Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [93]
That’s greeted by sighs from Z.G. and Joy. Apparently, mothers of the bride know absolutely nothing.
AS A GIRL, I dreamed of my wedding—the dress, the veil, the banquet, the gifts—and none of it turned out the way I imagined. As a mother, I’ve dreamed of my daughter’s wedding—a ceremony in the Methodist church in Chinatown attended by all our friends, Joy’s dress, my dress, the flowers, the reception at Soochow Restaurant—but this is nothing like that either. Joy was right that there isn’t supposed to be any kind of ceremony or celebration, but as a stranger and as someone who has some money to spend, I can bend the rules. Brigade Leader Lai is more than happy to take a bribe—some of my special Overseas Chinese certificates, worth less than twenty dollars—so I can give my daughter a wedding that pays homage to the past and is still true to the New China.
The ceremony takes place two days later at dusk on a hillside overlooking Green Dragon’s verdant fields. Scent from tea bushes planted on terraces wafts on the breeze. The bride is in wedding red—an outfit Yong found in a dowry chest in the villa. She wears the pouch May gave her, and I wear mine—symbols of the ways that Joy is linked to my sister and me and the three of us to my mother. Joy’s hair, which has grown a good six inches this year, hangs in two braids just past her shoulders. Strips of red wool have been woven through the plaits and are tied in heavy bows. Her cheeks shine with happiness and the heat. Her nails have been stained a reddish color with balsam juice. The groom is as dressed up as I’ve ever seen him—a blue tunic, loose blue pants, and sandals. His hair has been combed and he looks clean.
Brigade Leader Lai says a few words: “Communism is paradise. The people’s communes will take us to it. Tao and Joy—comrades first and always—will help the country climb to the highest heights. If Tao sails the seas, then Joy will row in the same boat. If Joy climbs a mountain, then Tao will be at her heels.”
Z.G. takes my hand. His touch—his kindness—at this moment makes me want to weep. Until now, I had thought that my daughter had made the greatest mistake possible in coming to China, but that was nothing compared with this marriage. Mothers suffer; children do what they want. I look over at Tao’s family. They don’t look particularly happy either. The mother must be about my age, although she looks closer to sixty or even older. That happens when you have nine living children, who knows how many dead children, and are as poor as can be. The father is just an older version of his son—thin, wiry, but as dried out and wrinkled as my father-in-law was just before the cancer took him.
Brigade Leader Lai comes to the end of the ceremony. Tao turns to everyone and announces, “Comrades, I am happy.”
“I too am happy,” Joy echoes.
“In hard times, we will share the same piece of pickled turnip,” Tao promises.
“We will drink from the same cup,” Joy adds. “I will work by my husband’s side in the commune. I will work with all of you.”
I take a few snapshots of the wedding couple while Tao’s young male friends set off strings of firecrackers. Then we walk to the canteen. Big wedding banquets aren’t allowed in the New China—even the ceremony was more than what is considered acceptable—but if I look hard I can find ingredients with fortuitous meanings in our meal. We’re served chicken, which symbolizes a good marriage and family unity, but we receive no chicken feet or lobster, which are typically served together to represent the dragon and phoenix. Instead of the many-tiered, Western-style wedding cake I’d always wanted for Joy, one of the servers brings out a plate of sliced pomelo for abundance, prosperity, and having many children. After dinner—and we can’t linger or dance because other members of the commune still need to eat—we head to Joy’s new home. More firecrackers pop and crack. In olden days, firecrackers scared off fox spirits, ghosts, and demons. In the New