The Tree of Perseverance, page 12
The white headdress came next. I thought that it sat on my head like a bucket, and I was sure that if I so much as turned my head, it would fall down over my eyes, leaving me blind. So, I kept very still and looked straight forward. I remembered how every bride I had ever seen had kept her head rigid in just this way. Now I knew why.
But that was the last thing that happened as I had anticipated. As soon as we reached the temple where the ceremony was to be held, nothing was as I had expected at all.
Instead of a handful of close friends and family members, the temple garden was full, mainly with people I had never seen before. Father stepped forward and offered me his arm. Despite all he had forced on me, I was glad of his support. Keeping my head very still, I glanced around at the milling crowd. Were these people really here to watch me get married, or was it more likely that we were early and this crowd had just left the temple from an earlier service?
I soon realized I was wrong. I glimpsed my brothers, both with their wives at their sides. And Mikayo was present, beaming happily. I was amazed when both my brothers and their wives bustled over at once, bowing deeply to Father and smiling at me. Mikayo followed, and it seemed to me that Father was pleased to see them. I found it in my heart to hope that that was so. Mother was beaming and cooing happily over her “lost” sons. Although being Mother, she still spared the time to look carefully over their wives and I knew she was comparing their expensive, perfectly cut kimono adversely to her own colorful silks.
Apart from the sheer number of people present, something else was very strange. It took me a moment to understand, but when I did, I gasped out loud.
There were many gaijin in the crowd. To my astonished eyes, I thought they almost outnumbered my countrymen. I blushed beneath my makeup; surely, I should have expected this. My bridegroom was gaijin, so naturally, his countrymen would attend his wedding. Still, I was taken aback. Some of the gaijin had been courteous enough to wear robes rather than Western clothes, but polite as the gesture was, the effect was also almost comical. None of them seemed at all comfortable in their sumptuous robes. I saw several of them plucking the skirts from around their legs when they walked, and the rest stood with a deeply self-conscious air, their hands moving constantly as if looking for a place to rest.
I wondered if Ian would be wearing a robe, and almost laughed out loud at the thought. He was so tall and thin, he appeared clumsy even in Western clothes. The idea of him wearing a robe was unthinkable.
With no concern for protocol, a number of gaijin bustled over to us at once. Father obviously knew these men, as he bowed repeatedly and seemed delighted to see them all. I stood politely to one side. This might be my wedding day, but clearly, it was Father the gaijin wanted to talk to. Or perhaps I meant to be seen with—the conversation was one-sided, with Father’s lack of English meaning that he contributed barely more than smiles and polite nods. To make it obvious that I was not trying to eavesdrop on the conversation, I glanced around the temple, ensuring that my expression was deeply impressed. That was not difficult. It was a very fine temple, and far bigger than the temple near our family estate where we worshipped on important occasions. Still, I wished we were at our temple. As large and well-appointed as this place was, it felt impersonal to me, as if—as soon as I walked out of the doors—the priest would forget I ever existed.
My wandering gaze skimmed over the many guests who were standing around chattering. To my huge pleasure, I saw Tanaka standing next to a tiny woman, so very old it seemed to me that a slight breeze would cause her to sway. Tanaka had never mentioned his wife to me, but I assumed that this venerable lady must be her. Catching her gaze, I smiled at her, but she immediately looked nervous, so I switched my attention to Tanaka. I wanted to wave, perhaps even to go over and have a word with him, but I thought it would be discourteous, so I remained rooted to my spot. It should be sufficient for me to be standing next to my important father.
Following Father’s gaze around the crowded temple, I saw yet more men that I did not recognize. Richly dressed Japanese men who held fans in their hands and glanced around languidly, as if they had been instructed to attend, rather than coming for their own pleasure, and were deeply bored. I knew from their bearing that these were important men. Not businessmen like Father, but high-ranking civil servants. And if they were important civil servants, then most, if not all, of them would also be high-caste aristocrats.
At that moment, I truly knew my fate was sealed, and that Mother had not been lying to me. My wedding was important. Although it puzzled me, I thought the gaijin guests were known to Father, but not to Ian. They were here out of respect for Father. If that was also so of the civil servants, then Father was more important than even I had ever comprehended. As I watched, one of the gaijin—one of those who was wearing robes—walked up to a civil servant and spoke to him. As he turned, I recognized it was Tom. The important official he was speaking bowed deeply and assumed an expression of great interest, almost simpering in his pleasure at being spoken to by him.
I looked up at Father and saw he was smiling happily. Not at me, but at the dumb show we were both witnessing. He spoke softly.
“Mi-san, I am proud of you. This is a very happy day for our family. I thank you for your consideration. You have given me a greater gift than you could ever understand.”
I wished he had never spoken. Did he know full well that his words would silence any rebellion in me? His hungry gaze was already fixed on the important civil servants, and it seemed to me that he had forgotten I was at his side. I was certain of it when he drifted away to speak to one of the guests without a further word.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Summer rain is light
On my face, but it still hides
The tears that I weep
I thought that Father had come back to my side, but I understood quickly that I was wrong. Ian had taken Father’s place. The priest had come to stand in front of us, and I concentrated my gaze on him.
I held my breath, sure that one mouthful of Ian’s stink would be my undoing, that I must move away from him in order to breathe. He stood very close, so close I could feel the heat of his body. Eventually, I had to breathe shallowly through my mouth. I was pleasantly surprised. His normal body odor was masked by a far sweeter smell. I took a cautious sniff and decided it was sandalwood with an undertone of lavender. Had Ian sprinkled scent on himself? If he had, then that must mean that he was aware of his own bodily odors.
I felt a flash of compassion for him. My deformity was terrible enough, but at least it was better than it had been, and I was determined that it would be better still in the future. Tom had told me that there was no cure for the smell Ian was forced to carry around with him like a shadow. How dreadful must it be for a physician to be unable to cure himself?
So great was my sympathy for him that I turned slightly and managed a shy smile. Ian was staring back at me with a curious expression. He looked puzzled and not a little surprised, as if he had never seen me before.
At that moment, the priest began to intone the first words of the ceremony and my attention snapped back to him. Still, I could barely believe that this was happening. I was so numb, I felt almost as if I was standing beside myself, watching some other woman being married. This was not me, not my body. It could not be so. I felt light-headed. The room was sweltering and I felt it begin to spin around me.
I did not faint. I clenched my fingernails hard into my palms and the small pain steadied me. I wanted to scream but did not. I wanted to turn and run—or at least stumble—out of the room, but I did not. My legs—in particular, my poor, deformed left leg—trembled so hard, I thought I might fall, but I did not.
Almost absently, I wondered how many other brides down all the long, lost centuries had stood on this spot and taken their marriage vows. And how many of them had felt just as I did now, knowing they had to go through with this, that it was their duty to do so? And at that moment, I felt instinctively that I was not suffering alone. That many of my predecessors had hated their new husbands or—possibly even worse—had never even met them before this day, so they had no idea at all what they were condemned to.
I felt sure that I could hear the whisper of all those long-gone women all around me, softly speaking their encouragement. I desperately wanted to explain to them that I did not want this. I did not want to marry any man, still less this gaijin who repulsed me. But instinct told me that I was shaming both them and me. They had been through this. They had married men they barely knew, men they did not love or even care for, and they had survived. Just as my own mother had survived, if living to hate her own daughter could even be described as survival.
It was not strength that held me here, I understood. It was the weight of tradition. All these women had submitted to the unthinkable because their parents believed it was the best thing for them, and one’s parents knew best. Had they lived to enjoy great happiness, I wondered? Or did they spend the rest of their days trying to make the best of a bad situation, enduring a marriage that they could not escape from?
I shivered at the thought. In an attempt to distract myself, I glanced around at the temple. It was a mistake. Immediately, I connected the temple with Tengen, the Buddhist priest who had gone from being my teacher to my lover. The only lover I had ever had. I was conscious of the bitter irony of my situation. I had not been in love with Tengen, and with the unreasonable confidence of youth I had wondered what I would do if he were to ask me to run away with him, to become his wife in his new life. I had rejected the idea out of hand, and yet I had liked and respected Tengen greatly, as well as being physically attracted to him. Was it an ironic punishment from karma that I had stolen the soul of a priest and then rejected him, only to find myself about to marry a man who repulsed me?
The bitterness of the idea was oddly attractive, rather like biting down on a bad tooth to find if it still hurt. Just as the tooth was still painful, then so was my situation now. Abruptly, I wondered what Tengen would advise me to do? He had insisted on training me—as far as my withered leg would allow—in the martial arts of hand-to-hand combat. One never knew what the future held, he had said, and it was always wise to be able to defend oneself.
But how was that to help me now? It could not. Nothing could. This situation was none of my making, and I had no defense against it. Refuse Ian, and my father would surely put me away from him just as he had my brothers. All I had ever done that was creditable—learning to use the abacus, to read and write—I had done to please him. If I had the courage to walk away now, before the thing was done, the loss of face would destroy everything he had worked for. I could not do that to him and continue my own life. So, Tengen, I mocked silently, tell me what I can do to save myself from this situation?
Perhaps Ian picked up on my thoughts. He swayed a little closer toward me, as if his balance was suddenly uncertain, and I turned fully toward him. I was startled by the thought that he was as nervous as I was, and I managed a weak smile. Ian looked startled and then smiled back, showing all his large teeth.
I heard myself mouth my responses to the priest calmly. My stomach was fermenting with horror, yet still I stayed in my place, outwardly calm. I thought that Tom must have tutored Ian in his replies; even so, his Japanese was terrible, almost unintelligible, even to me who was used to his rather high-pitched voice, but at least he was trying, and I appreciated his effort. I saw that the priest was straining to follow what he was saying. Perhaps the priest had performed the ritual so many times it barely mattered, for the ceremony flowed smoothly enough.
By the time we were handed the traditional three bowls of sake in turn—the san-san-kudo—I was back in my own mind again. I kept my eyes wide, daring the tears that had gathered to fall. I had done this thing. I had allowed myself to be subjugated, to be given in marriage to a man I hated. I had no one to blame but myself. The knowledge was cold comfort indeed.
My hand was shaking so much, I had to support it with my other hand as we each took a sip from the small, medium, and large cups. It was superb sake, and I had to stop myself from gulping down the entire contents in the hope that it would numb my senses. It was obvious that Ian did not enjoy the sake at all as he grimaced, and I saw that he was barely wetting his lips after the first sip.
There, the thing was done. I was a married lady. Even now, I could barely believe it. The crowd surged around us. Many of the gaijin in the congregation took Ian’s hand in their own and pumped his arm up and down. I had never seen this done before and found it mildly alarming. I was deeply relieved when these strangers did not take my hand in the same way, but simply bowed formally to me. I smiled and smiled until my lips felt as if they were set in a rictus that would stay with me forever.
I bowed politely as a man I did not recognize pressed an elaborately decorated wedding money envelope into Ian’s hands. He looked at it in puzzlement, so I took it from him gently, tucking it in my obi. This was only the first; there would be many more, far too many for Ian to stuff in the odd inserts in his clothes that I had learned were called pockets. What, I wondered, was wrong with putting valuable items in your sleeves or your obi? Safer, surely, than Ian’s open pockets?
“What is that?” he whispered, watching as the envelope was concealed by my obi.
“Wedding money,” I explained patiently. “All of the guests will give you an envelope. The amounts will differ, of course, depending on how wealthy the guests are.”
“Really? How impersonal. In England, wedding guests give gifts—items for the house, that sort of thing—but never money.”
Another guest advanced, holding out his flowery envelope, and I bowed and thanked him effusively. Ian looked disapproving and I reflected that I must make it a priority to improve his manners. I noticed that the Japanese guests were watching us both covertly, so I spoke through a smile.
“Here in Japan, the guests at a wedding give gifts of money. That is extremely sensible. How are they supposed to know what the couple wants or needs?” Ian’s eyebrows rose superciliously, and I went on quickly, guessing that his reply was going to exasperate me yet again. “But Father will have a small gift ready for each guest as a memento of the occasion.”
“Really? Backward way round, if you ask me. Like so much else in this country.”
I glanced at him in astonishment, hardly able to believe that even such a clumsy, inept man as Ian could have spoken so rudely. But he was staring at the guests, shaking his head in apparent amusement, and I knew I was wrong.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The sickle of the
New moon is a dagger to
Plunge into my heart
There were so many good luck money envelopes that, finally, I was forced to trust Ian’s pockets and hand some of them over to him. Some of them were very fat, and I guessed they must contain the new paper money that the government had introduced quite recently. The ordinary people greatly distrusted these notes, but the rich loved them. For the wealthy, using paper money was a sign of their prosperity, a subtle way of making the point that they had no need to worry if the money turned out to be as worthless as many thought it was.
In spite of my distress, I—just like any new bride—began to plan what to do with the money. There would surely be many things that our new home would need. I had never seen it, but as it had been bought and furnished by Tom, it would no doubt be lacking many essentials. Men were not to be trusted with such important matters.
I was brought back to earth as my bridegroom took my elbow and leaned toward me, so close that his forehead was only prevented from touching mine by my absurd headdress. His blue eyes, usually so cold, were glowing. I was sure I could see tears in them. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Mi-chan, you have made me the happiest man in the whole of Japan. No, more than that. In the whole of the world. From this day on, we will never be parted. I love you, Mi. I am such a lucky man. I do not deserve such a beautiful, good wife as you.”
He meant it. I had no words to answer him, and I flinched as I saw bewilderment and hurt creep into his adoring expression at my silence.
“I am so sorry, Ian,” I muttered. “A fly distracted me. I thought it was going to fly into my ear. You honor me, and I thank you for it.”
It was the best I could do. I could not bring myself to lie and tell him I loved him in my turn. Perhaps he simply believed it had to be so; I had often read that those who are deeply in love can never bring themselves to believe that the object of their adoration does not return their feelings. In any event, he smiled happily and put his hand on my shoulder. Even through the silk of my kimono, I felt the moist heat of his palm and had to suppress a shudder.
Ian noticed nothing; he turned his head away, smiling, and raised his hand in greeting. Tom was pushing through the crowd, an envelope dangling casually from his fingers. He put it into my hand and wrapped my fingers around it.
“All brides are beautiful, but you surely outshine them all, Mi.” He sounded as if he meant it. Oddly, the compliment was far more acceptable from him than it had been from Ian—from my husband. “You look a little tired. But of course you do. This must have been a long day for you.”
I had no words to answer his sympathy but made a fluttering gesture with my hand that I hoped he would take to mean I was fine, that nothing was wrong.
Tom was obviously not fooled.
“Ian.” His nephew jumped as if his thoughts had been far away. “Ian, your bride is tired, and you are ignoring her. Come, it is time we all moved to the ryokan to celebrate this occasion properly. I, for one, am famished, and I’m sure Mi has eaten nothing at all today.”
He was right. I’d had no appetite for the morning meal. Mother, surprisingly, had not tried to force me to eat or drink, and Father had no more than poked his head around my shoji to smile at me and ask Mother if she knew where his new geta were.
