White Lily (3 page)

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

N
ext 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

U
nder 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

W
hile 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.”