Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [116]
“We thought you were lazy,” Yong says. “But now I can say you led an animal’s existence in those days.”
“Finally, a kitchen slave told me what was wrong.” Kumei’s face pales with her memories. “Pretty soon I felt this thing growing inside me, moving, like I was invaded by a demon. I wanted to disappear into the black depths of death. I would kill myself by swallowing the gold ring the master had given me or by eating food that had turned bad, but these methods didn’t promise a sure result. Then I realized the best way to do it. I would drink lye. But my master slapped it away from my lips, which is how I ended up looking like this.” Her fingers trail over the scars that run down her neck and under her clothes.
“She has as many scars in her heart as she has on her body,” Yong says. “Her life has been dark without a glimmer of light.”
“But your life couldn’t have been easy either,” I say to Yong.
“I was supposed to have a happy life,” she concedes. “My mother told me that if I had my feet bound, my swaying walk would look like the drifting mist and I would marry into a good family with at least five other women with bound feet. She promised that, when I married, I would wear a headdress weighing more than a dozen pounds. She said I would never have to leave my home, but if I wanted to for some reason, I’d be carried in a palanquin so no one would see me. She said I would always have four maids to help me, and for a while I had even more than that. She said I would never have to work in the fields—”
“You won’t have to do that,” Kumei promises. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
We know the price Kumei is willing to pay. Yong grabs Kumei’s hand in gratitude. We wait for Yong to continue. When she doesn’t, Kumei picks up where she left off in her story.
“The master didn’t want me to die, but by then what had happened to me was insignificant. The War of Liberation had been won and things were changing.”
“Two concubines ran away with soldiers,” Yong says. “Number One wife died from an infection. Second Wife, who’d been disgraced by the birth of three daughters, took them to visit relatives in Macau and never came back. Third Wife sneaked away in the middle of the night. Those last days were very hard, very sad …”
“Once the soldiers moved on, the villagers looted the villa, looking for gold, jade, and money,” Kumei continues. “They carried away furniture and burned most of the books. Then they dug up the family’s tombs, so the master’s ancestors would have no peace in the afterworld. They let us keep our beds, the master’s musical instruments, some quilts, cooking utensils, and a few other things. But the villagers were not done. They dragged the master’s sons to the square and used a chopper to lop open their heads until their brains spilled out. The only ones left in these twenty-nine bedrooms were the master, Yong, and me.”
“What happened to your master?” I ask, once again letting my American side show.
“After they let him suffer in heartbreak for another four years, they came for him,” Kumei recounts. “It was winter. They had him strip down to a thin cotton garment. Then they tied him to the scholar’s tree and poured cold water on him. They left him outside all night. By morning he was dead, his clothes frozen into ice on his body. The villagers laughed and said he was wearing glass clothes.” She pauses for a moment before going on. “To tell the truth, in some ways he was already on his way to the afterworld, having said good-bye to all that he’d known and cherished. Some nights when we were alone in his room, he had me dress in old clothes. Remember the costume Sung-ling made me wear for the play? That was one of the things the master put on me. The clothes were soft, shiny, and in beautiful colors.”
“They were silks, satins, and brocades,