When he passes through an iron gate and into a courtyard, I have enough sense to call out, “Wait! You can’t go in there!”
He doesn’t respond or even glance back at me. Instead, he strides along the rose-lined pathway and up some steps to the porch of a colonial mansion I’ve admired, despite its run-down condition. Now the layers of peeling paint have been stripped away and replaced by a coat of yellow, with the shutters and other woodwork shining glossy white. Jin opens the front door and extends his hand for me to join him. He must know what he’s doing, I tell myself, but a part of me is terrified we’ll be arrested for trespassing.
Once I reach him, he takes my hand, pulls me through a small entry, and brings me into a large room to the right that overlooks the garden and the tree-lined pedestrian walkway. I soak in the details in seconds: Fragrant freshly cut flowers in crystal vases. Handwoven Chinese silk carpets in intricate designs. Antique lamps on the end tables, but recessed lights to create atmosphere. A pair of ancestor scrolls hang on one wall. The opposite wall is dotted with small paintings of life in the city that must have been done when this house was first built.
“What is this place?” My voice shakes. “What are we doing here?”
“For months we’ve visited spots in the countryside and neighborhoods in the city,” he answers. “I’ve shown you villa parks and apartments abutting the river, but always you’ve seemed happiest on this little island, which is why I bought this house a while ago. I’ve been restoring it since. I hope we’ll be happy here.”
I’m too stunned—beyond stunned, really—to speak. My confused silence sends a flicker of doubt across his face. Then he sets his jaw.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Li-yan,” he forges ahead. “What I mean is, will you marry me?”
I answer without hesitation. “Yes, I’ll go-work-eat with you.”
We kiss. I’m dizzy with emotion as the walls I’ve built to guard my heart crumble. In my chaotic mixture of confusion and joy, I manage to put together a clear thought.
“I once promised myself I’d never marry unless my mother and father thought it was a good match.” I leave out the word again, as in I would never marry again. Jin can’t possibly know that, but a knife of guilt slices into my happiness. Before it can overpower me, Jin delivers into my hands a large and surprisingly heavy package wrapped in homemade indigo fabric.
“Open it,” he says. “Your parents’ blessing is inside.”
I fold back the layers of fabric to find a new headdress decorated with trinkets I immediately recognize: a silver fish from First Sister-in-law, a string of silver balls the size of peas from Second Sister-in-law, a burst of appliquéd butterflies done in Third Sister-in-law’s fine stitches, a coin from A-ma, as well as feathers and colorful pom-poms. Beneath that are folded a traditional wedding skirt, tunic, and leggings, plus a belt buckle, earrings, breastplate, and necklaces. All in all, there’s perhaps fifteen kilos in silver—so much heavier than when I married San-pa—between the headdress and accessories. While I’m trying to take it all in, Jin is still talking.
“I’ve lied to you about some things,” he begins. “I’m rich, as you can see. I didn’t tell you, because I wanted you to love me for me and not just for my money. But that’s not my only lie. This week, I wasn’t in Los Angeles. I was in Spring Well.”
My cheeks flush in embarrassment to think of him in my backward village.
“It wasn’t my first visit,” he continues, purposefully ignoring my obvious shame. “In the last six months, I’ve traveled four times to Spring Well to meet your family and ask permission to marry you.” He pauses to let that sink in. Then, “Your father kept telling me to come back another time.”
I cover my eyes and shake my head. “This is too much.”
“They wanted me to prove to them you were happy. I brought photographs I’d taken of you. I wouldn’t accept no. I even met with your . . . What is he called? The person who selects propitious dates? Like a feng shui diviner?”
“The ruma.”
“He gave me a date.”
That Jin’s been planning this moment for such a long time . . .
“And that’s not all,” he goes on. “It seems a spirit incantation needed to be held for me. No one told me why, but it included the killing of a chicken and a goat and the passing from hand to hand of an old coin. What was all that about?” he inquires genially.
“Are they asking us to come home for the wedding?” I manage to choke out, because I’m not about to tell him that a special ceremony must always be performed when a widow remarries so her new husband won’t have his life cut short. The goat is added to protect the new husband of a widow whose first husband died a terrible death.
“Your mother had a different idea. It seems she’s heard about honeymoons,” he says, bemused. “She thought you might like a honeymoon in America.” He grins as he confides, “She pulled me aside to tell me that the first time I visited.”
Which means she liked him from the beginning . . . Which is why I now have a wedding outfit, as well as a passport and visa . . . But which also means she deliberately wanted to remind me of Yan-yeh . . .
“Even before I met you,” he says, “my mother made me love you. Then, when I saw you the first time, sitting on the bench with her . . . You were even more beautiful than she’d described.”
“Beautiful?” Since we Akha don’t use this word to describe people, this is the first time it’s been applied to me. Beautiful.
“My mother liked you because she saw you as hardworking and honest. Please forgive me for my lies. I promise they won’t happen again.”
I have to bite my lips to hold back my emotions. He’s been keeping secrets, but they’ve come from a place of goodness and kindness, while mine . . . How could I have said yes to him when I don’t deserve him? I bow my head, and let the tears come. He pulls me into his arms, probably believing I am overcome by happiness. I lay my head against the softness of his sweater. I feel the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart. For a few seconds, I allow myself to relish what might have been. Then I make myself pull away. I cannot go into marriage with lies and secrets as my only dowry.
“I love you,” I say, “and I would love to marry you, but you may not want to marry me when you know the truth about me.”
“Nothing you could say would make me think less of you.”