(Written by an anonymous Chinese woman)
For almost 70 years, I’ve been affected by a story my mother told me when I was ten years old. We spent more time together that year, as my father had just died and we tried to console each other. Both of us would weep as we recalled our lives together before his death. Mother told me often that I was the apple of his eye.
And one day she told me more. She probably shouldn’t have for I’ve never forgotten what she said. The story began with her telling me that a baby girl had been born to a family and the mother wanted to give her away, as she just didn’t like her. When her husband discovered that she was looking for a family for the baby, however, he put a stop to the plan right away. The baby was going to part of his family, he said, for he had loved her since the day she arrived.
Mother’s point in telling the story was to emphasize how much the father had loved the baby, but the shocking part of it came when mother told me that I was that baby.
It didn’t help in later years to learn that she had given away two other girls before my two brothers and my elder sister were born.
I’ve wondered so often in the years since then why she told me. At only ten years of age, I must much too young to even think of asking. I’ve tried to console myself with the thought that she probably preferred sons. It wasn’t uncommon to give girls away in those days.
There wasn’t a monetary reason, for our family was well off. An older sister had married the year before, and I had only two brothers, so there were just five of us living together.
During a recent visit to Shanghai, my brothers and sister told stories about family events in the past, and I related the one mother had told me. They had never heard it before. To them, it was unbelievable, but I told them that it definitely happened. Mother had told me.
They said it didn’t make sense, as mother had loved me very much. No one could explain why she had told me the story.
My sister remembered the day that I was born. When she entered mother’s room, she saw her using a hemp rope to rub my body. That didn’t make sense to her, and she asked a midwife about it later. The only answer she got was that it was because my body was white. There was no explanation of the rope.
She said that she hadn’t understood until recently, and my father had never understood because no one had told him.
I looked at her – expecting her to continue – but she didn’t. I suspected that I knew why it had been used and thought she was remaining quiet, as she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
She seemed to be changing the subject as she started to talk again. She said that mother had expected to have a son after she had three daughters, and she finally had one, but he died of an infectious disease after six years. She was very sad after that and cried day and night, as she said she couldn’t live without him. My father took her to Shanghai to show her a good time, but nothing comforted her; she felt that the end of the world had come. As a last resort, he moved the family out of his mother’s house into a home of their own.
Mother was religious in some ways, and felt that God had met all her desires when she had two sons in two years after they moved. Soon after, however, the wind came out of her sails, for my father became very sick when the boys were three and four. He had typhoid fever, and as she was very worried, she worked day and night to care for him. That left very little time to look after the two boys. It was fortunate that father got better for mother had felt that she couldn’t live without him.
My sister went on to say that when I was born, she saw that my very white skin was different than other babies. As she said that I thought to myself that I’ve never really been conscious of what color is usual for a newborn baby. There was a superstition at that time that an ill-omened girl would bring disaster to a family. Mother really didn’t want a baby that was white, especially since she had just experienced the loss of a son, and her husband had been very sick. She was almost obsessed with the thought that disasters were coming in her life.
The hemp rope, therefore, was an answer to the whiteness. Rubbing my body with it would change the color and eliminate the risk of incurring bad fortune. If it didn’t, she thought she’d have to send me away.
It was interesting to think that perhaps she had thought that I would bring her bad luck. Though I’ve studied science, I’ve always been a bit superstitious, too, and have attributed his death to my bad fortune. The idea of having misfortune has always been a part of my life. To avoid having bad things happen, I’ve preferred being alone and have avoided as much as possible being in an airplane with members of my family.
It’s so reassuring to have finally understood mother’s story. There’s no need to talk about it any longer with members of my family. It all happened a long time ago. It’s best to forget it. Mother was just the victim of her superstitious nature. I’ll try hard to change so that I’ll not become a victim of mine.