The women’s chamber turned into a room of discipline. Instead of doing our usual chores, we walked back and forth across the room. Every day Mama and Aunt added more rounds. Every day Grandmother was enlisted to help. When she tired, she rested on one of the beds and directed our activities from there. When it got colder, she pulled extra quilts over her body. As the days grew shorter and darker, her words got shorter and darker too, until she rarely spoke but just stared at Third Sister, willing her with her eyes to keep up with her rounds.
For us, the pain didn’t lessen. How could it? But we learned the most important lesson for all women: that we must obey for our own good. Even in those early weeks, a picture began to form of what the three of us would be like as women. Beautiful Moon would be stoic and beautiful in all circumstances. Third Sister would be a complaining wife, bitter about her lot, ungracious about the gifts that were given to her. As for me—the so-called special one—I accepted my fate without argument.
One day, as I made one of my trips across the room, I heard something crack. One of my toes had broken. I thought the sound was something internal to my own body, but it was so sharp that everyone in the women’s chamber heard it. My mother’s eyes zeroed in on me. “Move! Progress is finally being made!” Walking, my whole body trembled. By nightfall the eight toes that needed to break had broken, but I was still made to walk. I felt my broken toes under the weight of every step I took, for they were loose in my shoes. The freshly created space where once there had been a joint was now a gelatinous infinity of torture. The freezing weather did not begin to numb the excruciating sensations that raged through my entire body. Still, Mama was not happy with my compliance. That night she told Elder Brother to bring back a reed cut from the riverbank. Over the next two days, she used this on the backs of my legs to keep me moving. On the day that my bindings were rewrapped, I soaked my feet as usual, but this time the massage to reshape the bones was beyond anything I had experienced so far. With her fingers Mama pulled my loose bones back and up against the soles of my feet. At no other time did I see Mama’s mother love so clearly.
“A true lady lets no ugliness into her life,” she repeated again and again, drilling the words into me. “Only through pain will you have beauty. Only through suffering will you find peace. I wrap, I bind, but you will have the reward.”
Beautiful Moon’s toes broke a few days later, but Third Sister’s bones refused. Mama sent Elder Brother out on another errand. This time he needed to find small stones that could be wrapped against Third Sister’s toes for extra pressure. I have already said she was resistant, but now her cries were even louder, if such a thing were possible. Beautiful Moon and I thought she responded this way because she wanted more attention. After all, Mama was devoting her efforts almost entirely to me. But on the days when our bindings were removed, we could see differences between our feet and Third Sister’s. Yes, blood and pus seeped through our bandages, as was normal, but with Third Sister the fluids that oozed from her body had taken on a new and different smell. And while Beautiful Moon’s and my skin had wilted to the pallor of the dead, Third Sister’s skin shone as pink as a flower.
Madame Wang came for another visit. She inspected the work my mother had done and made a few recommendations of herbs that could be made into a tea to help the pain. I did not try that bitter brew until the days of snow set in and the bones in my mid-foot cracked apart. My mind was in a haze brought on by the combination of suffering and the herbs, when Third Sister’s condition suddenly changed. Her skin burned. Her eyes glittered with water and fever insanity, and her round face waned into sharp angles. When Mama and Aunt went downstairs to prepare the midday meal, Elder Sister took pity on her pathetic sibling by letting her stretch out on one of the beds. Beautiful Moon and I took a break from our walking rounds. Afraid to be caught sitting, we stood at Third Sister’s side. Elder Sister rubbed Third Sister’s legs, trying to give her some relief. But it was the deepest part of winter and we all wore our clothes with the heaviest padding. With our help, Elder Sister pulled Third Sister’s pant leg up to her knee so she could massage the calf directly. That’s when we saw the brutal red streaks that rose from underneath Third Sister’s bindings, snaked their way up her leg, and disappeared back under her pants. We looked at one another for a moment and then quickly examined the other leg. The same red streaks were there too.
Elder Sister went downstairs. To tell what we’d found, she had to confess her failure in her duties. We expected to hear Mama’s hand strike Elder Sister’s face. But no. Mama and Aunt hurried back upstairs instead. They stood at the top of the landing and surveyed the room: Third Sister staring at the ceiling with her little legs exposed, two other girls waiting meekly to be punished, and Grandmother asleep under her quilts. Aunt took one look at the scene and went to boil water.
Mama walked to the bed. She didn’t have her cane and she flapped across the room like a bird with broken wings, and as a person she was about as useless to help her own daughter. As soon as Aunt returned, Mama began to unwrap the bindings. A disgusting odor infused the room. Aunt gagged. Although it was snowing, Elder Sister tore away the rice paper that covered the windows to give the stench an exit. Finally, Third Sister’s feet were fully exposed. The pus was dark green and the blood had coagulated into brownish, putrid mud. Third Sister was brought to a sitting position and her unbound feet set into a steaming bowl of water. She was so far away in her mind that she didn’t cry out.
All of Third Sister’s screams of the past weeks took on a different meaning. Did she know on that first day that something bad might happen? Was that why she had resisted? Had Mama made some terrible mistake in her haste? Had Third Sister’s blood poisoning been triggered by wrinkles in her bindings? Was she weak from bad nutrition as Madame Wang claimed I had been? What had she done in her previous life to deserve this punishment now?
Mama scrubbed at those feet, trying to remove the infection. Third Sister fainted. The water in the bucket became murky with noxious discharge. Finally Mama pulled the broken appendages from the bucket and patted them dry.
“Mother,” Mama called to her mother-in-law, “you have more experience than I. Please help me.”
But Grandmother didn’t stir under her quilts. Mama and Aunt disagreed about what to do next.
“We should leave her feet open to the air,” Mama suggested.
“You know that’s the worst thing,” Aunt came back. “Many of her bones have already broken. If you don’t bind them, they will never heal properly. She’ll be crippled. Unmarriageable.”
“I would rather keep her on this earth unmarried than lose her forever.”
“Then she would have no purpose and no value,” Aunt reasoned. “Your mother love tells you this is no future.”
The whole time they argued, Third Sister didn’t move. Alum was spread over her skin and her feet were rebound. The next day, the snow still fell and she was worse. Though we were not rich, Baba went out into the storm and brought back the village doctor, who looked at Third Sister and shook his head. It was the first time I saw that gesture, which means that we are powerless to stop the soul of a loved one from leaving for the spirit world. You can fight it, but once death has grasped hold, nothing can be done. We are meek in the face of the afterworld’s desires. The doctor offered to make a poultice and prepare herbs for a tea, but he was a good and honest man. He understood our situation.
“I can do these things for your little girl,” he confided to Baba, “but they will be money spent on a no-use cause.”
But the bad news of that day was not yet done. While we kowtowed to the doctor, he looked round the room and saw Grandmother under her quilts. He moved to her, touched her forehead, and listened to the secret pulses that measured her chi. He looked up at my father. “Your honored mother is very sick. Why did you not mention this before?”
How could Baba answer this and save face? He was a good son, but he was also a man, and this business fell within the inner realm. Stil
l, Grandmother’s welfare was his most important filial duty. While he was downstairs smoking his pipe with his brother and waiting for winter to end, upstairs two people had fallen under the spell of ghost spirits.
Again, our whole family set to questioning. Was too much time spent on worthless girls that the one woman of value and esteem in our home was allowed to weaken? Had all that walking back and forth across the room with Third Sister stolen Grandmother’s storehouse of steps? Had Grandmother—tired of hearing Third Sister’s screams—closed down her chi to shut out the irksome racket? Had the ghost spirits who’d come to prey on Third Sister been tempted by the possibility of another victim?
After so much noise, and after all the attention that had been paid in recent weeks to Third Sister, all focus now shifted to Grandmother. My father and uncle left her side only to smoke, eat, or relieve themselves. Aunt assumed all the household duties, making meals for everyone, washing, and caring for all of us. I never saw Mama sleep. As the first daughter-in-law, she had two main purposes in life: to provide sons to carry on the family and to care for her husband’s mother. She should have watched Grandmother’s health more assiduously. Instead, she had allowed man-hope to enter her mind by shifting her attention to me and my good-luck future. Now, with the fierce determination born of her earlier neglectfulness, she performed all the prescribed rituals, preparing special offerings to the gods and to our ancestors, praying and chanting, even making soup from her own blood to rebuild Grandmother’s life force.
Since everyone was occupied with Grandmother, Beautiful Moon and I were assigned to watch over Third Sister. We were only seven and did not know the words or actions to comfort her. Her torment was great, but it was not the worst I would see in my lifetime. She died four days later, enduring more suffering and pain than was fair for such a short life. Grandmother died one day after that. No one saw her suffer. She just curled up smaller and smaller like a caterpillar under an autumnal blanket of leaves.
THE GROUND WAS
too hard for burial to take place. Grandmother’s two remaining sworn sisters attended to her, sang mourning songs, wrapped her body in muslin, and dressed her for life in the afterworld. She was an old woman, who had lived a long life, so her eternity clothes had many layers. Third Sister was only six. She did not have a lifetime of clothing to keep her warm or many friends to meet her in the afterworld. She had her summer outfit and her winter outfit, and even these were things that Elder Sister and I had worn first. Grandmother and Third Sister spent the rest of winter under a shroud of snow.
I would say that between the time of Grandmother’s and Third Sister’s deaths and their burials much changed in the women’s chamber. Oh, we still did our rounds. We still bathed our feet every four days and changed into smaller shoes every two weeks. But now Mama and Aunt watched over us with great vigilance. And we were heedful too, never resisting or complaining. When it came time for bathing our feet, our eyes were as riveted to the pus and blood as Mama’s and Aunt’s. Each night after we girls were finally left alone, and every morning before our routine began again, Elder Sister checked our legs to make sure we were not growing serious infections.
I often think back on those first few months of our footbinding. I remember how Mama, Aunt, Grandmother, and even Elder Sister recited certain phrases to encourage us. One of these was “Marry a chicken, stay with a chicken; marry a rooster, stay with a rooster.” Like so much back then, I heard the words but didn’t understand the meaning. Foot size would determine how marriageable I was. My small feet would be offered as proof to my prospective in-laws of my personal discipline and my ability to endure the pain of childbirth, as well as whatever misfortunes might lie ahead. My small feet would show the world my obedience to my natal family, particularly to my mother, which would also make a good impression on my future mother-in-law. The shoes I embroidered would symbolize to my future in-laws my abilities at embroidery and thus other house learning. And, though I knew nothing of this at the time, my feet would be something that would hold my husband’s fascination during the most private and intimate moments between a man and a woman. His desire to see them and hold them in his hands never diminished during our lives together, not even after I had five children, not even after the rest of my body was no longer an enticement to do bed business.
The Fan
SIX MONTHS PASSED SINCE OUR FOOTBINDING, TWO MONTHS
since Grandmother and Third Sister died. The snow melted, the earth softened, and Grandmother and Third Sister were prepared for burial. There are three events in Yao lives—no, all Chinese lives—on which the most money is spent: birth, marriage, and death. We all wish to be born well and marry well; we all wish to die well and be buried well. But fate and practical circumstance influence these three events like no others. Grandmother was the matriarch and had led an exemplary life; Third Sister had accomplished nothing. Baba and Uncle gathered together what money they had and paid a coffin maker in Shangjiangxu to construct a good coffin for Grandmother. Baba and Uncle made a small box for Third Sister. Grandmother’s sworn sisters came again, and at last we held the funeral.
Once again, I saw how poor we were. If we had more money, perhaps Baba would have built a widow arch to commemorate Grandmother’s life. Perhaps he would have used the diviner to find a propitious spot with the best feng shui elements for her burial or hired a palanquin to transport his daughter and niece, who still could not walk very far, to the grave site. These things were not possible. Mama carried me on her back, while Aunt carried Beautiful Moon. Our simple procession went to a place not far from the house, yet still on our leased land. Baba and Uncle kowtowed three times in succession, again and again. Mama lay on the burial mound and begged forgiveness. We burned paper money, but no gifts other than candy were given to the mourners who came.
Although Grandmother could not read nu shu, she still had the third-day wedding books that had been given to her at her marriage so many years before. These, along with a few other treasures, were gathered together by her two late-life sworn sisters and burned at her grave so the words would accompany her to the afterworld. They chanted together: “We hope you find our other sworn sisters. The three of you will be happy. Don’t forget us. The fibers between us are connected even if the lotus root is cut. Such is the strength and longevity of our relationship.” Nothing was said about Third Sister. Not even Elder Brother had any messages to give. Since she had no writing of her own, Mama, Aunt, and Elder Sister wrote messages in nu shu to introduce her to our ancestors, and then we burned them after the men left.
Though we were still at the beginning of our three-year mourning period for Grandmother, life continued. The most agonizing part of my footbinding was behind me. My mother didn’t have to beat me so much, and the pain from the bindings had lessened. The best thing for Beautiful Moon and me to do now was sit and let our feet bond into their new shape. In the early morning hours, the two of us—under Elder Sister’s supervision—practiced new stitches. In the late morning, Mama taught me how to spin cotton; in the early afternoon, we switched to weaving. Beautiful Moon and her mother did the same lessons only in reverse. Late afternoons were devoted to the study of nu shu, with Aunt teaching us simple words with patience and great humor.
Without having to oversee Third Sister’s binding, Elder Sister, now eleven, went back to her studies of the womanly arts. Madame Gao, the local matchmaker, came regularly to negotiate Contracting a Kin, the first of the five stages that would make up the wedding process for both Elder Brother and Elder Sister. A girl from a family much like ours had been found in Madame Gao’s natal village of Gaojia to marry Elder Brother. This was a good thing for the potential daughter-in-law, because Madame Gao did so much business between the two villages that nu shu letters could regularly be sent back and forth. Beyond this, Aunt had married out from Gaojia. Now she would be able to communicate with her family more easily. She was so gleeful that for days everyone could see through her smile and into the great cave of her m
outh with all its jagged teeth.
Elder Sister, acknowledged by all who met her to be quiet and pretty, was to marry out to a family better than ours that lived in faraway Getan Village. We were sad that eventually we would not see her as often as we would like, but we would have her company for another six years before the actual marriage, then another two or three years after that before she left us for good. In our county, as is well known, we follow the custom of buluo fujia, not falling permanently into our husbands’ homes until we become pregnant.
Madame Gao was not like Madame Wang in any way. The word to describe her is coarse. Where Madame Wang wore silk, Madame Gao dressed in homespun cotton. Where Madame Wang’s words were as slick as goose fat, Madame Gao’s sentiments were as abrasive as the barks of a village dog. She would come up to the women’s chamber, perch on a stool, and demand to see the feet of all of the girls in the Yi household. Of course, Elder Sister and Beautiful Moon complied. But even though my fate was already under the direction of Madame Wang, Mama said I should show my feet as well. The things Madame Gao said! “The cleft is as deep as this girl’s inner folds. She will make her husband a happy man.” Or, “The way her heel curves down like a sac with her forefoot pointed out just so will remind her husband of his own member. All day long that lucky man will be thinking of bed business.” At the time I did not understand the meaning. Once I did, I was embarrassed that these kinds of things had been spoken in front of Mama and Aunt. But they had laughed along with the matchmaker. We three girls had joined in, but, as I said, these words and their meanings were far beyond our experience or knowledge.