The Concubine's Daughter (5 page)

Females were not allowed in this room except to serve food and drink. The lingering odors of grand banquets mixed with the earthy smells of nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon. The fox fairy had never been so close to Yik-Munn, and was not quite sure who he was until this moment.

“I am your father. You are five years old today, old enough for me to tell you of your place in my household. You are a girl, but I have decided to fill your bowl for three more years. On your eighth birthday, you will go to stay with a great-uncle upriver and learn the silk trade.” He took a tiny bottle from his sleeve, tapped snuff on the back of his hand, and sniffed hard, pinching his nose. “The few coins that I will get for you will never recover your debt to me. You will repay me with your respect and obedience. If you cause no further trouble in this house, you will not be beaten, but you will earn your rice.” He reached into the sleeve of his robe and held out a flat, square package. “I have something for you.” Li-Xia took it from him with a bow so low she almost fell at his feet.

“You will repay me with your obedience and respect, but take great care; it is costly and not to be broken.” She took it carefully from its red paper wrapping, uncovering a colored tile with a single Chinese word upon it, hard and cold but quite pretty. Li-Xia studied it, tracing the shiny character with her fingertips, turning it over in her hands. It was the first gift she had ever received.

“It is a very nice tile, and I like it very much. But I cannot read it.”

´The word says ‘happiness.’ Now take it and be happy. Do not make me or your gracious aunties angry.”

“But I cannot read it for myself. Will you teach me to read?” The words tripped from her tongue before she could stop them.

Yik-Munn scowled darkly. She felt her smile snatched away as the happiness tile fell from her fingers and shattered loudly into many pieces on the hard stone floor. The sound of it smashing seemed to echo through the room and beyond its open windows. It seemed to Li-Xia as though the ground shook beneath her feet. Her father shot to his feet quickly, tall as a giant. His voice was loud with anger and shock.

You see? Even the gods are ashamed of you. They have struck the happiness
tile from your hand. You are a useless girl, a disappointment to me and to the ancestors. You must know your place in this house and in the world. Do not try to rise above it. Books are no business of yours.

These were the words that rang out within him. His arm twitched with the will to strike her, his teeth clenched as he looked down upon her with evident disgust. Instead, he thought before he spoke. Perhaps it was best, he told himself, to make a promise he knew he would never keep. He had found this to be useful when keeping a female in her place—to keep her never quite sure but always hopeful.

“Perhaps one day, when you are a little older, we may speak of it,” he said in an easier voice. “But first I have another gift for you—one far greater than the greatest book or the reading of words written by others. A gift that will turn you into a princess. I have decided to give you the feet of the golden lotus, as small and as beautiful as your mother’s.”

He spread his arms wide, the sleeves of his robe spread like the wings of a peacock. For less than a heartbeat, Li-Xia thought he would descend from his throne and reach for her. But he did not.

Li-Xia looked puzzled.
Has this child no gratitude?
He cupped his hands as though they cradled something very fragile but very, very precious.

When she continued to show no understanding, he waved a hand to dismiss her. “Go now. Perhaps one day, if you are respectful and never run away—if you obey me and your gracious aunties in all things—then perhaps you will be taught to read … even to write and count the beads of business.”

When she was gone, Yik-Munn sat back in his chair, reaching with an unsteady hand for the long-stemmed pipe carved from pig bone that rested on the table at his elbow. The tile, it seemed to him, had struck the floor with a force beyond the strength of a five-year-old child. He shook his head to clear the sound still ringing in his ears, forcing unwanted thoughts from his mind. From a pot no bigger than an eggcup he speared a small black bead on the tip of an ivory toothpick, fitting it carefully into the pipe’s tiny bowl.

Moments later his nerves were calmed, as thick blue smoke curled
from his nostrils. He had always considered lotus feet among the most enchanting charms a female could possess. Cheated of such delights by Number Four, he would give them to her child. It would increase her value a hundredfold.

His elder sister would be pleased to hear of his decision—she had first recommended Pai-Ling because she was known to wear the lotus slippers and would bring much-needed dignity to this family of clodhoppers.

He knew the process could take three years or longer to complete, but if the gods were with him, the lotus feet would be perfect—no more than three inches long—by her eighth birthday. They would be truly beautiful, ready to be unbound for the lucky hands of the silk merchant Ming-Chou.

But what if something went wrong in the process? Li-Xia would suffer greatly, with nothing to be done. She might even die, as one in ten did. Sometimes the feet became infected, and some lost toes or feet altogether—but it was well worth the risk. Lotus feet were a sound investment. Any female who had them would be no bother; her father, her husband, and then their sons would have complete control. The pain of walking more than a few short steps would always keep her close.

Yes, Li-Xia would have feet to dance upon the golden lotus, which would make up for the high price he had paid for her worthless mother. It was settled. That some said foot binding was forbidden did not concern him; such laws were made for those who lived in crowded cities and not for simple tillers of the soil.

The next day Yik-Munn opened the creaking door of the rice shed, the bright sun upon his back, his wives behind him carrying the things that they would need—bandages, a clay container filled with herbs, and a terra-cotta stove.

“Just as I promised, your aunties will make you as beautiful as any princess. You must be still for them and then perhaps I will let Number-Three Auntie teach you to read.” He turned away and was quickly gone, along with his promise.

She tried to hide when they came to wash her feet, darting from one pile of sacks to another and squeezing into dark and tiny places, calling loudly for her mother as they chased her as if she were a chicken ready for the pot. When she was finally caught and held, her feet thrust into the container of scalding herbs and grasped by the ankles, her screams drove the sparrows from the peppercorn tree: “Mah-Mah, Mah-Mahhhhh.”

“Your mother cannot hear you. She is lost in the wind.”

Number One’s voice rose high above the others as she slapped her hard across the cheek. Number Two honked like a goose as Li-Xia kicked against their grabbing hands, upsetting the clay pot and splashing the hot brown muck into their angry faces. An hour later, despite her struggles, the first bandages had been wound about her shins, binding her feet so tightly against a wooden paddle that her cries of pain caused the wives to cover their ears. They tied the bandages with secret knots, hard to find and thought to be impossible to remove except by the hands that bound them. The wives of Yik-Munn banged the door shut on grating hinges, sliding the big iron bolt on the outside.

They prayed to have this irksome business done with, yet knew too well it was just beginning. The bandaging of the fox fairy’s feet would continue for many months, until the supple bones were slowly bent or snapped, sinew and ligament drawn together ever tighter, until with infinite patience the heel would touch the toe and the bones would reset themselves to remain forever …
such pretty golden lotus feet
.

The torments of the process were well known to the three wives of Yik-Munn. This was not discussed; only the great benefits were considered. Lotus feet gave much pleasure and face to the lucky man who fondled them; the erotic tilt to his woman’s stance, the enticement of her tiny steps were pleasing to his eye and to those who envied him. Such a woman could be proud of this enhancement to her beauty in the interests of the man who possessed her. The saying “Lotus feet are lucky feet” was widely believed by those who did not have them.

For the first weeks Li-Xia was bound and gagged, released only to eat and wash and use the chamber pot. Both Number-One Wife and the
great Goo-Mah loudly agreed; if she was not tamed and taught her place, all manner of disasters could beset the household.

They dared not let the girl die, to be haunted by her vengeful spirit—or face the wrath of Yik-Munn, so determined to sell her at the highest possible price. He had already been to see the wealthy silk merchant Ming-Chou, a prefect of Kwangtung province and a very important man. Half the price in silver had already been paid, and the family Munn would forever lose face if she were not delivered on her eighth birthday as pure and beautiful as promised.

Still unnerved by the destruction of the happiness tile, Yik-Munn had not been to see Li-Xia since the foot binding began. He had to admit that he was disturbed by the child’s presence. Leaving her to the women, he spent his time listening to gossip in the village tea house, walking his caged songbirds in the public park, playing checkers, or pushing hands in the way of tai chi chuan with old friends. His afternoon pipe became more frequent, and more hours were spent chasing the dragon than ever before. Often he stayed the night in the house of his mistress, who showed such compassion and understanding of his many difficulties, always waiting with tonic wine and his favorite pickles.

But nothing freed him from the spell the fox fairy had cast upon him. He played mah-jongg but lost heavily, and there was nothing his mistress could do to revive his passions. The women began to fear for his mind. So sure was he that unfriendly spirits were abroad on Great Pine, he left the running of the farm to his sons and control of the demon child to his wives. To escape their poisoned tongues, he went to live with his brother until he could be rid of this injustice forever.

W
hen the wives came
to throw open the door and let in the light, Li-Xia was prepared for them and began squealing as soon as she heard the rattle of the latch, her squeal so loud and shrill it hurt her own ears. She quickly learned to flex her toes inside the binding, to use all her strength against the hands that held her—to fight so hard that they were careless, eager to be done with her. When they slammed the door behind them, she relaxed her feet inside their cruel trap, moving her toes slightly but constantly until they tingled.

Alone in the shed, with the patience of a spider spinning its web, Li-Xia had learned to free her hands and pick at the foot bindings to find their secret. After endless nights she had figured out how to unwind them and rub her feet until the blood returned and the pain eased, then to test them on the floor. This way she could find some sleep. When the first cock crowed, she bound them again but not so tightly.

The wives came only once a week to remove the bindings. They had learned to let the mixture in the herb pot cool a little and were less rough in their handling of her. Li-Xia pretended not to fear them, kicking and crying less, each time asking the same questions.

“Where is my mother?” And every time, Number Three would say the same thing: “She is at rest in the ginger field. You must try to forget her.”

“Nonsense.” Number One would snort impatiently. “Your mother seeks her lost ancestors. The gods do not see her, just as they will not see you because you are her daughter.”

“Where do the gods and the ancestors live?”

“In the spirit room,” Number Two would reply as sharply as she could.

Wives One and Two felt little guilt over the terrible death of Li-Xia’s mother. There was nothing they could have done to prevent it; the door to her room had been locked by Yik-Munn himself and only he held the key.

Of the three wives, Number Three was the kindest. It was a kindness more felt than shown, a silent pact that built with every visit, so strong between them that Li-Xia began to lose her dread of pain. The throwing open of the door—the gush of air and the blaze of light and sound—became less terrifying. It was clear by the touch and looks of Number Three that she knew the bandages had been loosened, but she spoke no word and made no sign to show it.

She had a name that was never used. Like any respectable man of substance, Yik-Munn referred to his wives by numbers, as he did his many sons. She was from a faraway place and looked different from the other wives. She did not have the broad, flat features of the Hakka peasant, but a smoother brow and a rounder chin and a strong mouth that almost never smiled.

Number Three had been the first to speak to Li-Xia without anger, and had whispered the secret of her name when she came to fill a basket with dried mushrooms.

“My name is Ah-Su. I am from the island of Hainan. Never call my name or speak of it, but keep it in your heart and know that I do not hurt you more than I must. I will help you.”