White Lily Read online

  If it were not for Nai-nai’s intercession and Mother’s firm reminder that Fu-gui was their only son, Fu-gui would have been sent away to the Imperial Army for contradicting and disobeying his father.

  Meanwhile, during her many sleepless nights, White Lily thought over her father’s words again and again until they spun around in her head. She gazed at the ceiling for hours in the darkness, wishing with her whole heart that she could find a solution, or a miracle.

  One morning, when the first light gilded the top of the willow tree, a thought landed in her mind. Later, while walking stiffly on a paddy dike, holding Fu-gui’s arm for support, she told him her idea.

  That evening, according to the plan she and Fu-gui had worked out, White Lily made a solemn pledge to Nai-nai, her mother, and her father. She would cause them no further trouble, she promised. She would no longer loosen or unwrap the bandages as she had done whenever she had a chance. She assured them that she had finally come to accept her bound feet. “The rice has been cooked,” she quoted her father’s saying. “And I also promise to bathe and rebind my feet by myself.”

  Nai-nai and Father happily agreed, with great relief. But Mother, who knew White Lily best, wondered.

  White Lily’s compliance brought back the usual peacefulness to the Lee household and regained the satisfaction and approval of the merchant.

  7

  If Fu-gui had been praised as an obedient and dutiful son by the villagers, he was admired more nowadays as a caring big brother. When White Lily was able to walk on her own, she was frequently seen hobbling around the village with Fu-gui at her side, like an inseparable shadow. Sometimes they traversed the paddy dikes; at others they lingered by the lily ponds. They always ended their daily walks at the riverbank, where they would sit and while away the rest of the afternoon, continuing their seemingly endless conversations. When one pair of lips ceased moving, the other pair went on. They would trail their fingers in the loose black sand, up and down, left and right, sometimes rapidly, sometimes snail-like, as if in slow motion. Anyone who approached them closely enough would see the brother and sister locked in a game of “Xs and Os.” But after the curious villager passed by, the game was swept from the sand, and the fingers danced again.

  Spring’s blossoms burst forth and drifted away on the breeze. The stove-heat of summer came and went, and another lily season passed, making way for the chilly rains of autumn. As New Year approached, White Lily looked forward to her “eighth birthday.” For nearly two years now, ever since she had made her promise, White Lily had looked after wrapping, unwrapping, soaking, and oiling her feet on her own. Nai-nai had warned her many times of the grave consequences if the bindings were not carefully maintained: not only would all her pain and misery have been wasted, she would live in sorrow and regret for the rest of her life. “By then no tears, even as much as heaven can hold, will reduce the size of your feet.”

  Father and Nai-nai were so pleased with White Lily’s diligence that they chose not to point out that her feet appeared too thickly bandaged. Her insteps, mounded like two small, round hills, seemed to grow plumper as each month passed. Mother watched her daughter closely, but she kept her doubts to herself.

  The family was preparing a grand festivity for this New Year because White Lily’s father would turn forty. Tradition dictated that if there was no great celebration on a man’s fortieth birthday, he would have no future prosperity. Consequently, the Lee family and their guests enjoyed a lavish dinner that went on for hours, and afterward, the detonations of fireworks echoed inside the courtyard and up and down the alleyways. Across the village, small firecrackers, hung in long strings from the tips of bamboo poles, popped and crackled in the dark sky. The festivities went on late into the evening.

  White Lily and Fu-gui joined the celebration, anxiously yet fearfully waiting to make their own explosion.

  8

  Next morning, after a festive breakfast of steamed sticky-rice cakes molded into animal shapes, and boiled round dumplings stuffed fat with sweet red bean paste Father, Nai-nai, Mother, and the merchant and his wife, along with other guests — officials and landlords from the neighboring villages — retired to the sitting room. Fu-gui, the heir of Master Lee, joined them.

  After tea was served and more sweets were passed around, Fu-gui whispered quietly, “Father, it’s a big day for you. If she may, White Lily has prepared something to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “Of course, of course,” his father agreed, his face bright with pleasure. “Let her in.”

  Gingerly, White Lily toddled into the room and made a deep bow before her father. Regaining her balance, she announced in a quavering voice, “Father, as my present to you on this remarkable day, I would like to recite a poem from the Tang Dynasty.” Looking straight ahead, she began:

  “Quiet Night Thoughts.”

  White Lily stopped, overwhelmed by the strange stillness around her. She threw a nervous glance at Fu-gui, who raised his eyebrows and beamed from ear to ear.

  “Bright moonbeams glimmer beside my bed Like frost on the ground.

  Raising my head, I gaze at the moon between the mountains.

  Casting my eyes downward, I miss my old home town.”

  Reluctant applause from the guests followed as her last syllable fell. White Lily bowed formally one more time, smiling broadly.

  But the merchant and his wife, unhappy with this breach of tradition, scowled at one another. Nai-nai and Mother, their mouths gaping, sat dumbfounded. Everyone’s eyes focused on Master Lee, awaiting his reaction to this unusual event.

  Master Lee stood up and walked toward White Lily. “Good effort, good effort, my daughter,” he said loudly. “You have made that ancient poem sound fresh and interesting.”

  His words sent a wave of relief through the room. Mother and Nai-nai seemed to relax, White Lily saw from the corners of her eyes. But the merchant and his wife remained stone-faced as they resumed their chat with the guests next to them.

  “Father,” White Lily said calmly, gathering all of her courage, “I am very grateful for your kind words. Please, if I may, I would like to present to you one more tribute.”

  An awkward silence fell. Nervous glances were exchanged. Mother, in particular, sat stiffly, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. Master Lee approved with a slight nod and took his seat.

  9

  Under the watchful eyes of the onlookers, Fu-gui quickly set a small table in the center of the room and placed on it an ink stone, a cup of water, a black ink stick, and a writing brush. He carefully rolled up his right sleeve, wet the stone’s surface, and began to rub the ink stick against it. When the ink turned black and thick, White Lily knelt at the table, facing her father, and unrolled a scroll of blank rice paper. Her hand quivered slightly as she picked up the writing brush and dipped its point into the ink. She let out a long, silent sigh before she began to write. Her mouth turned and twisted along with the moving brush, under which each word appeared neat and even: Happy birthday!

  “White Lily.” Father stood up, attempting to control his astonishment. “This … this must have taken years of practice. How … ?” For the first time in his service for the dynasty, he found himself unable to finish a sentence in public. Instead, he shot a displeased glance at his wife, who appeared as astounded as her husband.

  Nevertheless, White Lily felt encouraged. “Father, I have Brother Fu-gui to thank. You’re right. My poor skill didn’t come overnight. And here is the proof.”

  Waiting for no further approval, White Lily reached down and pulled off her shoes. She skillfully unknotted the cotton strip and loosened the bandages on her feet, releasing a bundle of rice-paper squares that fell to the floor like snowflakes and settled around her feet. On each bit of paper, words had been written, some as big as frogs, others no larger than houseflies.

  From the watchers rose ooohs and aaahs and other expressions of shock and dismay. Nai-nai sat frozen to her seat, hands covering her face in humiliation. The
merchant and his wife, shaking with anger, stormed rudely out of the room, setting the paper squares swirling around one more time. Mother looked on, her face blank and unreadable.

  “What’s happened, my daughter?” Father quickly approached White Lily, his hands clasped behind his back. “Why did you break your own promise after the agony and turmoil we have all gone through? How dare you, at such a young age, go against centuries-old tradition and bring shame to the family and risk your own future?”

  Everyone held back their breath and focused their attention on White Lily.

  “Father, I beg your forgiveness,” White Lily pleaded, remaining on her knees. Meanwhile, the words she had rehearsed many times with her brother for this occasion rushed into her mind. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Nai-nai, Mother, or anyone else. All I ask from you is no more than you offer to Brother Fu-gui, and I will return nothing less than you expect from him.” She stopped to catch a breath and continued. “Father, I, too, want to be a scholar, and my effort hasn’t been in vain. Look.”

  So saying, White Lily removed the last strip of cloth, revealing to every staring eye her bare feet —her far-too-big feet. They were Three-Inch Golden Lilies no more. Her curved toes had already made a comeback, assuming their natural position. It was obvious that the bulky, “growing” mounds covered by White Lily’s shoes for the past two years had been the folded bits of paper on which she had practiced her calligraphy. And in return, the paper squares had provided much needed air and space for her feet to grow.

  “Father, please don’t be angry at me or Brother Fu-gui. I just want to learn to read and write so that one day I may become like you, a scholar and a respected official in charge of a village, or a successful businessperson like Uncle Merchant, or if I wish, like Nai-nai and Mother, a mother and wife, taking care of a household.” So saying, she looked at her mother, who was now trying her hardest not to show the pride she felt for her daughter.

  White Lily thought for a moment as she recalled how hard Fu-gui had tried to explain those strange words to her in plain language and how difficult they had appeared for her to speak them properly, let alone keep in her mind. Now the well-rehearsed terms had come out of her mouth quite naturally, as if she herself had originated them. Her eyes brightened as she declared, “Yes, a chance. An opportunity. That’s what I want.”

  Flabbergasted, her father slowly turned and left the room.

  10

  While fireworks exploded in the velvet-black sky across the village, White Lily and Fu-gui stared at the candlelight gleaming inside their father’s study. The guests had departed. Nai-nai and Mother waited restlessly in the sitting room. When one sat down, the other got up, tottering in circles on cramped feet.

  Inside the study, Father sat at his desk before an open book, but turned no pages. Every word White Lily had said that morning came back to his mind, bringing memories of the past. He recalled his own youth, when, contrary to his father’s wishes, he had decided to be a respected scholar. He had studied in secret, deep into the night, to prepare for the Imperial Civil Service Examinations, through which he could win an eminent position in the service of the emperor. And he remembered vividly how he had asked forgiveness from his father when the imperial edict arrived, announcing his success. His father’s anger and disappointment had tasted bitter in his mouth. But before the day had ended, understanding had prevailed, and finally his father had given voice to his pride in his son. Master Lee felt dampness in his eyes as he thought about White Lily, who dared to challenge the rules under much harsher conditions than his, secretly learning to read and write.

  There was a soft tap at the door. Fu-gui came in, followed by White Lily. “Father, I am older and I am responsible for everything that has happened,” Fu-gui murmured, kneeling in front of his father. “But times are changing and old rules are giving way to new ones as you yourself have taught me.” Taking his father’s silence for approval, he went on. “Last week in the village market I saw two men who had cut off their pigtails, defying the law. Yet they were not bothered by the soldiers. I also heard at school that people are questioning some old traditions in posters pasted on walls all over the country.”

  White Lily, kneeling side by side with Fu-gui, marveled at her brother’s eloquence. She watched as her father stood and looked down at Fu-gui with emotion.

  “Son, I have thought this matter over. I am proud of you for what you and your sister have done.” He then turned to White Lily, his voice softened. “And I am particularly proud of you, White Lily. Yes, let your feet be free and your mind too.”

  “Father,” White Lily quickly jumped to her feet, her eyes sparkling, “are you saying …?” She stopped, pressed her lips together as if trying to weigh the rest of the words before they were let out.

  Her father smiled.

  “Yes, White Lily,” Fu-gui interrupted, “you are going …” But before her brother completed his sentence, White Lily dashed out of the study and charged into the sitting room where Mother and Nai-nai watched her wide-eyed, unable to believe what they saw.

  “Mother, Nai-nai,” the cheerful girl burst out, “Father said that I am going to school to learn to read and write.”

  Nai-nai mumbled, sadly shaking her head. “I have never heard such a thing in my whole life. You can’t possibly —”

  “Yes, you can,” Mother said firmly as she stood up and held White Lily in her arms. “My daughter, I am so happy for you. I wish I had had your courage when I was your age.”

  “Mother, you do have courage. No other mothers would have done what you did for me. I knew it all along,” White Lily whispered.

  With her mother and Nai-nai each placing a hand on one of White Lily’s shoulders for support, the three of them made their way to the courtyard. They stopped in front of the lily pond, where White Lily took a deep breath before she looked up at the clear evening sky. She shouted, the hardest she ever did: “I am free! I am going to school with my brother, Fu-gui!” Her ringing voice traveled over the rice paddies, across lily ponds and canals, and into the distance. It was even louder than the blasts of the firecrackers.

  Afterword

  Legend says that the custom of binding women’s feet started during the Tang Dynasty (618–907). A concubine who danced in front of the emperor swirled around on feet that were wrapped tightly with strips of silk cloth. Her graceful steps, light as feathers and swift as clouds, were attributed to her bound feet. She gave such pleasure to the emperor that other women began to bind their feet. The practice became widespread during the Song Dynasty (960–1279). By the Ming era (1368–1644), foot-binding was the norm, especially among women of “good family.” In fact, some feudal rulers issued decrees against unbinding.

  The process began when a girl was four or five years old, before the bones of her feet were fully formed. Her four small toes had to be bent under and against the sole of the foot; her big toe was also folded in. The foot was then tightly wrapped with strips of cloth to hold the toes in place, at the same time to prevent the foot from growing. By all accounts, the pain was constant and excruciating, lasting for years as the girl matured, and continuing to give discomfort all her life.

  The misshapen feet were called “golden lilies” by the Chinese. “Three-inch feet” (about ten centimeters) were a sign of subordination and considered a mark of a woman’s beauty. The smaller the pointed feet were, the better. Of course, “golden lilies” were also a symbol of caste, showing a woman’s social class.

  Not only were her feet distorted, the woman could not walk normally. Her walk was very slow and awkward; her legs were bowed, her feet pointed outward. Therefore, she had to stay in or near her home.

  Although opposition to the custom swelled with the revolutions of 1911 and 1919, not until the Liberation in 1949, when the communists took power, was foot-binding abolished.

  My story takes place in the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911), the last imperial kingdom in Chinese history, which produced ten emperors in nine generations ove
r 267 years.

  White Lily may have escaped the suffering, but many women did not. And one of them was my Great-Aunt Phoenix Sister, whose memory accompanied me as I was creating the story.

  I was brought up mainly by Great-Aunt. In spite of her so-called “quality of appearance” and her bound feet, she didn’t have a “good marriage and secure future,” as was predicted when she begged her parents to take off the painful bandages. Instead, after her two failed arranged marriages, Great-Aunt was cast out of her family and village, and ended up living with my family as an “old maid” at the age of twenty-three.

  Great-Aunt never once called her bound feet “Three-Inch Golden Lilies” or “Teardrops.” As a little girl I called them “Ginger-roots” instead, because that was how they appeared to me: wrinkled and twisted, and often giving off an unpleasant smell. I recall many nights when, before going to bed, I watched Great-Aunt soak her tired feet in a wooden basin. On many occasions, I sat with her in total silence because that was what she preferred. She ignored my curiosity and my many whys.

  When I was older, I was able to help her. On cold winter nights, for instance, I would bring her a thermos bottle or add hot water to the basin to keep her feet warm. Yet when sweltering summer nights arrived in Shanghai, when the temperature stayed above 90 degrees Fahrenheit, the soaking of her feet became a miserable ordeal. I would then, holding an oversized banana leaf in each of my hands, fan Great-Aunt as she tended to her feet.

  Soaking was essential, Great-Aunt explained to me. The softened feet would make her task a bit easier: trimming off the old skin around her heels and clipping ingrown toenails. Since she walked on her heels, partially supported by her four bent-under toes, her moving around produced a remarkable pounding on the wooden floor in our apartment. My family lived on the second level, and the neighbors below told us they were able to trace the whereabouts of Great-Aunt when she was at home. But they never made any fuss about the thumping over their heads.