Authors: Victoria Delderfield
“Your wife should not have gone to so much effort,” said Mr Quifang.
Madam Quifang shuffled her stool closer to mine, so that our knees brushed.
“We cannot stay long, winter is a very busy time. Besides, we have not come for a banquet.” She nodded in my direction. “Girl, I will start with your feet; take off your boots.”
Mother gave a solemn, approving nod.
“Come now,” said Madam Quifang, “no need for shyness, it is important we make doubly sure.”
A sudden wind brayed at the door as if
Nian,
the beast, had come early. I unlaced my boots and removed the newly darned socks. My toes were the colour of frosted violets and I recoiled as her icy fingers prodded the bones in my outstretched foot.
“Hm, as I feared.”
“What is it?” Mother asked.
Madam Quifang stiffened. “The girl’s feet are broad. A narrow foot shows wealth, a broad foot is … I cannot allow a peasant’s foot to rest under my table. I’m sorry husband, but our family doors must be of equal size.”
She sat up quickly and jerked my head to one side so that I yelped. “Here, look at this nose! How can I trust my wealth to a girl with such a nose?”
Mother stooped to tend the fire. “But Madam Quifang, you’re overlooking something important.” She nudged a large log in the grate with the poker. “Surely the matchmaker told you?”
Madam Quifang let go of my chin and I felt the blood return. “Told me what?”
“About my daughter’s forehead; see for yourself how high her brow is, how good she is at hard labour? Surely this is what’s required of a daughter-in-law?”
Daughter-in-law!
“Stand up, girl, I can’t inspect you sitting down.”
My legs felt weak. Madam Quifang clapped her hands across my apron and pawed at the place where babies grow – the place Mother called an ‘infant’s palace’. Recoiling, I realised she was assessing its proportion to my hips; my potential to produce a grandson.
The soup bubbled noisily on the stove – wild garlic and ginger. It reminded me of the woods above the farm where I liked to play with Little Brother. It was four o’clock, he was late home from school – where was he? I wanted to give him the family of figurines I had finished that morning. Had he been instructed to stay away?
Mr Quifang signalled for his wife to stop. “Child, I want you to answer me this: what is your opinion of marriage?”
What was I supposed to say? My daydreams of falling in love were the fairytale my life could never be.
Mother’s hand pecked behind my back for the correct answer.
“An affectionate couple cannot live together to the end of their lives,” I blurted.
“Do you mean to say that a man and wife should not be affectionate?” said Mr Quifang.
I nodded unconvincingly.
Madam Quifang clapped. “It is a wise child that knows marriage is a duty.”
“Our daughter has been raised correctly,” said Father.
“She will bring your family honour,” praised Mother.
As they talked I withdrew to the sink with the empty baijiu cups and stared into the thickening snow.
Mr Quifang followed, wanting a light for his cigarette. “I see some of the logs are set aside,” he said. “Why is this?”
I lit his cigarette from the stove and passed it to him. “I save the smaller logs for Spring Festival,” I said.
“For fuel?”
“No. Little Brother and I make figurines. I make up stories for him.”
“Stories about dutiful marriages?”
I slipped my hand inside my pocket and clenched the figurines. I wouldn’t let him take them away.
Mr Quifang’s tobacco smelt rich and smooth compared to Father’s. “Child, my son needs a sincere and loving wife if he’s to become an honourable man. So many girls have left to work in the city. They know nothing of its dangers, nor do they understand they will be tricked into brothels and never heard of again. You are one of the wise girls to have stayed home, and we do not want a bare branch on the Quifang family tree.”
I shuddered. What would it be like marrying a coffin maker? I imagined Li Quifang’s hands would smell of embalming fluid as he touched me, the smell of rotting flowers. A tight bud of desperation formed in my throat.
Madam Quifang unfolded a large sheet of paper over Grandmother’s bowls on the table. “It is time to consult the astrology chart – let us see what
Gaotang
says of the union,” she said.
My name was scrawled next to Li Quifang’s. The matchmaker’s calligraphy was rushed and had smudged.
Madam Quifang ran a neat, clean finger down the chart. “Let’s see … here we have it … the Goddess of Love predicts the marriage should fall after the Spring Festival, on the second day of the second month in the lunar year and not a moment later. It is all here. She is to come to me.”
Mother nodded.
“It is so,” said Father.
“Mai Ling?” said Mr Quifang. “Do you accept the will of your mother and father, the will of my son and of our family?”
“Speak child,” said Madam Quifang. “To marry my son is the greatest opportunity of your life.”
But I could no more speak than marry their awful son. I pushed past Madam Quifang and rushed out of the kitchen, brimming with tears.
Outside, the sky was a shiver of ivory. I ran past the old sow tethered miserably to her post, her husband dead in the deep pit upstairs, and down the frozen path which led out of the gate.
No, no, no
my heart beat out. The astrology chart is wrong; the matchmaker is a silly crow. I could never love Li Quifang or live in a house of souls. I would run to the woods where the garlic grows and when I reached the clearing – keep on running.
Benny’s motorbike headlights flickered through the black palings of the trees.
Cousin Zhi hugged herself. “About bloody time.”
It was well after midnight. We’d been waiting in the lane for more than an hour. Sharp air needled my ears. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wriggled my toes. The ground was hard with frost. I checked the farm in case a light came on and Mother charged out to find me wriggling away from my destiny. She was always the first to rise; at five o’clock her sock-feet would tramp downstairs to make Father’s flask of tea. She’d notice straight away: I was missing from my
k’ang.
However, the longer we waited in the freezing cold, the more I thought: running away stinks, marrying Li Quifang (and his mother) wasn’t so bad. I would be free from the boring chores on the farm and the drudgery of housework. My husband, Li Quifang, would inherit his father’s wealth and I could have new clothes and a comfy bed. Then I remembered the time I saw Li Quifang tormenting a chicken by tying its legs as he prodded it with a stick all the way to school. I did not want to be his chicken.
Benny’s engine growled. “What are you waiting for, babe? Climb on.”
And there was no more time for thinking. I perched behind Zhi and slipped my hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. Her hair whistled in my face as we sped through the dark valley, so fast it felt like holding the corners of the wind.
I was travelling light: my newly carved wooden figurines, a few jumpers and clothes. I wore everything I owned in layers. My feet bulged with woollen socks, some stolen from Mother.
By dawn, the station was rammed with students and workers returning to the city after Spring Festival. Most were in their late teens and early twenties. By thirty a girl was too old for the factory, Zhi said. Around every corner I saw Li Quifang and his mother, but of course they were not there; no-one from the valley would make an insane train journey to the city at this time of year, unless it was to work.
Zhi gave Benny a lingering kiss and we squeezed through a horde of men. Someone grabbed me by the arm and I spun round, my coat zipper caught in the electric fan heater he carried. The men sniggered and I pulled free. I clutched Zhi’s hand until we were safely inside the station foyer where the air was humid and the high glass dome dripped like a peasant’s brow. At least seven rows of people queued at the ticket booths, many stooped hunch-backed, burdened with cubes of clothing, portable radios and rucksacks. One man bore a yoke of vacuum cleaners across his shoulders.
“You have got the money I gave you, haven’t you Cousin?” said Zhi as we joined the queue.
I felt in my coat pocket for the
hongbao.
Three nights had passed since we lay side by side in my too-small
k’ang
on New Year’s Eve and she’d given me three hundred yuan! More money than I’d held in my life. With it, I was free from the arranged marriage to Li Quifang. I had barely slept with that red envelope inside my pillowcase and Zhi’s promises in my ear.
“Hey, Zhi!” A loud whistle echoed through the crowds.
“Fatty! How you doing?”
I peered over to where a thin woman with dark skin bobbed above the crowds, lifted like a champion wrestler.
“You’re not the only one going up in the world Zhi!” She laughed throatily and disappeared into the crowd.
Zhi’s accent had changed since working in the city; her bold, thick lips refined by pearly pink lipstick, her eyebrows, now plucked thin, looked surprised to find themselves so high above her eyes. Her eye shadow shimmered in the washed-out winter light. Money had made her brand new. I wanted it to make me new too.
Up ahead, green guards infiltrated the lines and held people back. A tannoy crackled in the dome.
“Passengers waiting to validate a ticket must wait in line. Any passenger without a valid ticket must leave the foyer immediately. No passenger will be allowed to buy tickets for today’s travel.”
“Now what?”
“They do this every time,” Zhi said.
“But I’ve not got a ticket.”
A uniformed guard passed down our line. Several of the passengers fell away. We shifted closer to the barrier. I clutched the red envelope. For a moment, I wished to be home, hiding in my
k’ang.
I could forget about the city, the bustle and friends, the factory and wages Zhi bragged about. It wasn’t too late to beg forgiveness.
A whistle blew. The queues broke down. The foyer echoed with shouts. A swathe of guards tightened in; a man with vacuum cleaners was dragged to one side along with many others. I felt someone yank my arm.
“Quick,” said Zhi, dragging me out of the chaos. “Now’s our chance.”
We ran towards the barrier. Where Zhi darted, I followed, dodging sideways through the crowds. The air was cooler, and I felt a gust whip across my face. I heard the low thrum of the train’s engine. Zhi dropped her rucksack.
“Leave it,” she shouted, shinning her way up the barrier. “Take my hand.”
“I’m not tall enough. I don’t have the strength.”
“Yes you do, little wimp.”
A voice called out from the crowd. A young man in a suit pointed at us. “They’ve not paid! Stop them! They’re getting away!”
“Mai Ling, hurry up, I can’t hold you.”
I was almost to the top when Zhi pulled me over by the hood of my coat. I landed hard and ran, limping, onto the platform. Zhi was already on the train, beckoning me. I held out my hand and she hauled me into the cram of squashed faces and limbs.
“Mind your back,” said a young woman as the door swung shut like a coffin lid.
A whistle blew. The train spat out steam and shunted. I lurched into a stranger’s armpit. Zhi was nowhere to be seen as the train crept away from Hunan – and everything familiar.
To my left swayed a man with ratted, greasy hair and dandruff dusted across the shoulder pads of his black suit jacket. To my right, a woman sighed and ground her teeth, which set me on edge. We lurched as the train picked up speed, clattering forwards.
One-and-two-and-three-and-
I counted five minutes before shifting the weight off my sore ankle. There was no air and sweat pooled at the base of my spine. When we reached the fourth or fifth stop, the man with the dandruff got off and I left my place by the door. Half the space was taken up with piles of suitcases and bundles of washing. Eventually, I spotted Zhi in the gangway of the next carriage.
“You look pale, Cousin. Here, chew this.” Zhi unwrapped a silver stick of foil and held out something I’d never seen before. “It’s called
Wrigley’s.
Don’t swallow, otherwise it’ll get twisted around your heart.” Her eyes glinted.
The air was cooler in the carriage. Night had thinned into a pale band across the distant hills and a winter breeze from an open window tickled my face. I let my shoulders relax. Nearby, two studious-looking boys played rummy. The one closest was about to win. He had inquisitive, deep-set eyes that reminded me of Father’s. I wondered which village he was from.
Zhi chomped her gum. “We’ll have to buy you some new gear, Mai Mai, you can’t turn up for an interview looking like a greasy hat – even though you are.”
I reached into my coat for the red envelope, excited about the shops and the idea of my own salary. My plan was to send enough of my wages back to Mother and Father to buy their forgiveness and lift them from shame.
“What’s the matter?” asked Zhi.
“It’s the envelope, Cousin. I had it in my hand a minute ago … I …”
“Mai Ling?”
My ankles gave way, my knees buckled and the train became blackness.
When I came round, an old man was staring down his nose at me. I’d fainted on his copy of the
Sanxiang City Daily.
Zhi knelt by my side. “Give her room to breathe.”
“This girl isn’t fit to travel,” grimaced the man.
“Don’t be so hard, this is her first time by train,” said Zhi.
He shook out his paper and shuffled up.
I held onto the bench and pulled myself in beside him, apologising.
“How many fingers?” Zhi waved three in front of my nose. “Now watch this.” She moved her index finger in a pendulum. “
Tsk!
Your temperature’s not good. You need to drink more.”
The studious boy coughed. “Excuse me. I have a flask of green tea, if your friend would like some?”
“Really? Give it here will you?” said Zhi.
He produced a cup from his knapsack and began to pour some of the steaming tea. The movement of the train unsteadied his hand and the liquid spilled onto his shirt sleeve. He fumbled for a handkerchief and hurriedly dabbed it away without a fuss.