Part 33 (2/2)
”That's stupid! The parents can still send out roasted pig, even if the bride is not a virgin. Who would know?” I said, was.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.ds do, because the newlyweds also have to offer the pig to them....”
Mother eyed me suspiciously, dropped her cake, and blurted out, ”Meng Ning, did you follow my advice to put the cup of water between you and your Mic Ko?”
”Ma! Please stop your nonsense and concentrate on planning for my wedding.”
”All right, all right,” she sighed, now picking up an egg tart. ”Hai! But for me, neither the guests nor the G.o.ds knew, for I didn't even have a...ah, forget it.” But for me, neither the guests nor the G.o.ds knew, for I didn't even have a...ah, forget it.”
I knew she meant the wedding she'd never had. I reached to pat her hand.
”But it doesn't matter anymore, for now my daughter is going to have a really big and fancy one.”
”No, Ma, I don't want anything fancy, only something gracious, simple, and cozy.”
Mother's eyes began to shoot out daggers. ”No, Meng Ning, listen to me. You're going to have a big, fancy wedding. And you'd better get that French cla.s.sical courtstyle wedding gown worn by Sally Yeh we saw the other day.”
We kept arguing until finally I blurted out, ”Ma, it's my wedding, not yours, so can't you just let me decide what to wear?”
Mother shut up right away. Suddenly I realized the reason she wanted something fancy was not for me, but for herself.
Feeling terribly guilty, I refreshed her tea. ”Ma, I'm very sorry.”
There was a long silence before she said, ”I forgive you.” She drained her tea to acknowledge my apology. ”All right, now let's pick the day.”
After Mother had consulted the four almanacs for quite some time, with a thick felt pen she circled the auspicious day on each of them as well as on the calendar propped up by the radio.
”But, Ma, it's too close. I don't think we have enough time to prepare.”
Mother looked at me sharply. ”This is the best day. Otherwise you have to wait a long time. Silly girl. Quick battle, quick victory. So never make a man wait till he changes his mind-you understand?” Then she squinted at me. ”And don't ever discard ancient wisdom like you do old calendars.”
I knew she said this because in the past, whenever she'd looked up the Tong Sheng, I'd sneer. ”Ma, the only way to a sure win, according to ancient Daoist wisdom, is by losing. Less is more; we lose in order to win.”
She'd shut me up by saying, ”Tst, tst, lose to win? What kind of crazy logic is this? You lose your mind to win your mother's argument just to make her lose face?”
But now I felt happy to pick my wedding date as recommended by the Sure Win, for, like my mother, I couldn't afford to be careless, not at thirty, and not for such a big thing in my life.
I wanted to steer my marriage s.h.i.+p with Michael safely for ten thousand years.
”Excellent,” Mother said. ”This is the best day to get married, and you'll have a good, happy, and long-lasting marriage. With five almanacs arriving at the same lucky day, believe me, Meng Ning, there won't be any chance for mistakes.” She cautiously sipped her imperial tea with a matching imposing air before she continued. ”You see, Meng Ning, I really don't understand how some people are so foolish as to pick their wedding date at random without consulting our ancestors' wisdom.”
Instead of responding to her unique logic, I sucked hard at a piece of ginseng, relis.h.i.+ng its stimulating flavor.
”But too bad-” Mother suddenly caught herself in midsentence.
”Too bad what?”
”No, nothing.”
”What is it, Ma?”
”Too bad-” she blurted out again, ”that I didn't need to look up the Tong Sheng for my wedding, for...I didn't have one.”
”Ma, I'm sorry.”
A beat or two pa.s.sed before she suddenly asked, changing the subject, ”You remember No Name who became a nun?”
”Of course, Ma. What about her?”
”She did have a name.”
”That's not surprising; what was it?”
”Li Yuan.”
”Beautiful Cloud?”
”Yes.” Mother's eyes darted around as she went on. ”Besides, I've been lying to you...she was not the daughter of your great-great-grandfather.”
”What do you mean?” My heart raced. ”Then who is she? And...Ma, why are you suddenly telling me this?”
”Because-”
”Because what?”
Mother sighed. ”Because since you're getting married, I'm obliged to make some confessions before you become someone else's wife and daughter.”
Before I had a chance to tell her that she didn't have to worry that I'd be someone else's daughter because Michael was an orphan, she had already spat out, ”No Name, or Beautiful Cloud, or whatever, was your father's fiancee.”
”You mean the one for whom Baba was buying gold for their upcoming wedding in Grandma's gold store-where he ran into you after you two had lost contact for eight years?”
”Yes. It's sad that she ended up being a nun, but not my fault.”
”You mean it's Baba's fault?”
”No, not his neither.” Mother rolled her eyes. ”It's Beautiful Cloud's.”
”How?”
”Simple.” She shrugged. ”She was not attractive enough to charm your father, but I did, even when I was only nine.”
I almost chuckled.
Mother ignored me. ”But later when I lost my charms, then your father let himself be charmed by other more beautiful clouds.”
<script>