The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane(96)
And I get to see how much life has changed for young girls like my three nieces, who tell me about a new government campaign aimed at ethnic minority girls like them to achieve “independence, self-strengthening, intelligence, and dexterity.” They’re supposed to do things like learn to weave handbags with symbols showing their unique culture, but I don’t see how that will help them become village cadres, go to college, or start their own small businesses. But when First Sister-in-law’s daughter recites popular slogans, “Give birth to fewer babies, plant more trees,” and “If you give birth to extra children, your family will be ruined,” I understand that all three of them are thinking about and planning their lives in ways I clearly didn’t at their age.
As for A-ma, she presides over us in the same way she always did—with a stern but fair hand. She’s particularly tough on Deh-ja, who’s adept at tea sorting but has far more important responsibilities ahead of her.
“My daughter will need to eat beneficial foods when her baby comes out,” A-ma says, speaking to Deh-ja as though she’s a servant. “Every new a-ma needs liver to replenish her lost blood, green papaya to help bring in the milk, and pig kidneys to alleviate her aches and pains. She needs food that will cause warming—ginger, chicken, and pumpkin. You will make sure the new a-ma eats this way for three cycles, thirty-six days and not one day less!”
Deh-ja is illiterate, so she recites recipes to herself as she sorts tea. As for me, I have a different idea of what will happen when my baby is ready to fall to the earth.
Although our days are long and it isn’t monsoon season, I ask A-ma to help me make a proper Akha cap for my baby. Soon enough, all the women and girls in the household want to participate. Tonight, we sit together, a variety show on television blaring a pop song—“Fifty-five Minorities; One Dream”—in the background. The Olympics are coming and the campaign—to find fifty-five sets of twins—has inspired pride throughout the country. My three nieces giggle as they peer at my laptop screen, checking websites that post photos featuring “The Most Beautiful Girls of the 55 Ethnic Minorities” and peruse polls asking, “Which of the 55 ethnic minorities has the most beautiful and marriageable girls?” while my sisters-in-law try to remind me of skills I haven’t used in years.
Third Sister-in-law still does the best handiwork, and she’s as sharp with her lessons as ever, moving from gentle to cross in seconds, depending on how well I’m doing. “Needlework shows a woman’s diligence and virtue,” she reminds me. “You’ll want to add coins, dried red chili peppers, and animal teeth to your baby’s cap to drive away evil spirits. A well-protected baby should wear at least ten kilos of silver.” (Which is not going to happen, but I don’t tell her that.) “And don’t forget to add some tiny mirrors,” she recommends. “Spirits hate to see their own reflections.” But when it comes to my embroidery? Waaa! I’m supposed to incorporate a frog, rabbit, monkey, and cat to show that my baby will be as smart, fast, vibrant, and vigilant as those animals. “My eyes sting to see such ugly work,” she scolds. “You would let your baby be seen in that? Everyone will know his a-ma doesn’t love him.”
As I pull out my stitches, the other two sisters-in-law try to distract Third Sister-in-law from her ongoing criticisms by discussing the way the baby is lying within my body.
“The baby sleeps on Wife-of-Jin’s right side,” First Sister-in-law observes. “Surely it’s a boy.”
“No, no, no,” Second Sister-in-law objects. “The baby rests on the left side. Sadly, it’s a girl.”
Third Sister-in-law can be easily swayed and her opinion can shift, depending on her mood. One night, my baby is a boy. The next night, she’s convinced it’s a girl. Tonight, though, she shrewdly asks A-ma, “What do you think?”
A-ma answers, “Anyone can see Girl is going to give her husband a son.”
Later, when Jin and I are alone, I tell him the news, but his reaction is as expected. “Boy or girl,” he insists, “I’ll be happy. A healthy baby. That’s all we want, isn’t it?”
With each passing day, I love him a little more. My family admires him too, because, even though he’s a member of the Han majority and I’ve married outside our tribe, he’s respectful of our traditions.
Hard work, mutual respect, and a united goal are the threads that now bind Jin, my baby, my family, the people of my village, and me together.
* * *
After consultations with the headman, ruma, and nima, an auspicious date is selected for the annual rebuilding of Spring Well Village’s spirit gate, which includes carving new protective figures of a man and a woman with their giant sex organs, as well as a dog and birds, all made from wood selected by the ruma for the strength of the trees’ souls. The top male of each household participates, and A-ba takes Jin along as the head of the household in which I live. We women stay behind, as is required, but the ruma’s voice carries to us through the trees.
“Let our spirit gate divert all bad things and make them go around the village,” he trumpets. “Let our spirit gate chase away the hawk and the tiger. Let it bar seizures and leprosy. Wicked spirits, vampires, and werewolves, see how our male has the strength of iron between his legs to drive you in another direction! Gods, see how fat we’ve made our female figure. She’ll make sure lots of babies will be born in Spring Well in the coming year.” Last, he addresses the carved figures directly. “Powerful man, powerful woman, let all goodness and purity enter. Dog, bite all robbers and those who would wish us harm. Birds, allow riches to come in but not corrupt us.”