Lisa See - Snow Flower And The Secret Fan

We were silent as we each folded another quilt. I glanced at her and her features seemed tight. For the first time in many years, my old insecurities bubbled up. Did Snow Flower still feel I was unworthy of her? Was she embarrassed to have the women of Tongkou meet my mother and aunt? Then I remembered that we were talking about her Sitting and Singing. It should be exactly as Snow Flower’s mother wanted it to be.

I took a strand of Snow Flower’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I can’t wait to meet your family. It’s going to be a happy time.”

She still seemed drawn as she said, “I worry that you’ll be disappointed. I’ve said so much about my mama and baba—”

“And Tongkou and your house—”

“How can they be as good as what you’ve imagined?”

I laughed. “You’re silly to worry. Everything I have in my mind comes from your beautiful word pictures.”

THREE DAYS BEFORE my wedding, I began the ceremonies associated with the Day of Sorrow and Worry. Mama sat on the fourth step leading to the upstairs chamber, the women of our village came to witness the laments, and everyone went ku, ku, ku, with much sobbing all around. Once Mama and I finished our crying and singing to each other, I repeated the process with my father, my uncle and aunt, and my brothers. I may have been brave and looking forward to my new life, but my body and soul were weak from hunger, because a bride is not allowed to eat for the final ten days of her wedding festivities. Do we follow this custom to make us sadder at leaving our families, to make us more yielding when we go to our husbands’ homes, or to make us appear more pure to our husbands? How can I know the answer? All I know is that Mama—like most mothers—hid a few hard-boiled eggs for me in the women’s chamber, but these did little to give me strength, and my emotions weakened with each new event.

The next morning, nervousness jolted me awake, but Snow Flower was right beside me, her soft fingers on my cheek, trying to calm me. I would be presented to my in-laws today, and I was so afraid that I couldn’t have eaten even if I’d been allowed to. Snow Flower helped me put on the wedding outfit I had made—a short collarless jacket cinched with a belt over long pants. She slipped the silver bangles my husband’s family had sent onto my wrist, then helped me put on their other gifts—the earrings, necklace, and hairpins. My bracelets jangled together, while the silver charms I’d sewn onto my jacket tinkled harmoniously. On my feet I wore my red wedding shoes and on my head an elaborate headdress with pearly balls and silver trinkets—all of which quivered when I walked or moved my head or when my feelings broke through. Red tassels hung down in front of my headdress, forming a veil. The only way I could see and still maintain proper decorum was to look straight down.

Snow Flower led me downstairs. Just because I couldn’t see didn’t mean that I didn’t have many emotions tumbling through my body. I heard my mother’s ragged footsteps, my aunt and uncle speaking to each other in gentle voices, and the scrape of my father’s chair as he rose. Together we walked to Puwei’s ancestral temple, where I thanked my ancestors for my life. The whole time, Snow Flower was at my side, guiding me through the alleyways, whispering encouragement and reminding me to hurry if I could because my in-laws would be arriving soon.

When we got home, Snow Flower and I went back upstairs. To keep me still, she held my hands and tried to describe what my new family was doing.

“Close your eyes and picture this.” She leaned in close, and my tassels fluttered with each word she spoke. “Master and Lady Lu must be beautifully dressed. They, along with their friends and relatives, have departed for Puwei. They are accompanied by a band, which announces to everyone along the route that on this day they have possession of the roadway.” She lowered her voice. “And where is the groom? He waits for you in Tongkou. In just two more days you will see him!”

Suddenly we heard music. They were almost here. Snow Flower and I went to the lattice window. I parted my tassels and looked out. We still couldn’t see the band or the procession, but together we watched as an emissary walked down our alleyway, stopped at our threshold, and presented my father with a letter on red paper declaring that my new family had come for me.

Then the band turned the corner, followed by a large crowd of strangers. Once they reached our house, the usual commotion commenced. Down below, people threw water and bamboo leaves on the band, accompanied by the customary laughter and jokes. I was called downstairs. Again, Snow Flower took my hand and guided me. I heard women’s voices sing: “Raising a girl and marrying her off is like building a fancy road for others to use.”

We went outside, and Madame Wang introduced both sets of parents. I had to be at my most demure at this moment when my in-laws first glimpsed me, so I couldn’t even whisper to Snow Flower to describe what they looked like or if she could gauge what they thought of me. Then my parents led the way to the ancestral temple, where my family hosted the first of many celebratory meals. Snow Flower and other girls from our village sat around me. Special dishes were brought out. Alcohol was served. Faces turned red. I was the subject of much teasing by the men and old women. All through the banquet, I sang laments and the women replied. By now I hadn’t eaten a real meal for seven days, and the smell of all that food made me dizzy.

The next day—the Day of the Big Singing Hall—featured a formal lunch. My handiwork and all of the third-day wedding books were displayed, accompanied by more singing by Snow Flower, the women, and me. Mama and Aunt led me to the center table. As soon as I was seated, my mother-in-law set before me a bowl of soup that she’d prepared to symbolize the kindness of my new family. I would have given anything to have just a few sips of the broth.

I could not see my mother-in-law’s face through my veil, but when I looked down through the tassels and saw golden lilies that seemed as small as my own, I felt a wave of panic. She hadn’t worn the special pair of shoes I’d made for her. I could see why. The embroidery on these shoes was far better than anything I had done. I was disgraced. Surely my parents were embarrassed and my in-laws disenchanted.

At this terrible moment, Snow Flower came to my side and took my arm again. Custom dictated that I leave the party, so she escorted me out of the temple and back home. She helped me upstairs, and then lifted off my headdress, removed the rest of my wedding clothes, and buttoned me into a nightdress and my sleeping slippers. I stayed quiet. The perfection of my mother-in-law’s shoes gnawed at me, but I was afraid to say anything, even to Snow Flower. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me too.

Very late that night, my family returned home. If I was going to get any advice about bed business, it had to happen now. Mama came into the room and Snow Flower left. Mama looked worried, and for a second I thought she’d come to tell me that my in-laws wanted to back out of the arrangement. She rested her cane on the bed and sat down beside me.

“I have always told you that a true lady lets no ugliness into her life,” she said, “and that only through pain will you find beauty.”

I nodded modestly, but inside I was practically screaming in terror. She had used these phrases again and again during my footbinding. Could bed business be that bad?

“I hope you will remember, Lily, that sometimes we can’t avoid ugliness. You have to be brave. You have promised to be united for life. Be the lady you were meant to be.”

And then she stood up, balanced on her cane, and hobbled out of the room. I was not relieved by what she had said! My resolve, my adventurousness, and my strength had completely weakened. I truly felt like a bride—afraid, sad, and very scared now to leave my family.