The Terracotta Bride
by Zen Cho
Even the housekeeper knew about the terracotta bride before
Siew Tsin did. Siew Tsin only found out when she ran down the stairs one day, a
day like any other, and saw the girl coming in through the main doors in full
bridal gear, her ornamented headdress tinkling.
Siew Tsin crouched on the stairs in her old samfu and felt
the winds of change raise the hairs on the back of her neck. She had ten
seconds before anyone looked at her, ten seconds to rearrange her face so that
nobody would know what she felt.
Their husband Junsheng took the terracotta bride by the
hand and presented her to Siew Tsin with an ironic tilt of the head.
"The whole family has come out to greet you," he
said to the girl. To Siew Tsin he said:
"This is my new wife. Please look after her."
The girl shone out from her extravagant silk robes like a
pearl nestled in a red velvet box. She was beautiful, with skin as smooth as
jade and hair like a lacquered black bowl.
Her eyes were black commas, no whites in them. She was not
human. She had never been alive.
"You must be like sisters to one another," said
their husband.
"What is her name?" said Siew Tsin.
"She can answer questions herself," said
Junsheng. "She has a working brain. She is as intelligent as you and me.
What is your name, my wife?"
"You haven't given me one," said the terracotta
bride. Her voice was throaty and surprisingly deep. She spoke without affect.
Junsheng seemed to like this answer. "Precious, we'll
have to think of a good name for you," he said. The last time Siew Tsin
had seen him so pleased was when he'd been burnt a new car.
Siew Tsin had not given much thought to what happened in
the afterlife until the afterlife happened to her. She was young when she died,
and it had been sudden. While running across the road, she had been hit by a
motorcar and dashed against the curb. One moment she was brimming with life,
possessed of ambitions, interests, an affectionate family—the next she
was dead.
Hell came as something of a shock. What education Siew Tsin
had had was from the blue-eyed nuns at her convent school, with their soft
voices and implacable religion. Their lectures, given in warm classrooms on
sunny dozy afternoons, had given her a fluffy idea of the afterlife—all
clouds and angels and loving Fathers.
They had not prepared her for the reality. This was
strangely like life. Hell was hot and full of unkind people in a hurry; there
was far too much red tape; and the bureaucrats were all shockingly corrupt.
It had been a relief to Siew Tsin when she had been scooped
up by a long-dead great-uncle. Fourth Great-Uncle had seemed kind enough,
though he was preoccupied by his children's lack of filial feeling.
"Why don't they burn me more money? Why don't I hear
their prayers?" he said. "Are children's memories so short now? Are
they too poor to afford the hell paper, or too miserly?"
Siew Tsin mumbled, "I don't know Auntie and Uncle very
well. They live up in Alor Setar. We don't see them often."
She was too embarrassed to explain that they were
Christians and did not believe in the rites anymore. They probably thought he
was safe in the Christian heaven, kit out with his own harp and in no need of
cash.
She might as well not have tried so hard to save his
feelings, because the faithless old man went on to sell her. Again, the
procession of events was so fast and illogical that she did not know what was
happening until it had happened. One day she was scuttling across the black
volcanic floors of hell, trying her best to understand the rules of this new
world; the next day she was married off to the richest man in the tenth court
of hell.
The marriage worked out well for Fourth Great-Uncle. He got
enough money from it to buy himself a house in the tenth court and bribe the
officials to turn a blind eye to his continued presence.
The tenth court was the most desirable postcode in hell.
The other courts were taken up by
by Zen Cho
Even the housekeeper knew about the terracotta bride before
Siew Tsin did. Siew Tsin only found out when she ran down the stairs one day, a
day like any other, and saw the girl coming in through the main doors in full
bridal gear, her ornamented headdress tinkling.
Siew Tsin crouched on the stairs in her old samfu and felt
the winds of change raise the hairs on the back of her neck. She had ten
seconds before anyone looked at her, ten seconds to rearrange her face so that
nobody would know what she felt.
Their husband Junsheng took the terracotta bride by the
hand and presented her to Siew Tsin with an ironic tilt of the head.
"The whole family has come out to greet you," he
said to the girl. To Siew Tsin he said:
"This is my new wife. Please look after her."
The girl shone out from her extravagant silk robes like a
pearl nestled in a red velvet box. She was beautiful, with skin as smooth as
jade and hair like a lacquered black bowl.
Her eyes were black commas, no whites in them. She was not
human. She had never been alive.
"You must be like sisters to one another," said
their husband.
"What is her name?" said Siew Tsin.
"She can answer questions herself," said
Junsheng. "She has a working brain. She is as intelligent as you and me.
What is your name, my wife?"
"You haven't given me one," said the terracotta
bride. Her voice was throaty and surprisingly deep. She spoke without affect.
Junsheng seemed to like this answer. "Precious, we'll
have to think of a good name for you," he said. The last time Siew Tsin
had seen him so pleased was when he'd been burnt a new car.
Siew Tsin had not given much thought to what happened in
the afterlife until the afterlife happened to her. She was young when she died,
and it had been sudden. While running across the road, she had been hit by a
motorcar and dashed against the curb. One moment she was brimming with life,
possessed of ambitions, interests, an affectionate family—the next she
was dead.
Hell came as something of a shock. What education Siew Tsin
had had was from the blue-eyed nuns at her convent school, with their soft
voices and implacable religion. Their lectures, given in warm classrooms on
sunny dozy afternoons, had given her a fluffy idea of the afterlife—all
clouds and angels and loving Fathers.
They had not prepared her for the reality. This was
strangely like life. Hell was hot and full of unkind people in a hurry; there
was far too much red tape; and the bureaucrats were all shockingly corrupt.
It had been a relief to Siew Tsin when she had been scooped
up by a long-dead great-uncle. Fourth Great-Uncle had seemed kind enough,
though he was preoccupied by his children's lack of filial feeling.
"Why don't they burn me more money? Why don't I hear
their prayers?" he said. "Are children's memories so short now? Are
they too poor to afford the hell paper, or too miserly?"
Siew Tsin mumbled, "I don't know Auntie and Uncle very
well. They live up in Alor Setar. We don't see them often."
She was too embarrassed to explain that they were
Christians and did not believe in the rites anymore. They probably thought he
was safe in the Christian heaven, kit out with his own harp and in no need of
cash.
She might as well not have tried so hard to save his
feelings, because the faithless old man went on to sell her. Again, the
procession of events was so fast and illogical that she did not know what was
happening until it had happened. One day she was scuttling across the black
volcanic floors of hell, trying her best to understand the rules of this new
world; the next day she was married off to the richest man in the tenth court
of hell.
The marriage worked out well for Fourth Great-Uncle. He got
enough money from it to buy himself a house in the tenth court and bribe the
officials to turn a blind eye to his continued presence.
The tenth court was the most desirable postcode in hell.
The other courts were taken up by
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