Lisa See - Snow Flower And The Secret Fan

The old women began to cry. The children hung on to each other. Village life was hard. Who among us had not seen death? But it was rare to see such bravery, such stillness, such beauty of purpose in the final moments.

“You have been a good cousin,” I said. “I have always loved you. I will honor you forever.”

Beautiful Moon took another breath. This one sounded like a creaking hinge. It was slow. Almost no air could enter her body.

“Beautiful Moon, Beautiful Moon . . .”

The horrible sound ended. Her eyes were just slits in a face cruelly distorted, but she looked at me with full understanding. She had heard every word I’d said. In the last moment of her life—when no air could enter her body and no air could go out—I felt as though she passed on to me many messages. Tell Mama I love her. Tell Baba I love him. Tell your parents I am grateful for all they have done for me. Don’t let the men suffer for me. Then her head tipped forward onto her chest.

No one moved. Everything was as still as the panorama I had embroidered on my shoes. Only the sound of weeping and sniffing would have told anyone that something was wrong.

Uncle ran into the alley and pushed through the people to the quilt where Beautiful Moon and I sat. She was so peaceful in her bearing, it gave him hope. But my face and those around us told him otherwise. A horrible cry tore out of him as he sank to his knees. When he saw the condition of Beautiful Moon’s face, another dreadful howl. Some of the smaller children ran away. Uncle was so sweaty from working in the fields and then running back to us I could smell him. Tears poured from his eyes, then dripped from his nose, cheeks, and jaw and disappeared into the wetness of his sweaty tunic.

Baba arrived and knelt beside me. A few seconds later, Elder Brother broke through the crowd, panting, Snow Flower on his back.

Uncle kept talking to Beautiful Moon. “Wake up, little one. Wake up. I will get your mama. She needs you. Wake up. Wake up.”

His brother, my father, gripped his arm. “No use.”

Uncle had a posture eerily similar to Beautiful Moon’s, his head tucked down, his legs under him, his hands in his lap—all the same except for the sorrow that dripped from his eyes and the uncontrollable grief that wracked his body.

Baba asked, “Do you want to take her or shall I?”

Uncle shook his head. Wordlessly, he pulled a leg out from under him and planted it on the ground to steady himself; then he lifted Beautiful Moon and carried her into the house. None of us was functioning clearly. Only Snow Flower acted, moving swiftly to the table in the main room and removing the teacups we had set there for the men when they came back from the fields. Uncle laid out Beautiful Moon. Now the others could see how the bee venom had ravaged her face and body. In my mind I kept thinking: It was only five minutes, no more.

Again, Snow Flower took control. “Excuse me, but you need to get the others.”

Realizing this meant that Aunt would have to be told about Beautiful Moon’s death, Uncle’s sobs grew deeper. I could barely think about Aunt myself. Beautiful Moon had been her one true happiness. I had been so shocked by what had happened to my cousin that I hadn’t yet had a chance to feel anything. Now my legs lost their strength and tears welled in my eyes in sorrow for my sweet cousin and in pity for my aunt and uncle. Snow Flower wrapped an arm around me and guided me to a chair, giving instructions all the while.

“Elder Brother, run to your aunt’s natal village,” she directed. “I have some cash. Use it to hire a palanquin for her. Then run to your mother’s natal village. Bring her back. You will have to carry her like you did me. Maybe Second Brother can help you. But hurry. Your aunt will need her.”

Then we waited. Uncle sat on a stool by the table and wept so hard into Beautiful Moon’s tunic that stains spread across the fabric like rain clouds. Baba tried to comfort Uncle, but what was the use? He could not be comforted. Anyone who tells you that the Yao people never care for their daughters is lying. We may be worthless. We may be raised for another family. But often we are loved and cherished, despite our natal families’ best efforts not to have feelings for us. Why else in our secret writing do you see phrases like “I was a pearl in my father’s palm” so frequently? Maybe as parents we try not to care. I tried not to care about my daughter, but what could I do? She nursed at my breast like my sons had, she cried her tears in my lap, and she honored me by becoming a good and talented woman fluent in nu shu. Uncle’s pearl was gone from him forever.

I stared at Beautiful Moon’s face, remembering how close we had been. We had had our feet bound at the same time. We had been betrothed to the same village. Our lives had been inexorably linked, and now we were cut from each other forever.

Around us, Snow Flower busied herself. She made tea, which no one drank. She went through the house, looking for white mourning clothes, and set them out for us. She stood at the door, greeting those who had heard the news. Madame Wang arrived in her palanquin and Snow Flower let her in. I might have expected Madame Wang to complain about the loss of her matchmaking payment. Instead, she asked how she could help. Beautiful Moon’s future had been in her hands and she felt obliged to see her through this final passage. But her hand shot up to her mouth when she saw Beautiful Moon’s distorted face and those frightening monster fingers. And it was so hot. We had no place cool to put her. Things would begin to happen very quickly now to Beautiful Moon.

“How much longer until the mother arrives?” Madame Wang asked.

We did not know.

“Snow Flower, wrap the girl’s face in muslin, then dress her in her eternity clothes. Do this now. No mother should see her daughter this way.” Snow Flower turned to go upstairs, but Madame Wang grabbed her sleeve. “I will go to Tongkou and bring your mourning clothes. Do not leave this house until I tell you.” She released Snow Flower, took one last look at Beautiful Moon, and slipped out the door.

By the time Aunt arrived, Baba, Uncle, my brothers, and I were dressed in plain sackcloth. Beautiful Moon’s body had been completely shrouded in muslin, then attired in the clothes for her journey to the afterworld. So many tears in the house that day, but none of them came from Aunt. She swayed in on her lily feet and went straight to her daughter’s body. She smoothed the clothes and then placed her hand over what had been her daughter’s heart. She stood that way for hours.

Aunt did everything properly for the funeral. She went to the burial on her knees. She burned paper money and clothes at the site for Beautiful Moon to use in the afterworld. She gathered together all of Beautiful Moon’s secret writing and burned that too. Afterward, she created a little altar in our house where she made offerings every day. She did not cry in our presence, but I will never forget the sounds that emanated through our house at night when Aunt went to bed. She moaned from some deep, deep part of her soul. None of us could sleep. None of us were any solace. In fact, my brothers and I tried our best to be as quiet—invisible—as possible, knowing that our voices and faces were only bitter reminders of what she had lost. In the mornings, after the men had gone out to the fields, Aunt retreated to her room and wouldn’t come out. She lay on her side, her face to the wall, refusing to eat anything more than the bowl of rice that Mama brought her, quiet all day until night enveloped us and that frightening moaning began again.

Everyone knows that part of the spirit descends to the afterworld, while part of it remains with the family, but we have a special belief about the spirit of a young woman who has died before her marriage that goes contrary to this. She comes back to prey upon other unmarried girls—not to scare them but to take them to the afterworld with her so she might have company. The way Beautiful Moon’s unhappiness came to us every night in Aunt’s otherworldly moans let Snow Flower and me know we were in danger.