She was born early.
I remember this with humor now; it was perhaps the only time she was ever early for anything in her life. Even in that, she was late, for her mother was past thirty, and I near fifty. We had not expected her, after nearly fifteen years of childlessness. I could have taken concubines, or another wife, to fulfill the need for a son, but that route is for a man who does not love his wife as I love mine.
I remember Li's face as she came to me that morning in late fall. "Husband," she whispered. It was so white, her face. I feared for her in that moment.
"What did the doctor say?" I asked, catching her hands. "What's wrong? Why haven't you been feeling well?"
"Oh--Zhou--" She burst into tears.
"Li! What is it? What did he say?" There was something terribly wrong with her. I knew it. Would she die in only a few months, and leave me alone in the world save for my aged mother?
It was my mother who gave me the news, since Li was still crying so hard she couldn't speak. "She is with child, my son!" my mother cried, bounding into the room with the enthusiasm of a woman a third her age. "A child! At last! A son for you, a grandson for me, a man to honor you after your death!"
It was a difficult pregnancy. The doctor ordered Li to her bed in early spring, after she began having pains when she shouldn't. We walked on eggshells for the next four months, holding our breath in fear for the baby. We all thought of it as a son, from the very first moment. We never considered the alternative.
I made plans, in my head, even though to do so was tempting the gods. "A horse, when he is six, so he will learn to ride . . . toy swords--he will learn to fight as he learns to walk, the movements etched into his soul as they were etched into mine. And on the long winter evenings, I will teach him to play go, so he learns strategy, the delicate brain-work of war, not merely the grunt work." I pictured him in my head, a tall young man, long and lean as all the men of my family were, with Li's warm eyes. The finest warrior China had ever known, a fame to outshine even his father's. "My son," I murmured, my arms aching to hold him for the first time.
Li went into labor in early summer. My mother pushed me out of the house--"This is no place for a man, my son. I will call you back when you have a son to greet." I wandered in the yard, helpless in the face of this female work. What is there for a father to do but wait?
So I waited, there among the magnolia trees. They weren't blooming quite yet--all tight little buds biding their time until they should spring to blossom, filling the yard with their color and life.
It was almost sunset when my mother came to the moon gate. I sprang up from my bench, my leg being at that time whole and strong. "Mother? Is it done? Is my son here?"
"It is done," she said. She didn't answer my other question, but I was too excited to note that, or the strange look on her face.
My son was no more then a bundle of blankets on Li's chest. Li, too, had an odd look on her face, but I thought that was because of what the doctor had said. Born early like this, my son had a lesser chance of surviving even a few months. But he would, I vowed. He was a Fa, and Fas did not admit defeat.
"Li," I said, kneeling by her bed. "My son--how is my son?"
Li let out a long, shaky breath. "Zhou--I'm so sorry."
My heart clenched. He had been born dead. There was some terrible deformity. He was--
"A girl," Li was saying. "It's a girl."
A girl.
I stared at her for long moments, my brain struggling to process this. A girl.
I put out a hand, brushing aside the blanket that hid my s--my daughter's face. It was tiny and wrinkled and red, and more unprepossessing a face I could not have imagined. The tiny mouth opened, and a little mewl, like a kitten, emerged.
I pulled the rest of the blankets away to see for myself. It was true. A girl.
I looked at her helplessly, my dreams of horses and toy swords and go games in the long winter evenings dying before my eyes. What use was it to have a daughter with no son to protect her? In the darkness of my mind, I thought, perhaps it would be better if she did die . . .
And then her tiny fists batted at my hand. You will not discount me that easily, honorable father.
Without thinking about it, I touched one finger to one of those tight little fists. It opened momentarily, then clenched around my finger like a vise.
I will live, honorable father, no matter what you or anyone else thinks. I will live. I am a Fa, and Fas do not admit defeat.
I managed to extricate my finger, then carefully wrapped the blankets around her again. "Mother--how do I hold her?"
My mother guided me through it, the puzzlement on her face clear. Li watched us half-fearfully.
When the dainty feather weight of her was settled in my arms, I stood and looked down into her face. Her eyes were still closed tightly, but one little fist--perhaps the one that had latched onto my finger so tightly--was tucked up under her chin, as if she were pondering the meaning of this life she was so new to.
My heart expanded like a flower, and without a word to either my wife or my mother, I went outside to the magnolia blossoms.
My mother found me there several minutes later, sitting on my bench with my daughter sleeping against my chest. "I am sorry, my son," she said, sitting by me.
I lifted my face. It was wet with tears. "For what, honorable mother?"
"The doctor says it would not be wise for Li to have any more children. It was too hard on her. You will not have a son."
"It does not matter," I said, and to my surprise found that I meant it. "Mulan will be a light for our old age."
"Mulan?" my mother repeated doubtfully. We had not thought of girls' names, of course. The boy Mulan was supposed to be would have been named Chen-Yi.
"Mulan," I said firmly, looking up into the magnolia tree we sat under. One single bud had burst into blossom. "My daughter," I said, savoring the words in my mouth. "Mulan."
Sit tight, sports fans . . . this isn't the end! Plenty more to come soon.
