Lady Tan's Circle of Women

“Come closer,” the midwife beckons. “You too,” she adds, motioning to Meiling.

We move to stand together by the side of the bed. We are the same height. I cast a quick glance at her. She dips her chin to peer at me. Her lashes are long. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me.

“We physicians perform the Four Examinations,” Grandmother says. “I’ve listened to Lady Huang’s pulses, which are thready. I’ve examined her tongue, which looks as dry as a desert. You can see she’s flushed, showing internal Fire.” She turns to Lady Huang. “Tell me, have you had headaches?”

“My head is always throbbing,” the woman answers, “and I’m thirsty—”

“And your emotions? Do you feel at peace?”

Lady Huang goes another shade darker, which gives my grandmother her answer.

“You’re angry,” Grandmother says. “You and I can talk about why later. For now, know I can treat all these symptoms with Drink to Quiet the Fetus, which will help bring your qi back into harmony. Heat is a necessity in the child palace, but sometimes there’s too much warmth as appears to be the case here. When Heat is cooled, Blood will return its attention to the fetus. A midwife has physical techniques that can help as well.”

Midwife Shi clicks her tongue to get our attention. She doesn’t look like a granny. She’s not that old. “Meiling knows this already, but it is always good to review,” she begins. “This is Lady Huang’s sixth baby. She has not had problems before.”

“This is true,” Lady Huang mutters, shifting uncomfortably against her cushions.

“Sometimes a fetus is not at home in the child palace,” the midwife says. “Sometimes the fetus is breech or sideways. If we find this now, then we can help move it into a happier location before labor begins.”

I nibble the edge of my thumb as the midwife massages Lady Huang’s belly, stopping now and then to inquire if she’s causing pain.

“No,” the lady answers. “I’m already feeling better. I can breathe again.”

The midwife continues to squeeze and manipulate the belly. With each passing minute, the redness in Lady Huang’s cheeks fades. I should be paying closer attention, but all I can think about is Meiling’s sleeve against my sleeve. Her breath goes in and out as though she’s timed it to match my own. She shifts her feet and her fingers brush against mine. For a moment, it feels like my heart stops beating.

“That’s enough for now,” Grandmother says. “You girls may go. Yunxian, please take Meiling to the kitchen. Ask Cook to give you something to eat.”

Hearing these words, Meiling takes my hand. My spirit could jump out of my body. Once we’re outside, I try to wiggle loose, but she tightens her grip.

“I’ve been here many times,” she says, “but I’m always afraid I’ll get lost. I don’t want to end up somewhere I shouldn’t.”

“I feel the same way.”

“How old are you?” Meiling asks.

“I’m eight.”

“Me too. Then we were both born in the Year of the Snake.”

I correct her. “The Year of the Metal Snake.”

She nods, then raises her hand, with mine still in hers, to rub her nose. “A Snake is a yin sign,” she says. “The most beautiful women in the world are said to be born under this sign. We can’t help but be lovely.”

Who would say something like that, as though she were entitled to loveliness when she’s only the daughter of a midwife?

“You’re the prettier one,” I admit. “You haven’t had smallpox.”

“My mother made sure I wouldn’t get it.” In answer to my questioning look, she asks, “Didn’t your mother bring in the smallpox-planting master when you were little?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“He travels from village to village, trying to stay ahead of the disease. He carries with him scabs from those who were sick. For me, he wrapped two scabs in cotton, stuck them in my nose, and then sealed it for a day and night with wax.”

“Disgusting—”

“It’s better than dying!” She falls silent. Then, “Mama says that since I’m free from scars I might be able to marry well.”

This sets my mind to wondering. My mother must not have hired a smallpox-planting master for my brothers and me. If she didn’t, why not?

Meiling continues. “Is your family already talking to a matchmaker?”

The thought is frightening. Of course I’ll be married out when I turn fifteen, but how will a matchmaker—one of the grannies that Grandfather so dislikes—find out about me? Will Father come home to negotiate? Or…

“Don’t be scared,” Meiling says. “We all have to do bedroom affairs.”

“I’m not worried about that.” I bristle. “I already know about bedroom affairs. They are a wife’s duty and the only way to produce a son. You can’t get pregnant without doing that thing.” What I don’t say is that even the idea of going to my husband’s home scares me. I’ve lost my mother. My father is far away. To be separated from Grandmother and Grandfather—and Miss Zhao and my brother—will be added cruelty.

We reach the kitchen. Cook gives us tangerines, which we take back outside. Together we walk to my favorite courtyard—the one with my grandparents’ pharmacy. The entire outdoor space is taken up by a pond dotted with lotus pads. Meiling and I cross a miniature stone bridge over a stream that connects one side of the pond to the other and the south side of the courtyard to the north. Koi lift their snouts out of the water, begging to be fed. We sit on a bench shaded by a cassia tree, peel our tangerines, and pop the segments in our mouths. Birdcages hang from branches, and birdsong fills the air. It’s now fall, and the leaves have turned yellow, orange, and red to match the season. The dappled light that filters down through the trees makes the world shimmer around us.

“Have you seen the lotus in bloom?” Meiling asks. When I nod, she adds, “A lot of babies are born in this household, so I’ve seen them many times. I’m learning at my mother’s side so that one day I can take her place.”

I bite my lip, searching my mind for something to say that will show my education and that I’m not alone in the world. It comes to me. “My mother always said, No mud, no lotus. Do you know what this means?”

Meiling’s eyebrows squirm like caterpillars as she considers the aphorism. I hurry on before she can figure it out.

“It means that goodness can grow from difficulties. Adversity can sprout into triumph—”

“From mud, the lotus will bloom.” Her eyes light with understanding. “I know mud. I don’t have a father, which is why my mother is teaching me to take care of myself.”

“You’re the lotus, then?”

“I guess so,” she says, her cheeks pinkening.

Her admission forces me to look inside myself. It’s hard to see how the mud of my mother’s death will turn me into a lotus.

The koi swim toward us, their tales swishing back and forth and their mouths opening and shutting. Meiling leaves me to skip down to the pond’s edge. I try to imagine what her calves must look like to carry her thus, while mine have been growing slimmer by the month. She kneels in the soft moss and extends her fingers down to the fish. They nibble at her fingers, and she giggles.

“Come! You have to feel this!”

I’m much more tentative as I walk down the bank, because the moss feels dangerously slippery under my bound feet. I kneel beside Meiling. Dampness immediately soaks through my tunic and pants. I can’t imagine that Poppy is going to be happy with me.

Meiling giggles again. “It tickles!” When I still hesitate, she says, “Don’t be scared. They don’t bite.” Now she fully laughs. “They do bite, but it doesn’t hurt.”

I don’t want to appear a coward in front of a midwife’s daughter. I reach my fingers into the pond. Some of the koi swim to me. Nip, nip, nip, nip. Little titters escape my mouth.

“You see!” Meiling exclaims, her eyes bright.

I’m just beginning to relax when she jumps up, runs along the bank to scoop up fallen flowers and leaves, and scampers onto the bridge. “Come up here! I have an idea for a game.”

But I can’t run. I can’t scamper. I barely know the idea of play, although I’ve seen my boy cousins chase each other, even kick a ball back and forth. I look around to make sure no one is looking. I get up off my knees and brush at the silk of my pants, which does nothing to erase the moss stains. I slowly pick my way across the uneven ground, onto the pebble walkway, and meet Meiling on the bridge. She hands me some of the flowers and leaves.

“Let’s see whose fall the fastest and whose float the best. We’ll start with a single leaf.” She holds one out over the balustrade, and I do the same. “One, two, three, and away.”