by Sarina Dorie
“It works best to rub it into the skin.”
I massaged my fingers into the muscles of his shoulders. The mere sight of his body made something deep inside me clench. Feeling the contours of his back, I wanted to hold him closer.
He moaned and sighed. “Are you . . . ano . . . think of memory?” His voice grew drowsy and he was hard to understand. I closed my eyes and recounted the memory, much like when I’d told him about it out loud. The memory was bright and shimmery even though it was at night. Only when it was over and I slipped back into myself did I realize I couldn’t see any of the memory. I could remember telling him what I’d seen and the thoughts I’d had about it. I wondered if he would see exactly what I had seen or if he would interpret it differently. The pictures themselves were gone, but inklings of feeling remained. I rested my head against his shoulder. I wanted to sleep. Or cuddle. I smiled. It has been so long since I’d done this.
He turned to hug me. “You are relaxed enough that I think you will be able to feel comfortable doing what we are about to do next.”
I giggled. It sounded like he was talking about something scandalous. I kissed him.
He laughed and squirmed back. “I will not let you distract me. Much.” He kissed my nose. “I know this isn’t easy, but I must ask you to give me one of your own memories. Choose one of joy that you are not afraid to part with and I will give it back to you.”
It was hard to think of anything that didn’t involve his lips pressed against mine. After several attempts, I thought of the time I’d met Shoko Nipa in her private tree chamber to speak with her about permitting me to marry Taishi. I wondered how reliable my memory of this experience had been and how much my trepidation might have tainted it.
He stroked my hair from my face. “Have you decided? Tell me about this moment so it will help you remember after you give it to me.”
“It’s about Shoko Nipa, the Chiramantepjin leader. She was intimidating when she wore her chiramantep headdress. She became strict and formal. When she wasn’t playing that part, she was like a mother to me—and to her son. The problem was, she so rarely went without her Chiramantepjin eboshi. I didn’t know what to expect when I went to her.”
“That’s enough. Now share this memory.” He shifted and turned his back to me.
I broke off a little piece of the memory moss and crumpled it up in my palms before placing my hands on his back.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. Mama Shoko sat before me dressed in her skirt and jewelry made of seeds and pits. She served me tea. I nearly forgot to pour hers in return and when I did, my hands shook. Her smile was warm and genuine.
“I’m in love with Taishi,” I blurted out. I had never been very good at holding my feelings in.
She nodded. “Have you told him?”
“Yes. We have told each other many times.”
A sweet smile played across her lips. “Have you given yourself to each other?”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. “Do you mean memories? Indeed, many times.”
“No, no,” she laughed. “That is good, but I mean physically. You must love each other in body and mind.”
I shifted uneasily. How could I speak of such things to his mother? “People from the stars don’t discuss intimate matters.”
She took my hand in her dark, weathered one. “If you are to marry my son, are you going to live among the stars or on Aynu-Mosir? If it is on this world, you must adopt our ways. You must learn to speak of such things, ne? Right now you are a girl with fanciful dreams. If you are to marry my son, you will dress as Chiramantepjin and adorn yourself as a woman like myself.” She nodded to the pale skin of my wrists. “Come back to me to discuss this matter again when you have the markings of a woman.”
My mind wandered to the pain of the old grandmother pricking my skin with blue pear stems and rubbing ash into the wounds. It hurt so much and took hours for her to finish the double black lines on my wrists. It itched as it healed and I fretted the scratching would give me away, but it was Faith telling on me that got me in trouble.
I saw myself before Taishi’s mother again. I wore a grass skirt and a woven top made from plant fibers. The tunic was reserved for the elderly or special occasions, but I hadn’t felt comfortable going bare breasted. She didn’t chide me for my compromise. Instead she smiled and took my hands. “Now tell me, child, have you had each other?”
“No, not in the way I think you mean. If I did, I would be insulting the traditions of my people and disobeying my father. Taishi agreed to wait until after we are married. But we have heeded your advice and been physically close in other ways. And look.” I held up my tattooed wrists with pride.
Had she been wearing her headdress, I don’t know if her answer would have differed, but in her role as mother she squeezed me to her side. “You are a good child, true to your elders and yourself. I cannot deny you when you are motivated out of respect, not fear of new traditions. Have you told your father your intention to marry?”
I gulped. “He doesn’t know Taishi and I are in love. I think he will be more likely to say yes if you approach him. If you say it is in the interest of our people uniting. He wants diplomacy. He will do anything for the secret of the red diamonds.”
She shook her head at me. “You must prove to him you are worthy first. Then I will speak with him.”
My mind traveled to my father’s angry words when I did speak to him. I thought of—
A cold jolt washed over me. Something changed and the memory was gone. My mind wasn’t connected to Hoku Nipa. I was aware I didn’t know what I’d been thinking of. Something about my father being angry. Wasn’t I supposed to give Nipa happy memories? Blast!
I shook the strange jittering feeling from my hands. Nipa turned to me. His eyes were drowsy and he yawned. “That wasn’t one memory. More like four.”
“I apologize, Hoku Nipa. I haven’t done this for a long time.”
“There is no need for apologies. It wasn’t intentional. What you did is very rare, but comes easily to you. It is a condition my people call dosha kuzure, or mudslide. It’s the inability to stop yourself from sharing too much. You need to focus when you give memories so that one cannot take too much.”
Focus, like in Tomomi’s lessons.
A tickle of almost memory surfaced inside me, a hint that I might have felt guilt for giving too many memories before. “Could I have given Taishi too many of my memories? Is that how he might have so many?”
“You tell me.”
My stomach clenched. I had blamed him for stealing my memories. But he was alive and he would give them back. I would see him and he would explain everything to me. I felt more hope than I had in a long time.
He laid his head on my shoulder. “I want to know what you remember.”
“I made my father angry. Perhaps it was because of the memory exchange. I think Faith told him.”
“What else do you think you remember?”
His choice of words didn’t go unnoticed. Had I gotten it wrong? “There was something about the Chiramantepjin Nipa. Yes, that was what I wanted to show you. I went to see her.” Inklings of embarrassment, pride and then anger came to me, but I didn’t understand their origins.
“Those are good guesses, but not exactly correct. It is important you understand how to interpret what remains behind when memories are gone. Sometimes what you assume is not so.” He broke off a small bit of moss. “I will give these memories back now.”
I turned away. No sooner had his hands touched my back than the memories came flowing into me. I saw all I had given him; Mama Shoko, my tattoos, and our conversation. The memories slipped back into me until my mind was once again full and there was no more to drink in. I became aware of the pop of a log on the fire, the fur blankets, and Nipa’s hands on my naked back. I turned to snuggle closer and circled an arm around him. I had been wrong in what I thought had happened. My father had never known about Taishi and me sharing memory moss. Why had I thought F
aith had told him that? For the briefest moment, I wondered if Nipa could have altered my memories, but that didn’t feel true. I wasn’t very good at interpreting the shadows memories left behind.
Safe and secure in Nipa’s arms, I closed my eyes. I wondered what else I had been wrong about.
He kissed my face and brushed his lips against my jaw. I kissed him deeply, threading my fingers through his short hair and wrapping a leg around his. He hardened against me. I giggled.
He pulled his body back a few inches and tucked my head under his chin. “If only you would kiss me like this when you have not had memory moss clouding your judgment.”
Chapter Fifteen
Everything the guidebook claims about the Jomon is wrong. If you wish to establish peaceful trade, I highly suggest you learn the language as your first step. Even so, don’t expect that to get you very far. You will always be an outsider to the Jomon as long as you act as an American, dress as an American, and are an American. It can be quite infuriating to be unable to keep your own culture.
—Faith Earnshaw, recorded by a colonist of the United Worlds of America upon meeting with a local tribe and their resident artist
I might have dozed longer except for Sumiko excusing herself as she attempted to enter. “Gomen kudasai.”
I sat up with a start, clutching the blanket to my chest. Nipa stirred. I was naked and unchaperoned, which would be the ruin of my reputation if a British citizen found out. If I was about to earn the reputation of a harlot, I would have liked to have done more than kissing and falling asleep. Well, part of me wanted that anyway.
The door cover rippled. The impression of her hand pressed into the hide. “Felicity-san, are you in there?”
Nipa yawned. “Little sister, come back later. She’s taking a nap.”
Sumiko’s friendly tone disappeared and her angry sister tone took over. “Felicity-san missed her lesson with Tomomi Sensei. And now she has missed lunch. Is she to miss waltzing and music today? Her not-husband has already asked for her no less than three times.”
Nipa wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “Tell him she’s busy with wifely duties.”
I could hardly stand to think of what Meriwether would say to such words. It was one thing to reclaim my almost-memories. It was another to enjoy doing so. I was a horrible person and unfit to be his fiancée.
“I will be presentable shortly,” I said.
I slipped from Nipa’s grasp. I hurriedly dressed in my furs and fumbled for the door ties. Sumiko waited in the hall. A strained smile was plastered across her face. The moment she set eyes on me, she said, “You are not presentable. Today you will go to the onsen. I will not take no for an answer.”
She must have known I would object because she ran a finger over my cheek and showed me it came away grimy and green.
Of course she would make me go during the most crowded time of the day.
Had the memory of my conversation with Shoko Nipa not been so fresh in mind, I might have refused. When on Aynu-Mosir, do as Jomons do, I told myself. I had once been willing to wear what Chiramantepjin wore, more or less, and had adopted many of their ways. I had even allowed a young man to whom I wasn’t married to see me naked. Surely a bathhouse with women was less scandalous.
In the onsen, I undressed and scrubbed myself in a corner, pretending I didn’t feel self-conscious. I fixed my gaze on the moss-covered wall even though I saw people watching me. Before heading to the stone enclosure full of hot spring water, I picked out a place where fewer women and children sat and climbed in. Sumiko was already undressed and sitting on the far end with a group of ladies. I would have been happy to sit where I was for the obligatory amount of time, but Sumiko waved to me, indicating she wanted me to join her.
Reluctantly I stood, exposing myself to walk through the hip deep water. My skin chilled in the transition from hot water to cool air. I fought the urge to cover myself. I told myself there was no scandal in this, but after living on a British space station, it was hard to unlearn my prudishness. That and it added to my self-consciousness with the six women near Sumiko staring openly.
“Oh! She is very curvy,” one of the women said.
“Yes, like a nursing mother.”
My face probably flushed ten shades of red. It was a relief to sit down again and be covered up to the neck by the water. Steam rose from the surface around us and I fixed my eyes on the swirls of vapor.
Sumiko dipped her head in a slight bow to me. “See, the onsen isn’t so bad.”
“I have never seen him want any woman. No wonder he favors her,” a young woman said. She touched my hair and smiled. “Such a different color.”
One of the women whispered, though still loud enough to overhear. “So much less shy than Heisu-san.”
One of the women elbowed her.
I smiled as though I hadn’t heard her say my sister’s name and my heart wasn’t squeezing in response. I managed to make my voice even and calm. “Are there other foreigners you’ve met besides my sister and me? I have heard about Michi. Does she not come here with my sister as well?”
All eyes looked to Sumiko. Her lips stretched into a forced smile. Someone coughed. No one said anything. I tried to think of something to say to lessen the tension in the air, but I could only wonder what everyone was hiding.
An old grandmother shuffled down the steps into the water and plopped herself between Sumiko and me, forcing me to scoot over.
“How many times did he have you last night?” the old woman asked.
I wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course, I also didn’t know what she was actually asking. “Have my body or my memories?”
“Both!”
The younger women giggled and the tension lifted. I didn’t know which was worse, them talking about me as though I wasn’t there, or the questions that bordered on rudeness. Then again, Shoko Nipa had once asked me such things. She had assured me they weren’t rude.
“How many times did you have him last night? Which memories did he share with you?” another asked.
This was all so intensely personal. I didn’t want to share any of this with them. I also didn’t want to be rude if this was their version of normal. I told them about the lesser of the two evils—about the memory in the cold stream on the hot night he shared. Though, I did leave out the part about him feeling desire. There was only so much sharing I could stand.
“He only has you for seven more nights,” a young woman said. “Why would he share those things?”
“He is courting her,” Sumiko said with a sly smile. “He has a fortnight to win her heart. Tell us what you shared with him.”
“What do you mean, win my heart?”
The women looked at me quizzically. Sumiko bowed her head. “Sumimasen. I forget you are unaccustomed to this tradition. Tsuma no kokan is temporary in order to learn about another tribe’s intentions or to learn more about a particular matter. But sometimes a wife prefers her new husband and wishes to keep him rather than her old one.” Her smile was sly.
I wasn’t sure if she thought I might change my mind—or hoped I would, so that Meriwether would be single and available. The old women nudged each other.
Whatever Sumiko’s motives, a permanent arrangement wasn’t going to happen. I was already engaged. I could only imagine how heartbroken Meriwether would be that I’d agreed to marry him after all this time, only to forsake his love for someone else.
“How many times has he shared himself with you?” one of the younger women asked.
I wondered if the times we had told each other about our lives counted or they only meant with the memory exchange. “I don’t know. I didn’t count.”
This answer brought on more giggling.
One of the old women asked a question, but her dialect was hard to understand. She was of the Isepojin province, I guessed.
I asked, “Are you asking about my other husband? No, Meriwether isn’t my husband yet.”
She pointed to th
e tattoos on my arms, similar to their own. I made out the word “who” and “husband” and looked for Sumiko for help but she was turned away, grabbing a clean washcloth on the stone ledge behind her.
“I have no husband. I’ve never been married.”
The youngest woman laughed like I told a joke. The older women tsked and clucked their tongues. Just when I thought I was getting good at translating.
The wife-swap was the closest thing I had experienced to marriage. I had shared more of myself with Nipa than any man—possibly even Taishi. Even after all the years I’d lived shut up in Lord Klark’s household, Meriwether didn’t know my body or mind this well. It would be torture to have to go back to my gaiyojin ways after finally feeling like I’d returned home.
No, this wasn’t home, I told myself. This planet didn’t have running water, electricity or modern medicine. How could I tolerate a simplistic life after such a pampered one on the ship and space station?
If Taishi wanted me after all this time, would my answer still be yes?
I thought on this when I joined Meriwether to watch contests of strength and skill outside. Fortunately he’d opted to sit out this time. He tugged me over to a mound of snow that children had sculpted into frozen benches and sat me down. His expression was serious. I swallowed, afraid someone had told him of my indiscretion.
Meriwether leaned closer. “I don’t know if you realize this, but we’ve been duped. That large woman who carried me off—Tomomi Sensei—I don’t think she was meant as my wife at all.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I already tell you as much?”
He went on unfazed. “She’s really a kind of guide and bodyguard meant to keep me safe. Isn’t that sweet? They were looking after me. They just like to have a good laugh at our expense. I hope the wife-swap affair didn’t give you too much of a start.”
I shook my head.
“Who served as your bodyguard?” he asked.
I glanced across the expanse of snow at Nipa watching us. “The leader has been my guide. Though Sumiko has been the one sharing my bed to keep me company at night.” That was mostly true, but it tasted like a lie in the mouth upon uttering it.
