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By this time, Snow Flower, who was further along in her pregnancy than I, already livedin Jintian, so I picked her up. Her stomach was so big, I couldn’t believe her new familywas allowing her to travel at all, even if it was to pray for a son. We were funny, standing第 103 页 共 189 页

in the dirt, trying to hug each other with our big bellies between us, laughing the wholewhile. She was more beautiful than in all the years I had known her, and true happinessseemed to pulsate from her.

Snow Flower talked during the entire trip to the temple, speaking of how her body felt,how she loved the baby inside her, and how kind everyone had been to her since she’dmoved into her husband’s home. She clutched a piece of white jade that hung around herneck to help give the baby’s skin the clear pale color of the stone, instead of the ruddycomplexion of her husband. I also wore white jade, but unlike Snow Flower, I hoped itwould protect my child not from my husband’s skin tone but from my own, which, eventhough I spent my days inside, was naturally darker than the creamy white of mylaotong’s.

In years past we’d quickly visited the temple, bowing and utting our heads to the floor aswe made supplications to the goddess. Now we walked in p

pproudly, sticking out our roundbaby bellies, glancing at the other mothers-to-be to see who was larger, who carried highand who carried low, yet always mindful that our minds and tongues should carry onlynoble and benevolent thoughts so these attributes would be passed on to our sons.

We made our way to the altar, where perhaps a hundred pairs of infant shoes were linedup. Both of us had written poems on fans as offerings to the goddess. Mine spoke of theblessings of a son, how he would carry on the Lu line and cherish his ancestors. I endedwith, Goddess, your goodness graces us. So many come to you to beg for sons, but I hopeyou will hear my plea. Please grant my desire. That had seemed appropriate when I hadwritten it, but now I imagined what Snow Flower had done with her fan. It had to be filledwith lovely words and memorable decorations. I prayed that the goddess would not betoo swayed by Snow Flower’s offering. “Please hear me, please hear me, please hear me,” Ichanted under my breath.

Together Snow Flower and I laid our fans on the altar with our right hands, while withour left hands we each snatched a pair of the baby shoes from the altar and hid them inour sleeves. We then left the temple quickly, hoping not to be caught. In YongmingCounty, all women who want a healthy child steal outright—but with the pretense ofcovertness—a pair of shoes from the goddess’s altar. Why? As you know, in our dialectthe word for shoe sounds the same as the word for child. When our babies are born wereturn a pair of shoes to the altar—which explains the supply that we stole from—andmake offerings as thanks.

We stepped back outside into the beautiful day and made our way to the thread kiosk. Aswe had for twelve years, we searched for colors that we felt would capture the ideas forthe designs we had in our minds. Snow Flower held out a selection of greens for me toexamine. Here were greens bright as spring, dry as withered grass, earthy as leaves at theend of summer, vibrant as moss after a rain, dull as that moment before the yellows andreds of fall begin to set in.

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“Tomorrow,” Snow Flower sa’id, “lets stop by the river on our way home. We’ll sit andwatch the clouds drift by overhead, listen to the water wash the stones, and embroider and sing together. In this way our sons will be born with elegant and refined tastes.”

I kissed her cheek. Away from Snow Flower I sometimes let my mind ramble into darkplaces, but now I loved her as I always had. Oh, how I had missed my laotong.

Our visit to the Temple of Gupo would not have been complete without lunch at the taro stand. Old Man Zuo grinned toothlessly when he saw us with our baby bellies. He made a special meal for us, taking care that he followed all the dietary requirements for our condition. We savored every bite. Then he brought our favorite dish, the deep-fried taro coated in caramelized sugar. Snow Flower and I were like two girls in our giddiness,rather than two married ladies about to give birth.

That night in the inn after we had slipped into our nightclothes, Snow Flower and I lay inbed facing each other. This would be our last night of togetherness before we became mothers. We had learned so many lessons about what we should or shouldn’t do and how these things would affect our unborn children. If my son could respond to hearingprofane language or the touch of white jade against my skin, then certainly he had to feelmy love for Snow Flower in his little body too.

Snow Flower put her hands on my stomach. I did the same to hers. I had grown accustomed to the way my baby kicked and pushed against my skin from the inside,especially at night. Now I felt Snow Flower’s baby moving inside her against my hands.We were in that moment as close as two women could be.

“I am happy we are together,” she said, then let a finger trace a spot where my baby was reaching out an elbow or a knee to her.

“I’m happy too.”

“I feel your son. He’s strong. Just like his mother.”

Her words made me feel proud and full of life. Her finger stopped, and once again sheheld my belly in her warm hands.

“I’ll love him as much as I love you,” she said. Then, as she had since the time she was a little girl, she trailed one hand up to my cheek and let it rest there until we both fellasleep.

I would turn twenty in a couple of weeks, my baby would come soon, and my real life was about to begin.

Rice-and-Salt Days

Sons

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Lily,

I write to you as a mother.

My baby was born yesterday.

A boy with black hair.

He is long and thin.

My childbearing pollution days are not over.

For one hundred days my husband and I will sleep apart.

I think of you in your upstairs room.

I await word of your baby.

Let it be born alive.

I pray for the Goddess to protect you from any problems.

I long to see you and know you are well.

Please come to the one-month celebration.

You will see what I wrote about my son on our fan.

Snow Flower

i was happy that snow flower’s son was born healthy and hoped he would remain so,

because life in our county is very fragile. We women hope to have five children who reachadulthood. For that to happen, we must get pregnant every one or two years. Many ofthose babies die through miscarriages, at childbirth, or from illnesses. Girls—sosusceptible to weakness from poor food and neglect—never outgrow their vulnerability.We either die young—from footbinding as my sister died, in giving birth, or from toomuch work with too little nourishment—or we outlive those we love. Baby boys, soprecious, can die just as easily, their bodies too young to have taken root, their souls tootempting for spirits from the afterworld. Then, as men, they are at risk from infectionfrom cuts, food poisoning, problems in the fields or on roads, or hearts that can’t standthe stress of watching over an entire household. This is why there are so many widows.But no matter what, the first five years of life are insubstantial for boys and girls.

I worried not only for Snow Flower’s son but for the baby I carried as well. It was hard tobe afraid and have no one to encourage or comfort me. When I was still in my natal home,my mother had been too bus enforcing oppressive traditions and customs to offer meany practical advice, while my

yy aunt, who had lost several unborn children, tried to avoidme completely so that her bad luck would not touch me. Now that I was in my husband’s

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home, I had no one. My in-laws and my husband had concern for the baby’s well-being, ofcourse, but none of them seemed troubled that I might die delivering their heir.

Snow Flower’s letter felt like a good omen. If childbirth had gone easily for her, surely mybaby and I would survive it too. It gave me strength to know that even though we were innew lives, our love for each other had not diminished. If anything, it was stronger as weembarked on our rice-and-salt days. Through our letters we would share our ordeals andtriumphs, but as with everything else we needed to follow certain rules. As marriedwomen who had fallen into our husbands’ homes, we had to abandon our girlish ways.We wrote stock letters, with accepted formats and formalized words. In part, this wasbecause we were foreigners in our husbands’ homes, busy learning the ways of newfamilies. In part, it was because we did not know who might read our letters.

Our words had to be circumspect. We could not write anything too negative about ourcircumstances. This was tricky, since the very form of a married woman’s letter needed toinclude the usual complaints—that we were pathetic, powerless, worked to the bone,homesick, and sad. We were supposed to speak directly about our feelings withoutappearing ungrateful, no-account, or unfilial. Any daughter-in-law who lets the real truthof her life become public brings shame to both her natal and hus-band’s families, which,as you know, is why I have waited until they were all dead to write my story.

At first I was lucky, because I didn’t have anything bad to report. When I becamebetrothed, I’d learned that my husband’s uncle was a jinshi, the highest level of imperialscholar. The saying I had heard as a girl—“If one person becomes an official, then all ofhis family’s dogs and cats go to heaven”—now became clear. Uncle Lu lived in the capitaland left the care of his holdings to Master Lu, my father-in-law, who was out most daysbefore dawn, walki the land, speaking with farmers about crops, supervising irrigationprojects, and meeting

ngng with other elders in Tongkou. All accounts and responsibility forwhat happened on the land rested on his shoulders. Uncle Lu spent the money with noconcern for how it arrived in his coffers. He had done so well that his two youngestbrothers lived in their own nearby houses—though not as fine as this one. They oftenvisited with their families for dinner, while their wives called almost daily to our upstairswomen’s chamber. In other words, everyone in Uncle Lu’s family—the dogs and cats, allthe way down to the five big-footed servant girls who shared a room off the kitchen—benefited from his position. Uncle Lu was the ultimate master, but I secured my place bybeing the first daughter-in-law and then by giving my husband his first son. As soon asmy baby was born and the midwife put him in my arms, I was so blissful that I forgot thepain of childbirth and so relieved that I didn’t worry about all the bad things that couldstill happen to him. Everyone in the household was happy and their gratitude came to mein many forms. My mother-in-law made me special soup with liquor, ginger, and peanutsto help my milk come in and my womb shrink. My father-in-law sent through hisconcubines blue brocaded silk so that I might make his grandson a jacket. My husband satand talked to me.

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For these reasons I have told the young women who have married into the Lu family, andthe others I eventually reached through my teaching of nu shu, that they should hurry tohave a baby boy. Sons are the foundation of a woman’s self. The give a woman heridentity, as well as dignity, protection, and economic value. They

yy create the link betweenher husband and his ancestors. This is the one accomplishment a man cannot achievewithout the aid of his wife. Only she can guarantee the perpetuation of the family line,which, in turn, is the ultimate duty of every son. This is the supreme way he completes hisfilial duty, while sons are a woman’s crowning glory. I had done all this and I was ecstatic.

Snow Flower,

My son is here beside me.

My childbearing pollution days are not over.

My husband visits in the morning.

His face is happy.

My son has eyes that stare at me in question.

I can’t wait to see you at the one-month party.

Please use your best words to put my son on our fan.

Tell me of your new family.

I don’t see my husband very often. Do you?

I look out the lattice window to yours.

You are always singing in my heart.

I think of you every day.

Lily

Why do they call these rice-and-salt days? Because they are composed of common chores:embroidery, weaving, sewing, mending, making shoes, cooking meals, washing the dishes,cleaning the house, washing the clothes, keeping the brazier going, and being ready atnight to do bed business with a man you still do not know well. They are also days filledwith the anxiet and drudgery of being a young mother with your first baby. Why does itcry? Is it hungry

yy? Is it getting enough milk? Will it ever sleep? Does it sleep too much?And what of fevers, rashes, bug bites, too much heat, too much cold, colic, not to mentionall the illnesses that sweep through the county taking babies each year, despite the bestefforts of herbal doctors, offerings on family altars, and the tears of mothers? Quite apartfrom the baby who suckles at your breast, you have to worry on a deeper level about thetrue responsibility of womanhood: to have more sons and ensure the next generation and第 108 页 共 189 页

generations after that. But during the first few weeks of my son’s life I had anotherconcern, which had nothing to do with my daughter-in-law, wife, or mother duties.

When I asked my mother-in-law to invite Snow Flower to my son’s one-month party, shesaid no. This slight is something people in our county consider a terrible insult. I wascrushed and confused that she would do this but powerless to change her mind. The dayturned out to be one of the most important and festive occasions of my life, and Iexperienced it without Snow Flower at my side. The Lu family visited the ancestraltemple to place my son’s name on the wall with all their other family members. Red eggs—a symbol of life dyed red for celebration—were given to the guests and relatives. Agrand banquet was served with birdsnest soup, salted birds that had been pickled for sixmonths, and wine-fed duck stewed with ginger, garlic, and fresh red and green hotpeppers. Through it all I missed Snow Flower horribly and later wrote to her as manydetails as I could recall, not thinking that they might remind her of the dreadful oversight.Apparently she accepted the lapse, because she sent a gift of an embroidered baby jacketand a hat decorated with small charms.

When my mother-in-law saw these, she said, “A mother must always be careful whom shechooses to let into her life. Your son’s mother cannot associate with a butcher’s wife. Filialwomen raise filial sons, and we expect you to obey our wishes.”

With her words I realized that my in-laws not only did not want Snow Flower to come tothe party, they didn’t want me to see her at all. I was horrified, terrified, and, since I’d justhad the baby, crying all the time. I didn’t know what to do. I would have to fight my in-laws on this matter, not realizing how dangerous it would be.