The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane(20)
“Never once have you faltered,” A-ma says.
But what changes A-ma and I have seen since the birth of Ci-do and Deh-ja’s human rejects! I now understand that I live in an area so remote that we didn’t hear about the One Child policy for almost fifteen years. When the Family Planning Office finally opened at the tea collection center, it was only for Han majority workers, because this policy doesn’t affect any ethnic minority anywhere in the country. However, if a Han woman gets pregnant with a second child, she’ll be made to abort it and pay a fine. If she continues her reckless behavior, she’ll be sterilized. But this talk of midwifery isn’t just to praise me. It’s the prelude to the warning every girl who puts on her headdress for the first time is given by her a-ma.
“Today, across the country, babies have a value they never had before, and we Akha get to have them,” she says. “Even multiple litters of twins if we want! Our ruma and nima have accepted this—with sly male satisfaction—because this is the one thing we have better than the Han majority.” When she says, “It is a shame this change didn’t occur sooner,” I know she’s speaking of the one terrible time twins were born in our village. Then she adds, as if to comfort me, “Fortunately, our leaders were quick to embrace change. Other villages . . . Well, it can be hard abandoning something you’ve done and believed in for generations.” She pauses to let me absorb her words. Then, “No matter what, though, we, like Han majority people, would not condone the birth of a baby if the mother was unmarried. Everyone knows that having a child without a husband is taboo.”
This is one of our traditions that makes no sense. Boys and girls are encouraged to do the intercourse before marriage, but a girl is forbidden to come to a head. No matter. I’m too smart to let the second part happen to me. I’ve read novels, and studied history, math, and science. Together they have taught me the importance of independent thinking, watching out for my body, and looking to the future.
“You are a woman now,” A-ma says, and the others nod their heads at the solemnity of the moment.
Just then, from outside, I hear Ci-teh call my name.
“May I leave?” I ask A-ma.
It’s an abrupt end to the ceremony, but what else is left to say? I’m shooed out the door, with A-ma calling, “This is a big day for both of you.”
Ci-teh waits for me at the bottom of the stairs. I’d like to tell her she looks beautiful in her headdress and festival clothing, but we Akha never use that word to describe another human.
“All the boys will want to take you to the Flower Room when they see you,” I say in greeting.
“The Flower Room? I’ve already done that.” She giggles. “I’d rather go into the forest to steal love. The question is when are you going to the Flower Room?”
I blush. Just the idea of meeting alone with a boy without our parents . . .
“Of course,” she continues casually but knowing the effect her words will have on me, “if he comes, you might want to take him straight into the forest. There’s nothing to it, you know. You need to stop behaving like a blind kitten and act your age. Otherwise you’ll never get married.”
Some boys and girls—like my friend—have been going into the forest to steal love since they were twelve. Not me. My free time was taken up with homework and studying. Over time, my seat in school was moved forward until I sat in the front row. San-pa also began to move forward, reaching the middle of the room. In another two years, we’ll take the gaokao, the countrywide test to see if we’ll be allowed to continue our education at a first-, second-, third-, or fourth-tier university or college. If we fail, we won’t have a chance to take it again. If we make it, we’ll be the first members of any mountain tribe on our mountain to be granted higher education. Then we’ll get married, have as many children as we want, and be a part of all the changes that are still to come to our prefecture . . .
I’m not sure when I fell in love with San-pa. A week ago when he teased me about wanting to see me in my headdress? A year ago when I helped him for hours with his algebra homework? Or maybe six years ago when he gave me that bite of pancake? We have spent so much time together these past few years as the only Akha in our class. Together we studied the history of other countries beyond those that abut our borders but are still similar to China in outlook: Russia, North Korea, and Cuba. Together we struggled through the great Chinese novels—Dream of the Red Chamber and Rickshaw Boy—as well as those written by our Russian friends—Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. We’ve talked and talked. And we’ve spent hours together, just walking, partway to and from our first-and second-level schools. He’s always been interested in what I have to say, and I’ve loved hearing about his hunting expeditions with his a-ba and other men in his village. I’ve been able to help him with his essays, and he’s always shown his appreciation by bringing me a little treat plucked from the jungle—a blossom, a necklace of woven vine, or an egg from a nest.
“If San-pa asks me to go to the Flower Room or the forest, I’ll go,” I confide to Ci-teh in a whisper.
People in the next village can probably hear her laughter. Although we no longer spend the entire day together as we did when we were in Teacher Zhang’s class, Ci-teh and I are still as close as two girls can be.
“If you don’t like it with him, then steal love with one of the other boys who’ll be here during the festival,” she says once she’s caught her breath. “You can do it as long as he isn’t in your clan.”