Andrew Kwong - One Bright Moon

courtesy of the author

Sixteenth Day, Third Lunar Month, 1894

In Shenmingting, a small town situated in the vast estuary of the Pearl River in Guangdong, my great-grandfather Fu-chiu awaits his bride. He strolls around the large courtyard of his ancestral home where more than twenty tables stand ready to seat relatives and distinguished guests. The tables and guests spread onto his cousins front yard next door.

Both houses have been splashed with a good coat of whitewash to conceal the ageing grey bricks of the otherwise handsome homes. Days before the happy occasion, the painters had been about to brush over the decorative panels beneath the eaves of the two houses when Fu-chius father had intervened. Stop, hed shouted at them, aghast at their ignorance. Leave them alone. Those are story panels. The panels depicted many Chinese legends that had captured the imaginations of past generations and would do the same for generations to come. Hed made sure they were safe before directing other servants and helpers who were putting the final touches to the wedding preparations.

On either side of the courtyard gates and at the back of the houses, incense sticks burn and paper money has been left out as offerings to the door-gods and other supernatural guardians who, in return, it is hoped, will protect the household. The offerings are also made to repel the ghosts that are said to wander constantly seeking souls to take their place in the spirit world and free them to be reborn and reach enlightenment. First and foremost, the aim is to ensure the smooth execution of the important day.

Fu-chiu mingles with the guests and, to ease his nerves, takes deep breaths of the abundant smoke lingering in the sweet-scented spring air. He turns back to look at the panels and is pleased his father chose to keep them, even though their colours have faded under the subtropical sky. Much to his delight, they break the sterile monotony of white paint, and preserve the vivacity of the life he has known. The image of the exuberant General Guan Gong on the panel depicting events from the fourteenth-century historical novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms is his favourite. How fondly he remembers the tale told to him by his father who, in turn, had been told it by his father. Such was Guan Gongs courage and loyalty in leading the forces of Liu Ban, founder of one of the Three Kingdoms in the third century AD, that he later became not just a folk hero but a god for the Chinese people. From the panel, he seems to beam approval on the familys important day. The tension eases inside Fu-chiu.

Because he has just turned twenty, the coming of age for Chinese men, it is fitting that Fu-chiu be married. He has never met his bride-to-be; he doesnt even know her name. While he was away attending high school, the village go-between was arranging a suitable marital candidate for him under his fathers instruction. The process of choosing a wife has remained much the same since his ancestors arrived from the north. People do not marry someone from the same village in case the potential spouse is a descendant of shared forebears who fled the onslaught of the mighty Mongol armies a thousand years earlier. The expertise of the go-between is important for her intimate knowledge of the many families in the surrounding area. Gossip, hearsay, facts, half-truths and, of course, family trees all help her to assess her clients backgrounds and ensure a good fit. When the go-between enters a match-making deal, her vivid and creative imagination, coupled with a keen sense of how well partners will suit each other, is put into play to ensure success. The bride-to-be must not only be obedient, attentive and devoted, but also beautiful, virtuous and able to produce healthy children. As for the potential groom, he should, of course, be handsome, intelligent and rich, and if he is not wealthy yet, he will be one day, as predicted by her fortune-telling skills.