward we recited the entire poem together.

“The bed is lit by moonlight.

I think it is the light snow of an early winter morning.Looking up, I enjoy the full moon in the night sky.

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Bending over, I miss my home”town.

We all know that poem is about a scholar who is traveling and missing his home, but onthat night and forever after I believed it was about us. Snow Flower was my home, and Iwas hers.

Beautiful Moon

beautiful moon returned the next day, and we got back to work. Months ago, each of ourfuture in-laws had Delivered the Dates for our weddings, along with the first installmentsof our official brideprices— more pork and candy, as well as empty wooden boxes to fillwith all the things we would make for our dowries. Finally, and, most important, theysent cloth.

I have told you that Mama and Aunt made cloth for our family, and by now BeautifulMoon and I were adept at weaving ourselves. But the word homegrown comes to mindwhen I think of what we created. The cotton was cultivated by Baba and Uncle, theharvest cleaned by the women in our household, the beeswax we used to create designsand the dyes for turning the fabric blue were used sparingly because we were so frugal.Other than what we made ourselves, I could only compare my bridal cloth to that used inSnow Flower’s tunics, trousers, and headdresses, which had been constructed frombeautiful fabrics and sophisticated patterns into a stylish wardrobe. One of my favoriteoutfits she wore in those days was made from indigo cloth. The intricate design of theindigo and the cut of the jacket were better than anything the married women in Puweiowned or made. Still, Snow Flower wore it with ease until it started to fade and fray. WhatI’m trying to say is that the cloth and its cut inspired me. I wanted to make clothes formyself that would be suitable for everyday wear in Tongkou.

But the cotton my in-laws sent as art of my bride-price changed all my perceptions. Itwas soft, without seeds, with comp

pplex designs, and dyed in the rich deep indigo so prizedby the Yao people. With that gift I realized I still had much to learn and accomplish, buteven this cotton was nothing compared to the silk. What arrived for me was not only offine quality but perfect in color. Red for marriage, but also for anniversaries, New Year’scelebrations, and other festivities. Purple and green, both appropriate for a young wife. Abluish gray the color of the sky before a storm and a bluish green the color of a villagepond in summer for my years as a matron and later a widow. Black and dark blue for themen in my new home. Some of the silks were plain, while others had been woven toinclude double-happiness, peony, or cloud patterns.

The rolls of silk and cotton my in-laws sent were not given to me to do with as I pleased.They were to be used in preparing my dowry, just as Beautiful Moon and Snow Flowerhad to use their gifts to build their dowries. We had to make enough quilts, pillowcases,shoes, and clothes to last a lifetime, since Yao nationality women believe they shouldnever take anything from their in-laws. Quilts! Let me tell you about those. They areboring and hot to make. However, since everyone believes that the more quilts you bring第 60 页 共 189 页

with you to your in-laws’ house, the more children you will have, we made as many aspossible.house, the more children you will have, we made as many aspossible.

What we loved to make were shoes. We made them for our husbands, our mothers-inlaw,

our fathers-in-law, and anyone else who lived in our new home, including brothers,sisters, sisters-in-law, and all children. (I was lucky; my husband was the eldest son. Hehad three younger brothers only. Men’s shoes were not ornate, so I could do themquickly. Beautiful Moon had a greater burden. Her new home had one son, plus hisparents, five sisters, an aunt, an uncle, and their three children.) We girls also madesixteen pairs for ourselves, four pairs for each of the four seasons. These more than theother things we made would be highly scrutinized, but we were ha py with thatknowledge because we gave each and every pair the greatest care p

ppossible, from creatingthe soles to the final embroidery stitch. Shoemaking allowed us to display our technical aswell as our artistic skills, but it also sent a joyful and optimistic message. In our dialect,the word for shoe sounds the same as the word for child. Just as with the quilts, the moreshoes we made, the more children we would have.

The difference is that shoemaking requires delicacy, while quiltmaking is a heavy chore.Because three girls worked side by side, we competed in the friendliest way to composethe most beautiful designs on the outside of each pair of shoes, while giving greatstrength and support to the inside. Our future families had sent atterns for their feet. Wehad not met our husbands and did not know if they were tall or p

ppockmarked, but weknew the size of their feet. We were young girls—romantic as anyone of that age—andwe imagined all kinds of things about our husbands from those patterns. Some turned outto be true. Most were not.

We used the patterns to cut pieces of cotton cloth, then glued together three layers ofthose footprints at a time. We made several sets of these and set them on the windowsillto dry. During Catching Cool Breezes, they dried very quickly. Once dry, we took thoselayered forms, stacked three together, and sewed them into a thick and sturdy sole. Mostpeople do a simple repeat pattern that looks like rice seeds, but we wanted to impressour new families so we stitched different designs: a butterfly spreading its wings for ahusband, a chrysanthemum in bloom for a mother-in-law, a cricket on a branch for afather-in-law. All that work just for the soles, but we saw these as messages to the peoplewe hoped would love us when we married in.