Grandmother’s lessons continue as we walk through the colonnade. The humidity is so heavy today that the plants look like they’re sweating. “It is widely acknowledged that doctors would rather treat ten men than one woman. I disagree. Just as a general knows to use barbarians to attack other barbarians, we can employ the strategy of a woman doctor to heal other women.”
She touches my shoulder to make sure I’m paying attention. “Never forget that multiple lives are at stake during childbirth. The baby—or babies, in the case of twins. The mother. The father and all those left behind in the family, who will no longer benefit from a wife who can manage a household. And the midwife, for if anything goes wrong, she will be blamed and her reputation harmed. Most doctors don’t attend births, but I feel it is my responsibility to be in the room for labor and delivery and to keep the potential cascade of tragedies behind a dam. I do this by putting my best efforts to the well-being of the mother. This is not easy. The words passed down to us by a Han dynasty official more than fifteen centuries ago still hold true. In women’s central affair of childbirth, ten women die for every one that survives.”
The aphorism clamps around my chest, squeezing out my breath. It can’t possibly be true, because that would mean too many babies without mothers. Then I think of my own mother. She survived my birth, but I didn’t have her long enough. Her death, while not from childbirth, caused the ripple effects of which Grandmother spoke. Like seeds on a dandelion, every person in our home—from the cook to me—was blown in a new direction when she died.
Before I can push my sadness aside, we arrive at Lady Huang’s quarters. She’s in her second week of “entering the month,” when the baby could come at any time. She now must stay in bed. Her husband has sought another place to sleep to prevent them from doing bedroom affairs. Although the announcement of the beginning of labor is under the guidance of Heaven—and not humans—many women in the household have been given chores designed to help with the birth. The concubines, who are skilled at painting and calligraphy, have written couplets with positive sayings to hang on the walls. Inky has assigned two servants to bring in fresh straw when labor begins and then take it away to be buried after the baby is born, because it’s taboo for bedclothes bloodied by childbirth to be washed and dried in the sunlight. “If such a thing should be seen by evil spirits,” Inky has explained to me, “then they’ll be tempted to harm the baby and hex the mother.” Grandmother has been busiest of all, preparing decoctions and pills to create an easy birth.
“Some believe a woman full with child should eat raw eggs and sip sesame oil to make her baby slippery,” Grandmother tells Lady Huang. “Yes, these things are slick, but who could think of putting them in your mouth when pregnant? A man! That’s who.” She sniffs indignantly. “Mallow seed can also make a fetus slippery, without the slime.” Grandmother then asks me, “What have I taught you in this regard?”
“That all women pray for a slippery birth,” I answer absently. I wonder why Meiling and her mother haven’t arrived yet.
“I don’t mean that,” she snaps. “I’m talking about men and what they think about women.”
Ah, she wants the usual rules about girls and women, so I begin to recite. “When a girl, obey your father—”
“No! I mean, yes, of course. But I’m thinking of another saying. You must speak if you wish to be heard.” Her features soften, perhaps because she realizes she’s been harsh. “I’m not angry at you,” she says. “I’m irritated with men. I’m lucky to love your grandfather, but most men—other doctors, especially—don’t like to see us succeed. You must always show them respect and let them think they know more than you do, while understanding that you can achieve something they never can. You can actually help women.”
Midwife Shi and her daughter enter. I’m struck again by how pretty Meiling is. Today she concentrates on her walk, deliberately trying to make her feet seem smaller. Then we stand side by side as we usually do, while Grandmother performs the Four Examinations, and the midwife palpates Lady Huang’s belly. They each ask us questions designed to test what we’ve absorbed these past weeks. My education continues to be about balancing the cosmos within the body and harmonizing that body to the vast cosmos that surrounds us, while Meiling’s studies are centered on the physical mechanics of getting a baby from the child palace to this world.
Once Grandmother decides Meiling and I have learned enough for the day, she dismisses us to go outside. We’re playing our leaf-racing game when a couple of boys run into the courtyard, over the bridge, and into the colonnade. My little brother trails behind them like the last in a line of ducklings. The boys push and whoop.
“Really, boys are such a nuisance,” I say to Meiling.
Green Jade and White Jade enter the colonnade. They walk arm in arm, supporting each other as they sway side to side, their long gowns swirling so that I catch glimpses of their bound-foot slippers. One of the boys bumps into Green Jade. She teeters. White Jade tries to steady her, but they have no way to regain their balance. Together they topple, falling into a heap of silk and bangles. One of them screams. The boys don’t even look back as they dash through the moon gate that leads to the next courtyard.
Meiling drops the leaf she’s holding and runs to the women. I wish my feet could do the same, but in all circumstances—especially in an emergency—I need to mind my steps. When I reach Meiling, she’s bent over the two women, pulling away layers of cloth to see who is who and what is what.
Green Jade pushes Meiling away. “Don’t touch me.”
Meiling draws her hands back as though she’s been singed. “I was trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help.” Green Jade turns to White Jade. “Are you hurt?”
“My leg,” White Jade cries.
When Green Jade feels White Jade’s leg, the concubine screams and goes the color of the stone for which she was named.
I kneel next to Meiling and ask White Jade, “Will you let me look?”
White Jade shifts her anguished gaze from me to Meiling and then back to me. She bites her upper lip and nods. I carefully pull up White Jade’s gown, revealing her lower leg. Instantly I’m in my mother’s room after she collapsed and I saw her naked limb for the first time. But instead of having red streaks running up the calf, White Jade’s leg is bent at an unnatural angle.
“It’s broken,” Meiling says.
Indeed, one spot has bulged into the shape of a steep mountain. The bone looks like it could break through the skin at any second.
“Poppy,” I call, knowing she must be nearby. She steps into view. “Go get Grandmother. Hurry!”
“And my mother as well,” Meiling adds. “Bring them both.”
White Jade whimpers. “It hurts…”
I sit back on my haunches, trying to figure out what to do. “Maybe we should try to pull it straight,” I say to Meiling.
“I once saw a bonesetter do just that,” she agrees.
Hearing this, White Jade whimpers again.
“I’m scared that if we don’t do something, the bone will tear through the skin.” My mind goes again to my mother, and I add, “If that happens, infection will come. But if we pull the bone—”
“You will do no such thing!” Grandmother’s voice comes out as sharp as cut glass. “You two girls step away right now!”
Meiling and I scramble to our feet and back away. Midwife Shi kneels next to the concubine, but Grandmother keeps her distance. “This is not the type of affliction physicians like your grandfather and I treat.”
“I know,” I say. “We just—”
“I don’t want to hear a single excuse. I’ve sent Inky to find a bonesetter. Now all we can do is wait.” With that, Grandmother turns away—disappointed or angry with me, maybe both.
When the bonesetter arrives, Midwife Shi scoots behind White Jade, wraps her arms around the concubine, and clutches her opposite wrists with each hand drawn across her chest. The bonesetter cups White Jade’s calf with one hand and, without telling her what he’s going to do, quickly pulls her ankle with his other hand. White Jade screams, but the bone is once again—to my eyes at least—in place. I exchange glances with Meiling. He’s done exactly what we’d planned to do.
As he wraps the concubine’s leg in a support made of cloth and bamboo, Grandmother steps forward.
“Servants will carry you to your quarters,” she tells White Jade. “As soon as you’re settled, I will come with a tea to help ease your pain.”
Sweat glistens on White Jade’s forehead. She reaches her hand out to Grandmother, who doesn’t take it. “What will this mean for me?” she asks. In these words, her deepest fear is revealed: about her future ability to entrance Grandfather with her beautiful lily-foot walk.
“I cannot say,” Grandmother answers.
* * *