38. Confessions

The next day after my meeting with Dai Nam’s great-aunt, I asked Mother to sit down with me to plan for the wedding.

She looked uncomfortable.

“Ma, aren’t you happy that I’m getting married?”

“Of course. But…” She sighed. “I worry because he’s a gweilo.”

“Ma, stop being racist! What’s the difference, as long as Michael’s a nice person? Besides, don’t worry that you can’t get along with him. He knows more about Chinese culture than most Chinese do.”

Mother still looked upset.

Then I told her about Michael’s erudition in Chinese philosophy and art, that he was a good doctor, and finally, how he had saved my life during the fire in the Fragrant Spirit Temple.

“Ah! This gweilo saved your life?”

“Ma, I’ve told you his name is Michael.”

“All right, Mic Ko! So this Mic Ko saved your life and you’ve never told me that.” She paused, seemingly in deep meditation; then suddenly her eyes widened. “But you know what? I think it’s because you’re a lucky girl. Remember the villagers in Yuen Long regarded you as the reincarnation of Guan Yin? That’s why nothing can harm you. First you fell into the well, then this fire. Ah, so lucky, the Goddess of Mercy!” Mother looked at me admiringly while putting a strand of hair on my forehead in place. “So I think you’re the one who saved his life.”

“Ma, don’t be ridiculous, how-”

“Why do daughters never listen to their mothers?” Mother sighed, shaking her head. “Because your aura protected him and made him do the right thing, that’s how.”

I wanted to argue, but stopped myself. If that was what she would like to think, why shouldn’t I just let her enjoy her own notions?

“All right Ma, I saved his life.” I chuckled. “Now why don’t we start to plan for the wedding?”

Without answering me, Mother shot up from the sofa, dashed inside the bedroom, returned with a book in her hand, and plopped it down on the coffee table in front of me.

“What’s that?”

“Tong Sheng, silly girl,” Mother chided affectionately. “You think I’m not thinking about your wedding? I’ve got everything ready.”

I flipped through the book-Tong Sheng, literally “Sure Win,” is the most popular almanac for Chinese astrology. Mother always kept it in the house so she could look up and pick auspicious days, sometimes even moments, to do things right.

For Chinese, picking the right date is essential: for getting married, naming a new baby, starting a business, even starting a fire in the stove or getting a haircut.

“Thank you, Ma,” I said, and, to show my respect for her, helped her to sit down on the sofa.

Then Mother and I, two generations with the same face yet different temperaments, sat beside each other in a respectful manner and turned the pages of destiny.

For the first time we became of one heart and one mind.

“Wait just another moment,” Mother said. This time she hurried into the kitchen and returned with a tray.

She generously covered the coffee table with snacks, her favorites: roast melon seed, fried shrimp chips, pig-fat sweet cake, egg tart; and my favorites: Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut milk chocolate, peanuts coated with fried fish skin, and preserved plums. To my surprise, she even brought out a dozen of my adored ginger flowers.

“To purify the air for relaxation,” she said as she inhaled deeply from the velvety white petals.

“Ma-” I felt tenderness swelling inside. “Thanks for preparing all these.”

Mother chuckled. “Ha, don’t think that your mother is stupid. I’m not. You think I won’t realize that after all, gweilo or not gweilo, you’re getting married?”

Looking happy, Mother began to feast on the watermelon seeds. She would put the seed edgewise between her teeth, crack it open, slip in the whole seed, and spit out the husk in perfect condition, then noisily chew the kernel.

I’d tried, but could never learn how to split and eat the seeds expertly in one fluid movement as she did. I’d let the seed slip and bite my finger, or swallow the seed with the husk, or chew up both the husks and the kernel in an unpleasant-tasting mess.

Mother squinted at me triumphantly. “Ha, don’t know how to do that, eh? Mind you, there’re still a lot of things you don’t know about your own mother. Anyway, let’s have tea.” She paused to pour us full cups. “Remember? It’s the best Meng Ding tea I bought from that tea shop. I’ve also dropped in slices of ginseng to give you more qi to prepare for the wedding. Now, drink your tea. Let’s read the Tong Sheng and pick the day for your marriage.”

On the red cover of this Sure Win was printed the title The Mansion of All Treasures, and the logo “Encompassing Ten Thousand Items.” Under the title was the bulging-forehead Longevity God surrounded by three colorfully clad children holding up the giant peach of long life. Hovering above the old man was the bat of good luck, and behind him, the deer of wealth.

The scalding Meng Ding tea, heightened by the delicately bitter ginseng taste, put me in a more balanced mood. But when I picked up the one-thousand-page almanac it felt like a brick in my hands, its pages crowded with obscure passages and complex diagrams. How to understand it?

I opened the string-bound book and found this:

Nov. 11. Do’s: Make offering to ancestors, enter school, make friends, get engaged, get a haircut, sew clothes, see a doctor, move house, repair the ceiling, fix the door, clean the stove, buy a house, herd animals.

Don’ts: Brew wine, take off clothes, plough land.

Dec. 6. Do’s: Make offerings, pray for fortune, go for a trip, get married, move house, start a business, plough land, fix the stove, take off clothes, bury.

Don’ts: Style hair, open a pool, go through a well.

I caressed the teacup in my palms, feeling its heat. “Ma, how are we going to read all these strange expressions? What does it mean by going through a well? What is it to open a pool? And how come a day is suitable for marriage but not for styling one’s hair?”

“Ah, foreign-produced doctor.” Mother replaced the lid on her teacup, then squinted at me with a chiding expression. “When it comes to ancient wisdom, you’re but a child. Be patient, Meng Ning. Let’s first turn to the page for the month you plan to get married, and then look for a suitable day. Of course you don’t have to read through the whole book; in that case you can write a thesis and get another Ph.D. Besides, if this Tong Sheng can’t help, then we’ll look up another one. That’s why I bought four versions. Smart, eh?”

Suddenly Mother chortled, jabbing her sturdy finger on one passage while emphatically spitting out a string of perfect husks. “Ha, ha, look at this! The day is suitable to get married, but not to roast food. How can newlyweds not prepare roast pig for their wedding?”

“But why not?” I asked, popping several peanuts into my mouth.

“Because roasted pig, especially baby pig, is proof of the bride’s virginity!”

“Are you kidding?” I stopped chewing.

Straightening her lavender cotton pajamas, Mother picked up a pig-fat sweet cake and put on an authoritative air. “On the wedding night, only after the groom has verified his wife is a virgin, will his parents send roast pig to the guests the following day. Otherwise, everybody will know the bride was a wanton girl.”

“That’s stupid! The parents can still send out roasted pig, even if the bride is not a virgin. Who would know?” I said, washing down the peanut dregs with my tea and scorching my throat.

I grimaced and Mother scolded, “Watch out, Meng Ning! I’ve told you a hundred times not to drink scalding tea and you never listen.” Then she nibbled at her pig-fat cake with great affection and went on. “Yes, the guests might not, but the gods do, because the newlyweds also have to offer the pig to them…”