1
The Ghost Wedding
E
ven though the groom was a ghost, it was a “real” wedding, with an elaborate evening ceremony in the Dragon Lake Daoist temple—only after dark would the dead wander into the realm of the living. Later there would be a gloomy celebratory banquet in the village’s only restaurant.
At five in the afternoon, maids and helpers from the groom’s family began to arrive at the temple’s small room to make preparations. For a whole hour, I had to sit still on a chair while three hired women fussed over my hair, face, and hands, so I’d look my best for my groom. Where was he? Was he hovering invisibly nearby to appreciate me? But I could only see my mean aunt and a few of our close relatives milling around watching the preparations and offering uninvited suggestions for the wedding’s
fanwen rujie
—trivial procedures and elaborate formalities.
The ceremony was to be held exactly at seven-thirty, the auspicious moment picked by our village’s best—and only—feng shui master and fortune-teller. Auspicious, marrying a ghost? I might even have burst out laughing had a maid not stuck a candy inside my mouth for my future sweet happiness. Had my aunt not been keeping a strict eye on me, I’d have spat out that candy like it was dog droppings.
So far in my short seventeen years of life, I’d heard numerous prognostications but never bothered to find out if they were accurate. I’d come to realize that the only person I could depend on was myself—not a feng shui master, not my mean aunt, and not any of my relatives or neighbors. There was one exception: Father Edwin, the American missionary who ran a small church and school in my old village.
My aunt and her few confidantes were now ogling the lavish gifts from relatives, friends, villagers, and my soon-to-be Popo, my husband’s mother. Nothing from his father, however, who was with his son in the Yellow Springs. Stacked high on the floor were bamboo and lacquered boxes storing clothes, housewares, jewelry, and maybe even red envelopes stuffed with lucky money. Bottles of the expensive Maotai and the famous local Half Moon Spring wine filled one corner, beckoning everyone to get drunk for this festive occasion. Displayed on the Eight Immortals’ table in the middle of the room were the special wedding foods: candies, sugared olives, red-dyed buns, wedding cakes, spices and condiments, dried scallops, abalone, sea cucumber, cooked hairy crabs, and even a roasted baby pig.
On top of a string of sausages was a strip of paper with the words: “Wishing a marriage as long as the sausages.” Another strip attached to a honey jar said, “Wishing the marriage as sweet as honey.” Yet another strip attached to a bag of sour plums read: “Wishing you have many grandchildren.” This last because the word
suan,
or “sour,” sounds like the word for “grandchildren.”
Even though my mood was entirely miserable, I let out a giggle at this last inscription.
My aunt looked up from counting the gifts and recording them in her notebook to cast me a mean look.
“So finally you’re happy to have a husband and a big wedding? But don’t act so crazy and make your Popo lose face! Behave and act like a proper lady, at least for tonight!”
I fought back. “What kind of face does Popo have anyway?”
“All right, you little ingrate, learn some manners and stop talking back to your elders!”
With a snort she turned to scold the maids who’d been listening and whispering to each other. Fortunately, my Popo, or soon-to-be mother-in-law, could not overhear this, for she was supervising preparations in the main hall.
Soon the maid who was doing my makeup yelled in my ear, “Done!”
Thrusting a mirror in front of me, she exclaimed, “See how beautiful you are? I’m sure the groom would be very happy to see you!”
The other two women echoed, “Yes, you two will make a happy couple!”
Did they imagine that a ghost can be happy? Or his bride? Thinking about it gave me the creeps.
After that, the maids went off to continue the preparations. In my embroidered red wedding gown, I walked around to look at the gifts and food. Although I loved roasted baby pig (especially its crispy, juicy skin) and soy sauce chicken (especially the drumsticks), now the sight of my favorite foods made me nauseous. My brain whirred, trying to focus on my dangerous plan of escape from my damned husband, damned wedding, damned village, and my whole damned life!
A little boy, probably seeing that I didn’t touch any of the gifts or eat the food, came forward, and asked, “Big sister, can I have some of the candies?”
I smiled down at his round, eager eyes. “Of course, little one, take all you want.”
Might as well, since I did not plan to be here much longer. But I’d definitely take some cakes and buns and chunks of the chicken and roasted baby pig to eat on the run. Most of the gifts would be of no use to me, so I would leave them for my mean aunt’s satisfaction. One gift, however, I would not leave—a beautifully embroidered silk spread. Exquisitely colored, it depicted a dragon and phoenix surrounded by orchids, lotuses, jasmines.
At school all the girls were taught embroidery. So I knew a few things about needles and stitches, though I could not imagine attempting something as elaborate as this. Mean Aunt had told me this was a
Soo
embroidery, an extravagant gift, for embroidery of the
Soo
school is considered the best, and thus the most expensive and sought after. Although the dragon and phoenix symbolism of marital harmony seemed an ironic mockery, I found myself fascinated by the embroidery. Its complicated stitches and subtle color gradations made the dragon and phoenix seem to fly out from the red silk. How satisfying it must be to produce such beautiful work!
Half an hour later, Mean Aunt appeared and said in her harsh voice, “
Wah,
Spring Swallow, you’re all decked out like a pretty doll!”
Or a ghost doll, I thought.
In a scolding tone, she said, “You better act right; this is the most important day of your life!”
She went on excitedly. “The ceremony is about to begin. The priest will lead you to sit next to the white cock, who represents your ghost husband. Then you must pay your respects to your dead husband, his dead father, his mother, and then to Heaven and Earth. After that, we’ll ride in the rickshaw to visit the relatives who are too old to attend the ceremony. . . . You listening?”
She grabbed my elbow and pulled me along, trailed by the small entourage of helpers. We walked a few yards to the large hall where the ceremony would take place. Adults were already seated while small children wandered about, their eyes big and bright with curiosity. Women, young or old, cast me curious or pitying glances as we entered the hall. Smoke from the many burning incense sticks snaked into my nostrils, choking me and bringing tears to my eyes.
Below the many gods and goddesses arrayed on the walls and the expressionless head of the gaunt priest in his embroidered yellow robe stood a high-backed chair, to which was tied a white cock.
That miserable bird was going to be my husband!
As its bloody red crown gave me a chill, my aunt whispered in my ear, “The white of the bird symbolizes the purity of your and Wang Xing’s union. The red symbolizes the virginal blood on your marital bed.”
Right now my virginal blood was boiling inside all my arteries. What I’d like to do now was to slit that bird’s neck so he’d bleed to death and end my bloody nightmare. But unfortunately my nightmare was just about to begin!
The somber priest signaled for my aunt and me to move to the altar, piled high with offerings—paper and bamboo furniture, houses, servants, and stacks of hell bank notes for the use of the dead—in this case, my husband. Why hadn’t they also put some pretty paper women for him to enjoy so he’d leave me alone? I had to bite my lower lip to suppress a nervous giggle.
The priest ordered me to kneel in front of the altar beside the white cock and my mother-in-law, before the intense eyes of the guests. The bird looked as nervous as I. Could it be that my husband’s spirit really inhabited it? I felt a chill crawl up my spine like a spider in a haunted attic.
Next, the priest performed the rite of purification. Walking around the hall, he dipped a willow branch into a bowl and flicked sacred water onto the four corners while reciting an incantation that I believed nobody could understand—except maybe that stupid chicken. When the drops sprinkled on the children, they giggled as if being tickled. The adults forced smiles onto their faces, trying to look as joyous as if this were a real, blissful union.
After the purification, the priest placed on the altar a handkerchief in which was wrapped a lock of my hair, fingernail parings, and a piece of paper inscribed with my name and birthday. These were so my “husband” could touch his new bride. I felt a wave of nausea. Was Wang Xing’s ghost really going to touch me? Ugh!
The priest spoke in a far-from-comforting monotone. “Now I’ll summon Wang Xing to ascend to the
yang
world to enjoy all these treasures and offerings. After he devours all this food, accepts all these gifts, and most important, takes home his beautiful wife, Spring Swallow, he should be so happy and satisfied that he will not come back here to make other demands.”
Oh, Heaven, then what about me? What if Wang Xing would love me so much that he decided to drag me down to the
yin
world with him, or pull me so hard that only half of my body remained in the
yang
world while the other half became stuck in the
yin
realm? I cast a look at the wretched cock, and it returned a dirty glance, or so I imagined.
The priest continued muttering some Daoist sutras from thin, wrinkled lips as he performed equally incomprehensible hand gestures. Since it seemed unlikely that anybody in the temple hall understood even a single word he uttered, perhaps he was speaking in ghost language to my groom, and not to us, the living. Everyone watched with fascination, even the white cock. But he had no inkling that he was my groom, nor that I’d rather see him on my plate with black bean sauce than in my conjugal yet celibate bed!
As I felt a little relieved that the ceremony finally seemed to be at an end, I was hit by the priest’s announcement that another ritual was about to begin.
His voice was thick and authoritative. “Now that Spring Swallow and Wang Xing are officially husband and wife, Spring Swallow should bear him a son. And since she will be banned from being intimate with any other man for the rest of her life, the only means to give Wang Xing a son is through adoption.”
The guests clapped enthusiastically.
An old mother laughed. “Give Wang Xing a son!”
Another one yelled, “Yes, so the Wang family name can continue and prosper!”
A middle-aged man echoed, “An infertile woman is a barren land and is not welcomed in our temple!”
Didn’t anyone realize if I didn’t have a husband in the flesh, I would not have a son except through adultery? Yet everyone was clapping and shouting.
Waiting until all of the clamor died down, the priest spoke again. “Now we’re going to start the adoption ceremony.”
Wah,
without a man and without any notice, I was going to be a mother.
But I had no time to reflect, for the priest had already placed a contract of adoption on the altar next to my dead husband’s tablet. After some more gesturing and reciting, to my surprise, the priest announced the little boy who’d earlier asked me for candies and I were now mother and son. I almost threw up my lunch in shock! Oblivious to my emotions, the priest went on to read from a red scroll, announcing that from now on it would be the boy’s duty to make offerings to his new father as well as the rest of the Wang ancestors.
Two hours later, the chilling ceremony drew to a close, leaving everyone satisfied except me. The tricycle rickshaw was waiting. It was now time to visit the elderly relatives who—either handicapped, sick, or too old—could not attend this big, celebratory occasion. Red ribbons hung from the rickshaw’s small roof. If they were going to bring good luck to anyone, it wasn’t me.
Mean Aunt asked me to squeeze into the rickshaw with her and my mother-in-law. My husband the white cock was cuddled against my heaving chest—not from excitement but from horror. I stared at his crimson crown and felt a wave of disgust as it reminded me of the nonexistent virginal blood and the equally nonexistent union. The bird gave me another of his dirty looks. Did he want to fuck me? Didn’t he know that I’d already been “fucked,” not by a ghost, but by fate?
Fifteen minutes on the road I turned to both my aunt and my mother-in-law, urgently rubbing my stomach. “Aunty and Popo, I suddenly have stomach cramps, can I stop to relieve?”
“Why didn’t you go to the toilet before we left?” my aunt said with a scolding tone.
“Because I was too excited,” I lied.
My plump, richly attired mother-in-law patted my head. “My good daughter, calm down. Don’t you know by marrying into our house you’ll have endless tasty food and nice, embroidered clothes?”
“All right.” Now it was my aunt’s turn to cast me a dirty look—obviously not believing in my “excitement.”
However, she yelled to the cyclist in full throttle, “Stop! Our bride needs to pee!”
The man yelled back, “But there’s no toilet around!”
It was my turn to yell. “Doesn’t matter, just let me off where you see a knoll or tall grass.”
Another few minutes had passed when I finally spotted a range of small hills. “Right here, let me off, I can’t wait!” I screamed as loud as I could.
Without wasting a minute, I thrust the unfortunate bird onto my ghost husband’s mother’s lap and jumped off the vehicle.
The cyclist was discreet enough to pedal a few yards ahead of me so in case I had to take care of big business, the stink and the sight wouldn’t reach them.