Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [72]
Bridal firecrackers welcomed her as she stepped out of Auntie Cheung Tai’s house, and they continued to pop and sparkle until the palanquin arrived. When she felt it tilt slightly, she knew the bearers were about to take her up the steps of the Fongs’ house. One, two, three, four, five. As they reached the fifth step, she suddenly remembered the couplets which hung on either side of the door, the ones Mrs. Mak had asked her to do. Neither of them had had any inkling that she was writing the scrolls to celebrate her own wedding.
Life was a strange thing, she thought, unable to suppress a small sigh.
The palanquin halted and she heard the light tap-tap of a bamboo fan against the door—a signal for her to alight. She knew who had tapped, and she heard its urgency. Under the thick veil, she felt her face flame as hot as a well-stoked fire. The beads of sweat seemed almost to sizzle. The curtain was drawn back and someone pushed something into her hand. She ran her finger over it—it was a key.
I mustn’t let it drop, she thought.
She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists until the key scored sharp teeth marks on her palm. She knew that what she was gripping was not just a key but her future—indeed, the future of the entire Fong family. From this day on, her life did not belong to her alone. It would be chopped into little pieces and mixed in with their lives. There would be no more “mine,” “yours” and “his.” The thought made her hands tremble a little, and feelings of both terror and warmth crept over her. Terror because she had lost herself—from today, she would be made up of fragments which did not form a whole. Warmth because although she was leaving her old self behind, she would gain what she had never had before—companionship, support and courage.
As she got out of the palanquin, someone handed her one end of the “wedding stick” and, holding it, she was led into the Fongs’ house. She could not see where she was going. She only saw scarlet flowers—on the hem of her skirt—dancing lightly along as they brushed the dark grey flagstones. She felt sure-footed. She knew who it was that held the other end of the stick. He would not let her stumble and fall.
With the customary bow to heaven and earth and the parents, she entered the bridal chamber. Outside, the wedding feast was about to begin. She heard the man tell Ah-Choi in a low voice: “Take her a bowl of lotus seed soup. She must be hungry.” The man’s shoes scuffed on the floor and she heard his footsteps retreating. She did not know if the man was wearing the shoes she had made for today. Ah-Choi came in with the soup. “For the young mistress!” she said. It took Six Fingers a moment to realize that that was her. The servant put the bowl down and went out, leaving Six Fingers sitting motionless in the chamber. The noise of the banquet outside came at her like the roar of waves in a typhoon. But her ears passed over the clamour and alighted on an almost inaudible sound—the sizzling of the lotus seeds and jujubes in the boiling-hot soup. Her belly rumbled in answer. It felt like hordes of rice weevils were gnawing at her. Not a drop of water or a crumb of food had passed her lips since getting up in the early hours of the morning. She knew the bowl was on the low table next to her. The sweet scent of osmanthus flowers rose from it and filled her nostrils. She only had to make a small movement with her hand to touch it. But she must not touch it. The bride could not go out to use the toilet until the guests had gone. She would have to bear her