Niang, Li’s fourth brother, Cunsang, and the sisters-in-law were busy making dumplings, a traditional welcome-home meal. They were sharing all the jobs – chopping, filling and folding – which was amazing to watch, and such a skill. I got to know all the brothers and their wives and the children.
Inside was like a hot oven, so dinner was served outside. Two small tables were brought into the courtyard and we squatted around them on little stools that had magically appeared from under one of the cupboards. I was asked to sit with the men, and all the women and children sat at another table. I felt quite uncomfortable sitting at the main table. ‘Mary, Niang said you need my translation,’ Li told me.
On the second day, the local police arrived at Li’s family home and took away our passports, which I thought was criminal. You could only buy one-way domestic airline tickets at the time, so we had no return plane tickets out of Qingdao, which frightened me even more.
‘Why are they taking our passports? They can’t take our passports!’ I said to Li, in alarm.
‘Yes, they can,’ Li said. ‘But don’t worry, Mary. They’ll return them.’
‘Well, how can you be so sure?’ I was thinking, ‘What if we get stuck here?’
‘Relax, darling,’ Li said. ‘All will be fine. There’s nothing we can do. It’s China. Just think of it as being the same as handing over your passport at a foreign hotel. It just takes longer to get them back here. Don’t worry.’
But I wondered if he really knew what would happen.
I wanted to enjoy the family reunion. I always tried to help cleaning up. The family liked this, and laughed and said I was like a true peasant. Li’s third brother, Cunmao, joined us for dinner although he was still with his adoptive family. It wasn’t until years later when Li’s fourth uncle and auntie – Cunmao’s adoptive parents – passed away that Cunmao was able to welcome his biological parents as his own parents again. Cunmao had quite a serious personality compared to fourth brother, Cunsang, the farmer. They all knew their places. Respect was given from the younger ones to their elders. Li’s eldest brother, Cuncia, was my favourite. He was the quietest of them all, but had such presence. He had a beautiful, moon-shaped face and was very handsome.
I learned that Li’s great-grandfather on his mother’s side had been an acrobat with a travelling circus. I also noticed a strong physique in Li’s second uncle, also on his mother’s side. He would bounce up seven flights of stairs to his city apartment like a young man, even though he was in his late fifties. I could see a physicality through the family, the strength from his father’s side and agility from his mother’s side. Second uncle also had a lovely vivacious personality.
We visited Li’s maternal grandparents, and fourth uncle who had adopted third brother. Incredibly, fourth aunty had tiny, crumpled feet. They had been traditionally bound for many years. She now mostly wore soft slippers but I could still see her poor tortured feet.
As our visit progressed our luggage got lighter by the minute, as we distributed our gifts – ties, suits (bought second-hand from thrift shops in Houston) and the best Chinese liquor, Maotai. I realised cash was the best gift. We had brought as much cash as we could afford to, and gave it all away.
The brothers played a popular card game with four packs of cards. They were very serious. The loser had to give away his precious cigarettes or be penalised with alcoholic drinks. They played all night. Li was back where he belonged, I thought.
Soon after our arriveal we had to visit Li’s father’s ancestors’ graves – a sacred trip. Li’s family carried stacks of coin-imprinted rice paper, water and incense, which represented the gold bars and money of olden times. ‘We need to take gifts of money, water and food so they are not hungry, thirsty or poor in their afterlife,’ Li told me.
First Dia knelt, and then one after the other the brothers knelt in order of their age. When it was Li’s turn, he said, ‘Kowtow with me, Mary,’ so I knelt beside him and we bent our heads to the ground three times. Li was overcome. I think he finally realised he had come home and was surrounded by his extended family and their history – and with me there to share it, his two worlds had come together. He had thought it would never happen. I was so happy for him. It was a very emotional time.
In the last few days of our stay, Li’s youngest brother, Jing Tring, was getting married, so I got to experience a traditional Chinese wedding. He was marrying a beautiful girl, Xiao Zhu, who was the youngest sister of one of Li’s good childhood friends. The bridal party arrived in two cars decorated with flowers and ribbons. We stood in the laneway as the bride was carried from her car by two male family members. This was so her feet didn’t touch the ground until she got onto the bed where we had been sleeping at Niang’s house. It’s considered bad luck if your feet touch the ground. Xiao Zhu wore a frilly white dress with a veil, and Jing Tring wore a cream suit. They sat on the bed and were given wide noodles ‘to widen your hearts’ as part of the wedding tradition.
Meanwhile, two brothers were busy at a house down the road, killing chickens, cleaning fish and cooking food for the guests. They cooked outside on two little coal burners, and tables were set up in the courtyard. There were two sittings of fifty people each, so an enormous amount of food had to be cooked on the two little burners. I couldn’t believe this was possible without any refrigeration. The two fridges Li had bought hadn’t yet arrived.
Dia made a speech and included lovely wishes for Li and me, Li told me later. It was a long speech for this very quiet man. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I could tell it was heartfelt. Li said he spoke about the importance of values and family, integrity, dignity and pride, and loving your wife until the end. When Li told me this I walked over and gave his father a kiss on the cheek. Then I offered a toast to Li’s parents. Everyone clapped and cheered. It was not really the done thing to kiss in public in China, but Li explained to everyone that I had kissed Dia because I was so happy to hear his affectionate words, which were so much a part of my own family values. And I got away with it because I was a Westerner. I could see the happiness in Li’s eyes.
Traditionally, Chinese brides have more than one dress. And Li’s family insisted I wear one of Xiao Zhu’s wedding dresses to celebrate our wedding, even though it had happened nearly a year earlier. It was a frilly pink dress – not at all to my taste – but they all clapped when I came out. There were fireworks going off and it was lots of fun. We walked with the bride and groom, who held a tray of drinks, and every person who took a drink had to offer a lucky or funny toast. Then that person had to gan bei. So the groom was told, ‘May you have happiness until your silver beard touches the ground.’ The more toasts, the drunker everyone got and the sillier the wishes became. There was constant laughter.
At the first session, one of the uncles said, ‘We want to see you dance!’ Luckily we hadn’t gan-beied too much. I had no ballet gear or shoes with me, but Li said, ‘Just put on your shorts and a shirt and we can do it.’ We performed the Giselle pas de deux for the family in their tiny courtyard with both of us humming the music. They clapped every time Li lifted me in the air. What a universal language dance is, I thought.