I AM TRYNING TO REMEMBER when I arrived at my decision. I do not think I can point to a single moment in time and say yes, that is when I decided I would leave my husband.
Leave my husband. The sound of those words thrills me and frightens me. I am shocked by how the words appear on the pages of this diary, clear and indelible. Their sentiments will endure long after I am gone.
If I am being honest, it was only a few days after we got married that I first knew (or should have known) that I would not remain with Johnny forever. Mother and Father invited a few friends to the house to be introduced to him. I insisted they do so — I did not wish for my husband to be treated as a leper, something awful to be ashamed of. About eight people came, friends of Father’s whom I have known since I was very young. One of them had a daughter who was my age. Her name was Lemon and she was not yet married. She led me by the hand down the dim corridor leading to my bedroom; she padded quickly across the bare boards, the pale soles of her bare feet flashing against the dark teak floor. Giggling, she locked the door. She could not wait to speak about the experience of being married.
“What’s it really like?” she asked, sitting elegantly on the mat with her legs folded under her (something my inflexible bones will not permit me to do).
“It’s nice,” I replied, “though really no different from being on your own. Life goes on just as it did before.”
“But surely it must be more exciting now, what with a man in your room!”
I laughed. “Excitement? I’m not sure that is the object of marriage.”
“Snow, come on,” she said, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “Your marriage is all about excitement.”
I paused. “What do you mean?”
She played with her jade pendant, rubbing it between her fingers. “You know exactly what I mean, Snow. After all — Johnny Lim, well, isn’t it exciting being with this type of man? Answer truthfully now.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
“Snow!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back in laughter. “How you tease me! Alright, if you want to hear me say it: he is a strong, healthy, labouring man, totally uneducated and wild. He’s different from us. He’s almost. . savage. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Admit it!”
“No,” I answered, “it isn’t what I want. He isn’t savage.”
“Ooohhh,” she continued giggling, “you’ve always made me laugh, dear Snow. Anyway, it’s good that there are no secrets between us. I’m glad you tell me these things. After all, everyone in the Valley has been talking about you and Johnny. Everyone knows you wanted a husband who is different from you, different from the rest of us. You’ve always been a naughty thing.”
I did not answer. I looked at her slim neck, encircled by the delicate gold chain around it. Next to her I felt tall and ungainly.
“Tell me,” she said, “are your parents still very angry with you?”
I shrugged. “Father gave his consent to the marriage in the end, so he has no reason to be angry.”
“My parents told me that your mother threatened to disown you if you married Johnny, but you insisted on doing so. Is that true? Oh, tell me it is, Snow — it’s a wonderful story!”
I paused. “No,” I said, “that is not quite how it turned out.”
“Father said he would flog me if I followed your example — or sell me to the brothel in Kampar. That’s where I’d belong, he said. Isn’t that hilarious?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to raise a smile.
“So what do you and Johnny talk about?”
“Everything,” I said. “Everything.”
“You do surprise me, Snow,” she said as she rose from her folded-flower position. She crossed the room and picked up my wedding photograph. She replaced it on my dressing table and looked around the room. “You should furnish this place more luxuriously now that you are a married woman,” she said. “Books alone are not very decorative, you know.”
We rejoined the others in the sitting room. Johnny was clearly uncomfortable. He looked very small in his large rosewood armchair and moved constantly, like a mouse caught in a box. The long calligraphy scrolls hung on the walls above him, unfurled like long tendrils trying to touch him on the shoulder.
“Your husband has been telling us how he has taken over Tiger Tan’s shop,” Lemon’s father said. “He sounds as if he is doing very well — that is a good little shop he has there.”
“He is very proud of it,” I said, sitting next to Johnny. I looked at him and saw his eyes soften with my presence.
“He should be,” Chan Toh Kwan said. “Everyone needs towels now and then.”
“How fortunate he is to have married into this family,” Lemon’s mother said.
“If you need to dress your servants,” said Mother, “send them to Johnny. He knows exactly how servants dress.”
“Lemon,” I said, “why don’t you play the piano?”
She did not need persuading. She crossed the room and seated herself at the piano. Her reflection gleamed in its polished upright face. She said, “What shall I play?”
“How about some Mozart,” Father said.
