He wondered what he should do. Should he call the whole thing off? For Dengmei’s sake he had willingly become the butt of everyone’s contemptuous jokes and had shamed his relatives, even if they were worthless. If his father were alive there would be no problems. He would not be in his present predicament. But if his father were alive he probably would not have met his lovable Dengmei. If only his mother had not abandoned him, a child without a father, to marry another man. But what was he thinking? Why was he thinking of that shameless woman again?

  He hastily reined in his wandering mind to avoid that still-festering sore. He had been here three days now and should have returned to Fanzai Wood a long time ago with someone to help him complete the business of the marriage. He was at a loss. He decided that if he couldn’t find anyone to help him, he would leave in the night, go to South Village or North Shore and enlist as a soldier, and never again for the rest of his life return to Great Lake.

  The day passed, hot and frustrating, long and humiliating. At dusk, he took one last look at his old home, then walked toward the main road out of town and the setting sun.

  “Ahan!”

  Who had called his name?

  “Ahan, come back!” It was an old woman hobbling along, trying to catch him, beckoning to him. It was Auntie Agui, who had already refused to help him.

  “Come back to my house, right now.” She half cajoled him, half pushed him back to her home. He scarcely had time to ask her what it was all about when he saw a stranger standing in the doorway to the main room. It was a middle-aged woman, her eyes dim and her mouth open, looking somewhat dazed.

  Who is she? he wondered. He had a strange feeling, then he gave a start.

  “It’s him. He’s a grown man now. Don’t you recognize him?” Auntie Agui said to the woman.

  In silence, the woman shook her head but fixed her eyes on him.

  “Looks just like his short-lived father.”

  He took a step back.

  Actually, as soon as he was face to face with the woman he knew who she was. He had no clear childhood memories of her—he had done his best to forget her—but he could feel who she was. In his heart he always carried an idealized image of her, and now that motionless woman before him seemed to be the realization of that image, even if she was frail and careworn and much older.

  “Ahan, aren’t you going to greet her, your own mother?”

  He regained his presence of mind and quickly turned away and lowered his head.

  “Ahan!” That husky voice.

  His head felt so heavy he couldn’t raise it. His throat was dry and burned. He couldn’t speak a word.

  “Ahan, I’m your mother.”

  He still could not raise his head.

  “I heard that you are getting married. Shall I be your witness?”

  “It’s not a proper marriage; he will be living in the bride’s house,” Auntie Agui reminded her.

  “I will still go and be his witness.”

  “You!” he said finally, looking her straight in the eye.

  “Shall I go?” she said, lowering her head.

  “No!” he replied. He turned to leave, but Auntie Agui’s unsteady figure barred his path.

  “I understand.” His mother turned to Auntie Agui and said, “Then you must go in my place as you promised.”

  “Ahan! How can you treat your mother that way?”

  “She is not…. Let me go.”

  Auntie Agui latched on to him and wouldn’t let him leave. In his mind he told himself over and over that she wasn’t his mother. His grandmother’s words came back to him: “That woman married again before you were five and then abandoned you. She is not your mother. You must never acknowledge her as such. You must set yourself up on your own and provide for your family, and make sacrifices for the Lius.”

  He thought of his grandmother and faintly uttered her name.

  “What did you say?”

  He shook his head, threw out his chest, and said, “I thank you, Auntie Agui. Let go of me, I’m leaving now.”

  “Agui, I beg you.” His mother seemed to be sobbing now.

  “Is that what you are like? Are you so hard-hearted?”

  “Hard-hearted! Hard-hearted, indeed.” He sneered.

  “What if I go in her place?”

  “Go in her place for what?” His resentment gave way to something like relief when he thought about it. “Auntie Agui, I came to ask you for your help. If you are just going to take someone else’s place then forget it.”

  “If you don’t have a witness from your family, how can you get married?”

  “I won’t get married. I don’t want her to do it. Forget it, it’s not a matter of life and death.”

  “Agui, look at him, he’s just a child. Please go!”

  “I’m not getting involved! I’m not going!” said Auntie Agui crossly.

  “No! Come back, Ahan,” she called to him.

  “Why should I listen to you?”

  “Do I have to kneel before you to make you listen?”

  “You …”

  “Your mother is truly sorry. I know you hate me, I don’t blame you. Let Auntie Agui go to your future in-laws and affix her seal to the document, I beg you. If you don’t agree I’ll kneel before you; see, I’m kneeling.”

  “What a scene. Get up.” Auntie Agui prevented his mother from kneeling.

  He stood there like a stone, but his mind was in a turmoil. He was despairing and ready to explode. He wanted to call her “Mother.” He wanted her to be his witness. He wanted her to meet Dengmei, because Dengmei would be her daughter. But his feelings scared him.

  Auntie Agui finally “volunteered” to go with him to Fanzai Wood to act as his witness in the marriage arrangement. His mother stood by the roadside watching them depart. It seemed that many people were watching from behind their doors and the high grass. He tried not to look at his mother, but he couldn’t help himself. He gritted his teeth and with a great effort turned around to face her. Her face was contorted, her eyes welled with tears, but a smile seemed to play at the corners of her mouth.

  He couldn’t bring himself to say a word. Auntie Agui had already walked ahead. He hurried after her.

  On the morning of the fourth day of the fifth month, Peng Renxing and Xu Azhi were married. Liu Ahan and Ye Dengmei were married at noon the following day, the festival day of the double fifth. The times for both ceremonies had been carefully selected by Master Xu Rixing, who had secretly informed them the day before.

  “At noon the male element is at its strongest, which is good for you.”

  Ahan didn’t understand the nonsense that Master Xu Rixing was spouting.

  “Normally noontime on the double fifth ought to be avoided because the male element would be too strong for the bride.”

  “That sounds well and good, but can you explain what it all means?”

  “Just what I said. Such an hour is good for you.”

  “But didn’t you say it was bad for the bride?”

  “Yes, but with Dengmei … you know,” said the Master in all seriousness.

  “What about her?”

  “Dengmei has a strong fate, so …”

  Ahan sighed.

  “At noon, when the male element is at its strongest, the malevolent female influence will be kept at bay.”

  “Nonsense,” Ahan burst out.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I just …”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you? And well you should be,” said Xu Rixing, smiling knowingly. He was full of arcane explanations. “Did you know that women with strong fates can harm their husbands at three critical places? One is at the wedding ceremony; the others are at the entrance to the bridal chamber and during consummation. We can neutralize the harm with charms to turn the malevolent influences to good.”

  He was bewildered by all that was said about Dengmei’s strong fate. He couldn’t rid himself of the fear that gnawed at him; he could only hide it.

  Hakka wedding ceremonies preserved the ancient custom of six rituals, but when the husband took up residence in the bride’s home, the rituals were dispensed with. The Hakka had always looked down on a groom who lived with his in-laws. When a branch of a family was without heirs, a man would make the son of one of his brothers his heir. But when the Hakka began emigrating to Taiwan, they had a hard time finding members of their own clan for heirs. As a result, they had to find a husband for a daughter to continue the family line. Generally it was a man without the means to pay the bride price who took this route. The Hakka all regarded this form of marriage as something shameful and to be avoided.

  But the two marriages at Fanzai Wood were exceptions. The Xus did not require that their grandchildren take the name Xu, and the Pengs agreed that all Dengmei’s male children should bear the surname Liu. They did stipulate, however, that the first two daughters take the surname Peng and remain in the family. Male children might one day inherit family wealth, but daughters could be sold as brides to other families or contribute to the family’s labor pool. Ahan had initially rejected the Pengs’ demands with regard to the first two daughters. Later it was agreed that Ahan could buy his daughters back for the same price as a bride.

  It was widely considered that the Pengs had struck a good bargain. Ahan felt the arrangement was unfair.

  The ceremony was performed in the Pengs’ house, but the bridal chamber was in the new house built by Ahan and Aling. This ran contrary to the customs for such a marriage, but Lanmei had insisted on the arrangement. No one was much interested in adhering too rigidly to custom. But when Ahan had expressed the desire to hang a strip of red paper to honor his ancestors in the main hall, everyone was opposed to the idea.

  The bridal chamber was newly furnished with a round mirror, a pair of pillows with cotton print covers, a table with bamboo legs, and a fine-looking red wooden chest. The chest was one of a pair that had been prepared for Renxiu, and on the morning of the wedding, Peng Aqiang had delivered it himself. With the chest, they had a place they could put their hastily sewn garments, which had been placed on their bed. They had used Auntie Agui’s gift of money to buy the clothes and a pale green blanket.

  “It’s not my generosity. Your mother pushed the money into my hands.”

  The nicest touch was the bamboo mat that Aling and his wife had helped Ahan make in the course of a couple of nights.

  “Do you think people will find me extravagant?” Ahan asked.

  “We made it ourselves instead of sleeping. Take no notice of what others say,” said Aling.

  Ahan had used what little money he had saved to buy cloth shoes for Peng Aqiang, Lanmei, and Dengmei. Dengmei’s shoes had velvet uppers. After a great deal of consideration, he had purchased a pair of leather shoes for himself. In addition, he had a silver ring made for Dengmei. He did have the money for a pair of earrings, but then he noticed that Dengmei’s ears had not been pierced. He told no one about the ring because he wanted to surprise Dengmei. It symbolized what was in his heart and that was for Dengmei alone. He put the ring in his pocket.

  His wedding suit, a short coat and trousers, though made of coarse cloth, fit him well, and with his leather shoes, he was quite handsome. Aling and his wife had helped him dress his queue the night before. For years he had not concerned himself much with his hair, and like most young working men, he had simply combed through it with his fingers and twisted his queue around his head. In order to keep his hair in place, he had wrapped it in a broad piece of cloth in what was referred to as a reformed hairstyle. Now Ahan’s hair was also barely shoulder length, a characteristic peculiar to soldiers in Taiwan. Those who had witnessed the attack of the indigenous people had seen how they had grabbed their Chinese prisoners by the hair, yanking their queues to expose their necks to the sharp blows of battle swords. This had struck terror in the hearts of all the soldiers, and they had disregarded the official warnings and cut their queues.

  I can do away with this new queue in a few days, thought Ahan. Formal dress was also new to him. Washed and well groomed, he looked at himself in the mirror, and his appearance made him feel somewhat ridiculous. His face was flushed due to the heat and all the clothes he was wearing. An itinerant fortune teller had once told him that he had a handsome face, but one that did not foretell many blessings.

  Just then Aling appeared, chasing away his idle thoughts. Ahan collected himself as Aling said, “It’s time.”

  Auntie Agui was already waiting outside. They looked at each other without saying a word and then walked over to the Pengs.’ The sun was blistering hot. Many people were on the threshing ground, but the main room was quiet. Xu Rixing stood in the doorway.

  The Pengs had just completed one wedding ceremony. No decorations had been hung; the expected pleasure on people’s faces was absent, and the scene was pervaded by a desolate atmosphere. Ahan felt dizzy. He blinked hard, wanting to greet everyone by name as manners dictated. But all the sweat coursing down his face got into his eyes, making it hard for him to recognize anyone.

  “Everyone rise,” said Xu Rixing, who was to conduct the ceremony. “Ahan, Dengmei, all the elders and witnesses, Aling, and Ajin step forward and affix your seals or make a print of your thumb.” Everybody did as instructed. Dengmei had no seal, so she made a print with her thumb.

  “Aqiang, as elder of the Peng family, you light the candles.” Peng Aqiang lit three sticks of incense and then the two small red candles on the table. As he lit the candles, Peng Aqiang intoned four auspicious phrases to bring the newlyweds luck in their life together:

  Light the candles;

  A lucky match is made.

  Bright the candles;

  The Peng family fortune is made.

  Dengmei was dressed in pink and wore her velvet shoes. Her head was bare; her usual small plaits had been done up in a bun at the back of her head. She looked small and dainty, and everyone murmured with approval. She kept her head lowered, and it looked as if someone had applied powder and rouge to her face.

  “Make offerings to the ancestors! Light the incense!” said Xu Rixing.

  Aling gave the bride and groom each three sticks of incense. After they had placed their incense in a burner, they knelt to complete a series of nine kowtows. At that point, Peng Aqiang intoned:

  Ancestors of the Peng clan,

  Mighty and manifest,

  A son is taken in

  Willing to work in your interest.

  Peng Aqiang’s voice was not very loud, but it was clear. And although Ahan was somewhat confused and nervous, he did understand the intent of the words.

  The ceremony was quickly completed, and at the call for the bride and groom to enter the bridal chamber, Ahan and Dengmei walked the thirty yards to their new house. Ahan breathed a sigh of relief and was just about to take a long look at Dengmei when Aling burst in and said, “Come and give us a hand with the tables and the utensils.”

  Ahan wondered if he had heard correctly.

  “That’s the way it is, Brother. Things have to go back to normal. If you’re obliging, people will think more highly of you.”

  Think more highly of him? A bridegroom fresh from the wedding ceremony moving tables?

  “Go,” said Dengmei quietly and unexpectedly. She looked at him as he turned to leave.

  “You are not to come, Dengmei,” he said, his voice tensing. “I’ll go.”

  Leaving the house, Aling kept close to him, holding him by the hand. Ahan understood what Aling meant. Turning his head, he saw Dengmei come out of the house and Aling’s wife approach her and say something. In addition to the Peng family, there were at least two members from each family at Fanzai Wood at the banquet.

  Auntie Agui was the guest of honor. She sat to the left of Peng Aqiang. Ahan and Dengmei sat obediently across from Peng Aqiang and ate together. That day white rice mixed with a small amount of potato was served. It was a rare treat. Everyone gulped down the rice, forgetting about the many dishes on the table. Dengmei’s bowl was heaped with food, but she barely touched it. She just sat there, her head lowered and hands folded before her, not daring to pick up her chopsticks or look at anyone. She seemed confused and on the verge of crying. She was worried that she might cry. She wasn’t sad, but she couldn’t explain the desire to cry. She didn’t listen to what anyone was saying.

  Ahan, on the other hand, was quite calm. He paid attention only to the food in front of him, which he gobbled down. But he soon noticed everyone staring at him so he slowed down. He continued to hold his chopsticks and bowl in a pretense of eating, but he ate no more. Inwardly, he was filled with sadness. Dengmei was sitting right next to him, but he couldn’t see her because he just looked straight ahead.

  The banquet came to an end, and Auntie Agui was on the point of leaving. As she would not have enough time to get back to Tongluo, she said she would visit some relatives at Great Lake. Aling was charged with escorting her.

  “Thank you, Auntie Agui,” said Ahan. Please tell my mother …”

  “Tell her what?”

  “Give her my thanks. Tell her to take care of herself,” he said, starting to weep.

  That afternoon his eldest sister-in-law came to tell Ahan that the couple could rest in the bridal chamber and not work. Ahan was too embarrassed to stay indoors long. He went to join the others in conversation in the main room. Since the Pengs had been busy the better part of the day, they didn’t have dinner until the evening. Peng Aqiang told Ahan that he and Dengmei could stand and eat a little.

  The time had come to feed the pigs, which was Dengmei’s job. She wanted to change out of her new clothes and do her chore, but Ahan said he would do it. Dengmei shook her head. In the end, Aling’s wife came to their rescue and fed the pigs. When the sun slipped behind the hills, a wind came up and rain began to fall. The rain ceased after a short time, but soon it began again, throwing everything into darkness. Ahan took out an oil lamp he had bought; at the time, Aling had warned him that everyone would see it as an extravagance, but he bought it nonetheless. As the wind picked up outside, the draft of cold air through the bamboo door increased, threatening the flame, which flickered furiously. They were at last able to look at each other. He gazed calmly at Dengmei, but in the flickering light her expression was not well defined.