Letters in Books: Cartas do terceiro día

Cartas do terceiro día (2006), which would translate in English as Letters from the Third Day, is a book by Marcos S. Calveiro (1968) which I found in Biblioteca Pública Victoriano García Martí. The book cover has some Chinese characters, and every poem is introduced by a Chinese character too, which really puzzled me.

I went to the writer's blog, Alfaias, and was able to find an answer. The book uses nüshu script as an inspiration, a gender language which was used exclusively among women in Jiangyong County in the Hunan province of southern China.

Calveiro says in his blog that this was a language only known by women which they used to share their life as servants, their hopes, happy and sad moments. Back then, only men learnt to read and write Chinese, it was banned for women to learn, so they developed their own way of communication, passing it on from one generation to the other, from woman to woman.

Oaths were made and they had their own sisterhoods. When a woman left the nest to get together with a husband through an arranged marriage, she was given a "nushu", a small journal written in their language three days after the wedding, which was called the "book of the third day." That journal, written by the girl's mother and friends, contained advice for the married life and conveyed their sadness and pain at having lost the girl. The rest of the book was left blank for her to write her impressions, which, in turn, was to be left as an inheritance to her daughter in the future.

Calveiro says, "E así eu escribín os meus versos, o meu propio nushu, e tratei de poñerme no pelexo desa nai e desas amigas para liberarme así dunha fonda frustración persoal que non vén ao caso contar."

And here are two beautiful gems from the book, one from the beginning (p.11), and one from the end (p. 41):

Miña filla:

Yang

era o alcume da miña avoa,

Huanyi

era o de miña nai,

elas e as demais labregas

da prefectura de Jiang Yong,

Provincia de Hunam,

que sabían da súa nacencia e serventía,

xamais souberon ler ou escribir en han

nin os seus nomes

nin os de seus fillos

nin os dos paxaros

que brincaban nas leiras,

emproiso ensináronme

na súa secreta linguaxe

o pouco que sabían,

o pouco que eu tamén sei

e que agora che quero entregar

nestas cartas que escribo coas túas irmás

na terceira xornada de convite e rexouba

dende o teu casorio arranxado

polo alcoviteiro da aldea

co teu pai e a familia dese prea

co que ves de casar.

Miña filla,
nosa benquerida irmá:
Eiqui rematan
este feixe de cartas
feitas coa estima das que te estrañan,
verbas de alivio e conforto
das túas amigas,
ensinanzas, desculpas e avíos
da túa naiciña.
Non as esquezas
e tenas presentes
polo teu ben e o teu descanso,
adeus para sempre
filla e compañeira.
As follas en branco
que agora seguen
éncheas co amor e o cariño
que nos che profesamos
e cando te sintas pexada
arreda o fastío e a repugnancia

escribindo nelas coitas e alegrías,
herdanza que deixarás
a túa meniña
o día aínda lonxano
da súa partida.