Silkpunk and Steam

by Sarina Dorie

  The old women bowed to me, but their bows weren’t deep and their curtness didn’t feel respectful. Some of them had tattooed lips like Tomomi, though theirs weren’t so thick as to resemble a mustache as hers had. I recognized the bowl of blue pear ink and quills for puncturing the skin from the times I saw grandmothers give new women tattoos.

  The most shriveled of the grandmothers stepped forward. “Show me your arms.”

  I pushed up my sleeves. She didn’t appear impressed by my muscles. She only examined my wrists.

  “There is talk in our village that you are too young to be Nipa’s bride. Even if this is only a temporary marriage, we cannot permit him to bed a child and lower himself in the eyes of our people. We cannot afford for people to question Nipa’s judgement.” She looked me up and down. “Do you understand what we must do?”

  “No, Grandmother.” I looked to the weathered faces for some explanation. Many women looked away, showing my response embarrassed them.

  She pursed her lips. “The council has decided Nipa should not have you unless you have the signs of a woman. Therefore, we must give them to you.” She swept a hand over the table of ink and needles for making the tattoos of a woman.

  I shook my head. “But I haven’t bled. I’m not a woman. It’s bad luck to give a woman tattoos when she hasn’t earned them.” I backed away from the table of tools and bumped into one of the grandmothers. My heart pounded like thunder. Tattoos at my age weren’t the Chiramantepjin custom.

  “It is worse luck to be with a man and not have the tattoos to protect you. Evil spirits will enter your body if you do not,” an old woman said. “People will shun you.”

  “And him,” one woman quietly added.

  “No. I will not be tattooed before my time. It’s against the custom of my tribe. Evil kamuy will get me if I do.” I looked into each of their faces, but I saw no sympathy.

  One of the women grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh like the talons of a tatsu. “Will you be a disobedient child so that we must tell Nipa how poorly his wife behaves?”

  I bit my lip.

  The grandmother must have smelled my weakness. She lashed out with the savageness of a chiramantep closing in for the kill. “You shame your own nipa with your selfishness. You shame our nipa. You would rather make him lose face in order to protect your traditions than to ensure harmony in his village?”

  This went back to everything I had been talking about with my friends. Only I was now the reason for the divide in the Tanukijin village, not Petennouk. To make this village safe for Faith, I had to make this sacrifice. I would change Shiromainu’s mind so that he allowed my entire tribe to join his, and no one would have any reason to doubt his judgement.

  I bowed, keeping my gaze on the floor to show respect. “Sumimasen. Please excuse my childishness. Thank you for reminding me of my duties, Grandmother.” I kneeled beside the table, trying not to look at the sharp quills that would be used to punish me for not being a woman yet.

  The grandmother roughly removed Hekketek’s manto and my attush, probably so blood wouldn’t get on them. The room was warm enough I didn’t need clothes. I wouldn’t have cared about being naked in my own tribe, but I didn’t like being naked in front of these strangers with the way they evaluated my every flaw.

  The elder with the talon-like fingers grabbed my wrist. “Be still or else your tattoos will be uneven.”

  One woman held onto my arm while another punctured my skin with quills. She pricked the skin around my wrist to create a bracelet. It was the task of another to smear ink over the bleeding wound. It hurt so much it made me sweat and my legs stuck to the bark matt. I tried not to cry out, but several times I whimpered and had to wipe away the tears. I didn’t fight them, though. I fulfilled my obligation to become a woman without complaint.

  “Did your eboshi rattle as he had you?” one woman asked.

  This was an easy lie since it hadn’t rattled after I’d removed it, nor had he bedded me. “No, not once.” I tried not to smile as I did when I thought myself clever. The prick of another quill ensured any hint of a smile left my face.

  The tattoos took hours. They sang women’s songs, ballads about becoming a woman. I hadn’t been allowed to watch the elders as they gave women tattoos when they came of age, though I had eavesdropped. These songs weren’t my people’s songs. No one gave me special food to celebrate my womanhood or danced for me. The black bracelets they gave me were thicker than those women in my own village received.

  I tried to remember why I was doing this. I suffered so that Faith wouldn’t have to—so that she wouldn’t suffer in the future.

  My skin was sensitive and swollen when they finished. There was no chance I’d be able to lie on the ground playing games now. The memory moss they rubbed into my skin first stung and then numbed the tattoos. Unfortunately, it gave me a rash that itched worse than the pain. By the time they finished, it was dinner. I joined my husband in the great hall where the village waited to sup together. He eyed my wrists, frowning, but didn’t speak of the new tattoos.

  I took my place beside him at the table in front of a woven tapestry. It wasn’t as beautiful as Faith’s paintings, but the dark blue spirals and swirls around the stylized animals were pleasing to the eye. I imagined what the great hall would look like if Faith were permitted to lift her brush to the walls.

  Villagers assembled with their families. Shiromainu’s lips thinned as he gazed at his nephew sitting with other young men. His voice was quiet, only meant for my ears. “I understand you met my brother’s grandchild yesterday.” He sucked on his teeth. “There is talk that I am an unfit match for you on account of our difference in ages. Would it be your preference to perform tsuma no koukan with someone younger like my nephew, instead of an old man who isn’t much to look at?”

  My cheeks flushed with heat. Why did he have to ask me such intimate things here? I bowed low to show my respect. “I am at Nipa’s disposal to make use of however he sees fits. If it pleases the lord of the Tanukijin to be rid of me, then I will do his bidding.”

  Shiromainu pursed his lips like he’d swallowed something sour. “I’m too old for politeness. Besides that, you are my wife. You may speak informally with me.”

  I leaned closer and whispered, “I think Petennouk-san is a fool and I wouldn’t want him.” I could hardly imagine having to become his wife for the remaining thirteen days. Yuck!

  “When you are blunt, you are very blunt, ne? I like that.” He chuckled, spraying saliva on me as he did so. “You are wise to see through his beauty and know him for what he truly is. You are still a girl.” He sucked on his teeth, eyeing the black bracelet tattooed around my wrists. Apparently, he didn’t think they made me anymore of a woman. “Still a child, yet he would want you as a woman, not because he feels any desire for you, but because privilege has gone to his head. He thinks he deserves to become nipa someday, though he has done nothing to earn the rank.” He frowned at my tattoos.

  I wondered if he thought I had done nothing to earn my marks of womanhood. I tugged the attush sleeves lower. So much depended on me “putting my best face forward” as Grandmother Ami would have said. If I didn’t represent my tribe well or show him how harmless Faith was, he might not allow my tribe to join his. I was glad more than ever I had taken Faith’s place, since she would have been worse at making an impression than I was.

  “Please forgive my grandnephew if he is unusually thickheaded. His parents’ death at the hands of gaijin hardened his heart,” Shiromainu said. “He will grow wiser with age.”

  A moment later, the cauldron of soup was ready and we went to it. Nipa and I had the honor of pouring bowls for people. It was the same soup I’d had from lunch. With it, two of the girls I’d met earlier served a side of raw vegetables I’d never seen before. Each person bowed before us and greeted us with formality. Nipa greeted each person by name. Occasionally he asked a man or woman if they had met his bride, and they
offered compliments on my beauty or clear complexion.

  When Petennouk cycled through, he bowed low to his great uncle. He was smart enough to keep his tone free of disrespect in the presence of Nipa. It was my mistake to think my husband’s presence kept me safe from Petennouk’s cruelty.

  His gaze raked over my tattooed wrists. “Ah, Nipa, I see your bride has come of age,” he said with another bow.

  Nipa’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

  When I scooped a ladle full of soup into Petennouk’s bowl, he jerked his hand up and splattered hot soup across my new tattoos.

  “Iya!” I cried out, dropping the ladle to the ground. My own pain blinded me and sent fire up my limbs.

  Petennouk’s cry was louder, drawing stares. “You burned me! Watch where you pour that soup, child!”

  The hot liquid made my tattoos throb. My vision blurred with newfound pain, but I didn’t let myself cry. Petennouk would have enjoyed it too much.

  I dipped my head in apology. “Sumimasen.”

  Nipa’s nostrils flared. I couldn’t tell who he was angry with, Petennouk or me.

  He nodded to my sleeve. “You are bleeding. Go to my room and take care of that.”

  I left. I couldn’t remember where his room was in the labyrinth of chambers. I wandered through dark hallways, peeking around hide curtains that kept the heat in. All the rooms looked the same. They were sparse with few decorations. Between that and the growing dusk, I couldn’t figure out which one was his. Finally, I encountered a young woman coming from the great hall. She carried a sleeping baby on her back.

  She bowed very low and greeted me. “Konbanwa. You are lost, Sumiko-sama?”

  I nodded. “Nipa told me to get cleaned up. But I couldn’t find his chamber. May I impose on you to point out the way?”

  She bowed again. “It would be an honor to take you there.”

  The woman walked me to Nipa’s chamber and helped me wash my arms and then the attush sleeves in a basin. I had to change from the robe and into a fresh attush so it would dry. I planned to return to the great hall, but I must have taken a long time wandering around in search of his room because Nipa appeared shortly after I was cleaned and changed.

  “You missed supper, anata.” He used a term of endearment I sometimes heard married couples call each other.

  The girl bowed and slipped out of the room. I kept my eyes on the floor. “I apologize. I was lost and needed assistance.”

  “Yes, I forget how large our palace is. It is my hope that was the only detail keeping you from rejoining me. No one blames you for the spilled soup. We all know of Petennouk’s clumsiness.”

  Clumsiness? Is that what he thought? Well, better that than he thought the fault was mine.

  He set something down on the table. The aroma of fish wafted toward me. “Come join me.”

  My belly grumbled and I looked up. A bowl of soup and a plate vegetables awaited. His smile was kindly, like a grandfather’s. Three bowls of soup all in one day! I couldn’t believe my luck.

  Shiromainu Nipa broke the memory moss apart and nodded to the mortar and pestle like he wanted me to do the mixing. “Have you decided what memory you wish me to give you?”

  I took the pestle, my hands awkward compared to the graceful dance of his hands. He poured a splash of water in the bowl as I ground up the moss.

  I had considered what my brother might want to know, but it was hard to imagine when I never had gone to a meeting of the elders and the only bits of politics I knew came from snatches of conversation he told Faith—in English no less. I knew what I would give him if I could choose—a better memory of Faith than the one I had given him last time.

  “What do you think is important for me to know?” I asked.

  He looked again to my tattooed bracelets. Had I moved and made them uneven? A spot of blood dotted the grayish tan sleeve from where I’d continued to bleed. I must have scratched at an itchy section of rash. Perhaps the blood disgusted him.

  “Have I displeased you with my tattoos?” I ventured.

  “It is your body to decorate as you will. If you wish to break with tradition and have yourself tattooed before you have bled, it is not my place to say. But if you think it will make you more palatable to a man’s appetites, do not forget I have given you my word I will not have you. You are too young. There are some traditions I cannot break.”

  I bowed my head. “I thought you had ordered the tattoos. The elders told me I must. They said the council decided it.”

  He grunted and shook his head. “I see.”

  They had acted on his behalf, but not with his permission? The unity in this village was far more fragile than I’d imagined. The Chiramantepjin might have been made up of mismatched tribes, all coming with their own traditions, but we had grown to be more unified than the Tanukijin. My people were loyal to Taishi. He had earned their respect through hard work. They trusted his judgement and accepted Faith as a result.

  Shiromainu took my hands in his. The sleeve fell back enough for him to see the swollen skin marked with the blue pear ink. In this light they were more black than blue. In my tribe, the women’s tattoos only looked blue in the sunlight. There would be scarce enough of that if the coming winter was anything like the last one.

  “Does it itch?” he asked.

  “A little.” Mostly it was the red welts that itched, but that was from the memory moss.

  “That will only double with time.” He sprayed me with saliva as he spoke.

  I discreetly wiped away the dots of moisture on my cheek.

  “I shall give you memories to take your mind off your tattoos, ne? Where will you have me touch you Sumiko-chan?”

  “My shoulders,” I said.

  He waved a hand at his bed. “Push your attush back from your shoulders and lie on the furs.”

  I loosened my robe and lay face down, hiding my lack of breasts against the furs. If only I could be like the beautiful women at the onsen. I wondered what breasts would feel like when they grew on my body. I wondered what Faith’s breasts felt like. I pushed the thought away. That was exactly the kind of chikkan thinking that would get me in trouble when I shared my memories with someone later.

  Shiromainu Nipa applied the memory moss to my upper back. I tried to commit the way this worked into my memory: he gave me a memory so he painted the paste on his hands. If I were giving him a memory I would paint the paste on my hands. I didn’t want my inexperience to show and come across as foolish.

  He rubbed the paste into my shoulders. A wave of cold surged up my spine. My muscles relaxed and I closed my eyes. For a moment, I was floating in a black warmth. The world around me was gone. I was alone in this pleasant sanctuary of nothingness. A moment later, the world opened up and I was in the jungle. The air was so humid it felt like I was breathing hot soup.

  I was a man, my manhood heavy between my legs, covered only in a loincloth. Bracelets made of leaves decorated my wrists and a necklace from tanuki teeth adorned my neck. The heavy eboshi leaned against my side as I sat. Shoko Nipa of the Chiramantepjin tribe and her husband sat down across from me.

  My mother, I realized. My own thought was quickly pushed away as I sank deeper in Shiromainu Nipa’s memory.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked. She took off her own eboshi made from blue chiramantep fur and wiped the sweat from her brow.

  She was a beautiful woman, a strong woman. One who had proven her worth more times than I could count. Outlining her upper lip was a thin blue line that curved with the contours of her sensual mouth. Her dark hair was thick and glossy, worn down so that it fell around her shoulders like dark rivers of water. She was in her late thirties, and still vibrant and full of good health like when I’d seen her last.

  Beside her kneeled her husband Ipetam. He smiled in his usual jovial way and offered me cha.

  As the memory went on, it became clearer we were friends and felt respect for
each other as leaders. It was nothing remarkable. Only when I slipped back into my own body did I realize the significance.

  “That was my mother!” I said. “And my father. Oh, how I would like to see them again! I can barely remember them, except now I can see their faces.” I yawned.

  “Yes, I thought you would like that.”

  I hugged him. “Thank you, Grandfather. I mean—” I stammered.

  “It would please me if you called me anata when we are alone like this.”

  “Yes, anata.”

  “Would you like me to help you remember more of your mama?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  He told me to apply memory moss to my hands. I pressed them to his shoulders. I wasn’t sure how this would help me see my mother. If he was going to give me a memory, he should have been putting his hands on my shoulders, but I trusted he knew what he was doing.

  “Think of your mother’s face. See her as you once did when you were a child,” he said.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to picture her. I didn’t remember much of her, other than what he’d just shown me. I imagined the way she would say my name—my baby name before she’d given me a more permanent one. I wasn’t even sure I knew what my baby name was.

  I was suddenly there in her arms, sucking my thumb. She pulled my hair up into a knot on my head to get it out of my face. We sat in the thatch hut up in the tree palace, my father across from us. He leaned back against the wall, the breeze from the window making his short hair flutter. “Come now, Shoko-chan, our little Poyshi-chan is too young for an adult name. Sumiko is too beautiful of a word. It will tempt the kamuy to steal her away.”

  “It’s a silly tradition from old times,” she said. “Chiramantepjin aren’t superstitious, not like the Cepjin or those foolish Isepojin, ne?”

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Poyshi is a perfectly acceptable name for a little girl her age. No kamuy will want a baby whose name means ‘small excrement.’ Give it another year or two. Why must you be in such a hurry to make her an adult? She can’t even speak yet.” He laughed like the whole argument was a joke.