Lisa See - Snow Flower And The Secret Fan

If your family agrees, I would like to come to you in the eleventh month. We will sit together, thread our needles, chose our colors, and talk in whispers.

In the garland of leaves, she had added another delicate flower.

On the chosen day I waited by the lattice window, watching for the palanquin to come around the corner. When it stopped before our threshold, I wanted to run downstairs and out onto the street to greet my laotong. This was impossible. Mama went outside and the door to the palanquin swung open. Snow Flower stepped down onto the street. She wore the same sky-blue jacket with the cloud pattern. In time I came to think of it as her traveling tunic and believed she wore it for every visit so as not to embarrass my family for our lack.

She had brought neither food nor clothes with her, as was the custom. Madame Wang offered the same admonition she had given Snow Flower the last time. She should be good, not complain, learn through her eyes and ears, and make her mother proud. Snow Flower answered, “Yes, Auntie,” but I could tell she wasn’t listening, because she was standing on the street, staring straight up to the lattice window, searching the shadows for my face.

Mama carried Snow Flower upstairs, and from the minute her feet hit the floor of the women’s chamber she couldn’t stop talking. She chatted, whispered, teased, confided, consoled, admired. She was not the girl who upset me with her thoughts of flying away. She just wanted to play, have fun, giggle, and talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk about little-girl things.

I had told her I wanted to be her student, so she started that day to teach me things from The Women’s Classic, like never to show my teeth when I smiled or raise my voice when talking to a man. But she had written that she wanted to be my student too, so she asked me to show her how to make those sticky rice cakes. She also asked strange questions about hauling water and making pig feed. I laughed because every girl knows those things. Snow Flower swore she didn’t. I decided she was teasing me. She insisted she really was ignorant. Then the others began goading me.

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know how to haul water!” Elder Sister called out.

“And maybe you don’t remember how to feed a pig,” Aunt added. “That learning was tossed out with your old shoes.”

This was too much and I got to my feet. I was so mad, I put my fists on my hip bones and glared at them, but when I saw sunny faces staring back at me my anger melted and I wanted to make them even happier.

It was quite an entertainment for everyone in the women’s chamber to watch me toddle on my still-healing feet back and forth across the room, acting out pulling water from the well and hauling it back to the house or stooping for grass and mixing it with kitchen scraps. Beautiful Moon laughed so hard she said she needed to pee. Even Elder Sister, so serious with all her dowry work, tittered into her sleeve. When I looked over at Snow Flower, her eyes were gay as she clapped her hands in delight. You see, Snow Flower was like that. She could come into the women’s chamber and with a few simple words make me do things I would never dream of doing on my own. She could be in that room—which I saw as a place of secrets, suffering, and mourning—and turn it into an oasis of bright times, good cheer, and silly fun.

For all of her talk about speaking in a low voice to men, she babbled to Baba and Uncle during dinner, making them laugh too. Younger Brother climbed on and off Snow Flower as if he were a monkey and her lap a nest in a tree. She had so much life in her. Everywhere she went, she entranced people and made them happy. She was better than we were—anyone could see that—but she turned that into an adventure for my family. To us, she was like a rare bird that had escaped its cage and was roaming through a courtyard of common chickens. We were amused, but so was she.

The time came for us to wash our faces before bed. I remembered the awkwardness I felt during Snow Flower’s first visit. I motioned for her to go first, but she refused. If I went first, then the water would not be clean for her alone. But when Snow Flower said, “We’ll wash our faces together,” I knew that all my common farmer’s work and willfulness had produced my desired crop. Together we bent over the basin, cupped our hands, and scooped water onto our faces. She nudged me with her elbow. I looked into the water and saw our two faces reflecting back through the ripples. Water dripped off her skin just as it dripped off mine. She giggled and splashed a little water from the basin at me. In that moment of shared water, I knew that my laotong loved me too.

Learning

DURING THE NEXT THREE YEARS, SNOW FLOWER VISITED EVERY couple of months. Her sky-blue tunic with the cloud pattern gave way to another outfit of lavender silk with white trim—an odd color combination for a girl so young. As soon as she entered the upstairs chamber, she changed into an outfit that my mother had made for her. In this way we were old sames on the inside and on the outside as well.

I had yet to go to Snow Flower’s home village of Tongkou. I didn’t question this, nor did I hear the adults in my home discuss the strangeness of the arrangement. Then one day when I was nine, I overheard Mama query Madame Wang about the situation. They were standing outside the threshold, and their conversation carried up to me at my spot by the lattice window.

“My husband says we are always feeding Snow Flower,” Mama said that day in a low voice, hoping no one would hear. “And her visits cause us to haul extra water for drinking, cooking, and washing. He wants to know when Lily will visit Tongkou. This is the usual way.”

“The usual custom is for all eight characters to be matched,” Madame Wang reminded my mother, “but we both know that a very important one was not. Snow Flower has come to a family that is below her.” Madame Wang paused, then added, “I did not hear you complain of this when I first approached you.”

“Yes, but—”

“You clearly don’t understand the way things are,” Madame Wang continued indignantly. “I told you from the beginning that I hoped to find a match for Lily in Tongkou, but a marriage could never happen there if a potential bridegroom happened to glimpse your daughter before the wedding day. Furthermore, Snow Flower’s family suffers because of the girls’ social imbalance. You should be grateful that they haven’t demanded an end to the laotong agreement. Of course it is never too late to make a change, if that is what your husband truly desires. It will only mean more awkwardness for me.”

What could my mother do except say, “Madame Wang, I misspoke. Please come inside. Would you care for some tea?”

I heard Mama’s shame and fear that day. She could not jeopardize any aspect of the relationship, even if it placed an added burden on our family.

Are you wondering how I felt, hearing that Snow Flower’s family didn’t feel I was her equal? It didn’t disturb me, because I knew I didn’t deserve Snow Flower’s affections. I worked hard every day to make her love me as I loved her. I felt sorry—no, embarrassed—for my mother. She had lost a lot of face with Madame Wang. But the truth is, I didn’t care about Baba’s concerns, Mama’s discomfort, Madame Wang’s stubbornness, or the peculiar physical design of Snow Flower and my relationship, because even if I could have visited Tongkou without my future husband seeing me, I felt I didn’t need to go there to know about my laotong ‘s life. She had already told me more about her village, her family, and her beautiful home than I could ever have learned just by seeing them. But the matter didn’t end there.