Lisa See - Peony in Love

roots—a symbol of fertility—and knew that my aunts and the concubines had been here to ask my ancestors to bring sons to our line. My grandfather’s concubines had left little piles of fresh loquats and lichee. They tended to be excessively extravagant, knowing that in the afterworld they would maintain their status as my grandfather’s property and hoping Grandmother was whispering good words about them in his ear. My uncles had brought rice to ensure peace and plenty, while my father had offered a warm platter of meats to encourage more wealth and a good crop of silkworms. Chopsticks and bowls had been provided for my ancestors as well, so they might dine with elegant ease.

I had started toward the Spring Pavilion for breakfast when I heard Mama call me. I followed her voice to the room for little girls. When I entered, I was assailed by the unique scent of a special broth of frankincense, apricot kernel, and white mulberry that my old amah used for all the Chen daughters during the footbinding process. I saw Second Aunt holding Orchid, her youngest daughter, on her lap, my mother kneeling before the two of them, and all the other little girls who lived in this room—not one of them older than seven—clustered around them.

“Peony,” Mama said when she saw me, “come here. I need your help.”

I’d heard Mama complain that Orchid’s footbinding wasn’t going fast enough and that Second Aunt was too softhearted for the job. Mama held one of the little girl’s feet lightly in her hand. All the required bones had broken, but no effort had been made to mold them into a better shape.

What I saw looked like the body of an octopus filled with broken and jagged little sticks. In other words, a useless, ugly, purple-and-yellow mess.

“You know the men in our household are weak,” Mama scolded Second Aunt. “They resigned their commissions and came home after the Cataclysm. They refuse to work for the new emperor, so they no longer wield any real power. They’ve been forced to shave their foreheads. They no longer ride horses, preferring the comfort of palanquins. In place of battle, the hunt, and argument, they collect delicate porcelains and paintings on silk. They have retreated and become more . . . feminine.” She paused before going on briskly. “Since this is so, we have to be more womanly than ever before.”

With this she shook Orchid’s foot. The girl whimpered, and tears rolled down Second Aunt’s cheeks. Mama paid no attention.

“We must follow the Four Virtues and the Three Obediences. Re-

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member, when a daughter, obey your father; when a wife, obey your husband; when a widow, obey your son. Your husband is Heaven,” she said, quoting the Classic of Filial Duty for Girls. “You know what I’m saying is true.”

Second Aunt didn’t speak, but these words scared me. Since I was the eldest girl in our household, I remembered all too clearly each time one of my cousins had had her feet bound. Too often my aunts were merciful and Mama would rewrap the feet herself, making both the girl and her mother weep in pain and misery.

“These are difficult times,” Mama said sternly to the crying pair. “Our footbinding helps us to be softer, more languid, smaller.” She paused again, and then added, in a kinder but no less adamant tone, “I will show you how this is done. I expect you to do this for your daughter four days from now. Every four days, tighter and tighter. Give your daughter the gift of your mother love. Do you understand?”

Second Aunt’s tears dripped from her cheeks into her daughter’s hair.

All of us in the room knew that in four days Second Aunt would be no stronger than she was now and a variation of this scene would be repeated.

Mama turned her attention back to me. “Come sit beside me.” Once we were eye to eye, she gave me a lovely mother smile. “These will be the last set of feet to be bound in our household before your marriage. I want you to go to your husband’s home with the proper skills to bind your own daughter’s feet one day.”

The other little girls looked at me in admiration, hoping their mothers would do this for them too.

“Unfortunately,” Mama said, “we first have to fix what has been neglected here.” She then forgave Second Aunt by gently adding, “All mothers are cowardly when it comes to this job. There were times when I was as feeble as you. It’s tempting not to wrap the bindings tight enough. But then what happens? The child walks and the bones begin to move within their bindings. Don’t you see, Second Aunt, that while you think you’re doing your daughter a favor, you’re only prolonging her ordeal and worsening her pain? You must remember that a plain face is given by Heaven, but poorly bound feet are a sign of laziness, not only of the mother but of the daughter as well. What kind of message does this send to prospective in-laws? Girls should be as delicate as flowers. It is important that they walk elegantly, sway gracefully, and show their respectability. In this way girls become precious gems.”

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Mama’s voice hardened again as she spoke to me.

“We have to be strong and correct mistakes when they occur. Now take your cousin’s ankle with your left hand.”

I did as I was told.

Mama folded her hand over my own and squeezed. “You’re going to have to hold on very tight, because . . .” She glanced up at Orchid and decided not to finish her sentence. “Peony,” she continued, “we don’t do washing, but surely you’ve seen Willow or one of the other servants wash your clothes or linens.”

I nodded.

“Good, so you know that when they’re done rinsing they wring the clothes as tightly as possible to get out all the remaining water. We’re going to do something like that. Please follow exactly what I do.”

The written character for mother love is composed of two elements: love and pain. I had always thought this emotion was felt by daughters for their mothers, who inflict pain on us by binding our feet, but looking at Second Aunt’s tears and my mother’s courage I realized this emotion was for them. A mother suffers deeply to give birth, bind feet, and say goodbye to a daughter when she marries out. I wanted to be able to show my daughters how much I loved them, but I felt sick to my stomach—in sympathy for my little cousin and in fear that I would fail in some way.

“Mother”—Mama addressed her sister-in-law—“hold your daughter firmly.” She looked at me, gave me a nod of encouragement, and said, “Put one hand around the foot so that it meets your other hand . . . as though you were about to wring clothes.”

The pressure on Orchid’s broken bones caused her to squirm. Second Aunt wrapped her arms even more tightly around her daughter.

“I wish we could do this quickly,” Mama went on, “but haste and a soft heart are what caused this problem in the first place.”

She kept her grip on the ankle with her left hand, while her right slowly pulled away toward the toes. My cousin began to scream.

I felt light-headed but exuberant too. Mama was showing me much mother love.

I followed her movement and my cousin’s screams intensified.

“Good,” Mama said. “Feel the bones straighten beneath your fingers.

Let them fall into place as they squeeze through your hand.”

I came to the toes and let go. Orchid’s feet were still horribly mis-shapen. But instead of strange bumps poking against the flesh, the feet ( 4 4 )

looked like two long chilies. Above me, Orchid’s body heaved with sobs as she tried to catch her breath.

“This next part will be painful,” Mama observed. She looked to one of the cousins standing to her right, and said, “Go and find Shao. Where is she anyway? No matter. Just bring her. And quickly!”