Lisa See - Snow Flower And The Secret Fan

“I have tried to accommodate my husband and mother-in-law and it has made my life better,” I offered. “You should do the same. You suffer now, but one day your mother-in-law will die and you will be the lady of the household. All number-one wives who are mothers of sons conquer in the end.”

She smiled ruefully, and I thought over her complaint about her son. I truly didn’t understand it. A son was a woman’s life. It was her job and her fulfillment to meet his every demand.

“Soon your son will be walking,” I said. “You’ll be chasing him everywhere. You’ll be very happy.”

She tightened her arms around her baby. “I am already with child again.”

I beamed my congratulations, but my brain was in turmoil. This explained her swollen breasts and bulging stomach. She had to be pretty far along. But how could she have gotten pregnant so soon? Was this the pollution she had written about in her letter? Had she and her husband done bed business before the hundred days were complete? It had to be so.

“I wish you another son,” I managed to say.

“I hope so.” She sighed. “Because my husband says it is better to have a dog than a daughter.”

We all knew the truth of those words, but who would say that to his pregnant wife?

The feel of the palanquin setting down and the whoops of joy and greeting coming from my brothers saved me from trying to come up with an appropriate response. I was home.

How the household had changed! Elder Brother and his wife now had two children. She had gone back to her natal home for the Expel Birds Festival, but had left the youngsters for us to see. My younger brother had not yet married in, but preparations for his wedding were well under way. He was officially a man. Elder Sister had arrived with her two daughters and a son. She was growing old before our eyes, though I still thought of her as a girl in her hair-pinning days. Mama could not criticize me as easily, although she tried. Baba was proud, but even I could see the burden he felt by having so many mouths to feed for even these few days. Altogether, there were seven children aged six months to six years under our roof. The household rattled with the sounds of tiny footsteps running across the floor, pleas for attention, and songs to quiet. Aunt was happy with all the children about; a house full of children had been her lifelong dream. Still, every once in a while I saw her eyes tear up. If the world were fairer, Beautiful Moon would have been there with her children too.

We spent three days chatting, laughing, eating, and sleeping—none of us arguing, backbiting, condemning, or accusing. For Snow Flower and myself, the best times were at night in the upstairs chamber. We placed our sons on the bed between us. Seeing the two of them side by side, the differences between them were even more apparent. My son was fat with a shock of black hair that stood straight up like his father’s. He loved to nurse and gurgled at my breast until he was drunk with my milk, pausing only to look up at me and smile. Snow Flower’s son had a difficult time with his mother’s milk, spitting it out on her shoulder when she burped him. He was fussy in other respects as well—crying late in the afternoon, his face red with anger, his bottom pink and blistered with rash. But once the four of us snuggled beneath the quilt, both babies quieted, listening to our whispers.

“Do you like bed business?” Snow Flower asked, when she was sure everyone was asleep.

For so many years we had heard the bawdy jokes told by old women or the offhand remarks made by Aunt about the bed fun she and Uncle had. All of that had been very confusing, but now I understood that there was nothing confusing about it.

“My husband and I are like two mandarin ducks,” Snow Flower prompted, when I didn’t respond right away. “We find mutual felicity in soaring together.”

I was taken aback by what she said. Was she lying again, as she had for so many years? Into my bewildered silence, she spoke again.

“But as much as we both enjoy it,” Snow Flower went on, “I am disturbed that my husband doesn’t obey the rules about bed business after giving birth. He waited only twenty days.” She paused again, then admitted, “I don’t blame him. I agreed. I wanted it to happen.”

Though completely bewildered by her desire to do bed business, I was relieved. She had to be telling me the truth, because no one would lie to cover a worse truth. What could be more shameful than committing a polluted act?

“This is a bad thing,” I whispered back. “You must follow the rules.”

“Or what? I’ll become as polluted as my husband?”

This thought had already come to me, but I said, “I don’t want you to get sick or die.”

She laughed into the darkness. “No one gets sick from bed business. It only gives you pleasure. I work hard all day for my mother-in-law. Do I not deserve the delights of night? And, if I have another son, I will be happier still.”

That last part I knew to be true. The one who slept between us was both difficult and weak. Snow Flower needed to have another son . . . just in case.

Too soon, our three days were over. My heart felt lighter. My palanquin dropped Snow Flower back in front of her house; then I went home. No one had spotted my diversion on the road, and the cash I paid my bearers guaranteed their silence. Emboldened by my success, I knew I would be able to see Snow Flower more often. Many festivals throughout the year required married women to return to their natal homes, and we also had our annual visit to the Temple of Gupo. We might be married ladies, but we were still old sames, no matter what my mother-in-law said.

OVER THE FOLLOWING months, Snow Flower and I continued to write each other, our words flying back and forth over the fields as free as two birds floating on a high breeze. Her complaints lessened and so did mine. We were young mothers and our lives were bright with the day-to-day adventures of our sons—new teeth coming in, first words spoken, steps taken. To my mind, we were both content as we settled into the rhythms of our new homes, learned how to please our mothers-in-law, and adjusted to the duties of being wives. I even grew more accustomed to writing Snow Flower about my husband and our intimate moments. By now I understood the old instruction: “Ascend the bed, act like a husband; descend the bed, act like a gentleman.” I preferred my husband when he descended the bed. By day, he followed the Nine Considerations. He was clearheaded, listened carefully, and appeared affable. He was modest, loyal, respectful, and righteous. When in doubt, he asked his father questions, and on those rare occasions when he got angry, he was careful not to let it show. So by night, when he ascended the bed, I was happy for his enjoyment but relieved when he finished with me. I did not understand what my aunt had talked about when I was in my hair-pinning days, and I truly didn’t comprehend Snow Flower’s pleasure in bed business. But no matter how deep my ignorance, I knew one thing: You cannot break the pollution laws without paying a heavy toll.

Lily,

My daughter was born dead. She left without planting roots, so she knew nothing of the sorrows of life. I held her feet in my hands. They would never know the agony of footbinding. I touched her eyes. They would never know the sadness of leaving her natal home, of seeing her mother for the last time, of saying goodbye to a dead child. I put my fingers over her heart. It would never know pain, sorrow, loneliness, shame. I think of her in the afterworld. Is my mother with her? I don’t know either of their fates.

Everyone in my household blames me. My mother-in-law says, “Why did we marry you in if not to bear sons?” My husband says, “You are young. You will have more children. Next time you will bring me a son.”