As wealthy peasants, the Ishiyama family would have a delicate tightrope to walk in making the preparations for Yoshi’s nuptials. Good fortune demanded a grand statement at an only son’s wedding. It would be the single greatest display of hospitality the family would ever make, and they had money to do it. Important customers must be dignified with gifts, and they must lay out an appropriately lavish banquet. They had friends to remember, and officials to bribe.
But as peasantry, Father Ishiyama must not go too far, lest he ignite the anger of local samurai, many of whose prosperity was inferior to his. Gold was out of the question. The same was true, of course, of silk—my single greatest medium of creation. A peasant wedding disarmed my skill, and I despaired of my ability to do anything fine for Yoshi and his bride.
* * *
Eiko was a slight girl, with a small smile and polite manners. She was not a classic beauty, but elfish. A pretty waif. From our first meeting, I knew exactly what to do with her.
I asked Madame to purchase deep gray and pale dove colored thread for the robe. Cobalt blue for embroidering the obi sash. Subdued colors, befitting a humble occasion. There would be no brilliance, as was almost always true of silk, but I knew enough about nature and contrast to compensate for the lack of richness.
My object was not to make Eiko look wealthy. My aim was to transform her into a spiritual vision—like a fog rising from a tempestuous winter sea. She was small, and her size would only increase the drama and lend a sense of mystery to her origins. If all went well, her appearance would seem a blessing from Mazu, Goddess of the Sea.
I knew it was possible. For our people, a veneer of mysticism already glossed any natural phenomenon. Both peasants and gentry readily believed in Nature granting and withdrawing her approval. I knew how to encourage this association. In this way, I truly might change public perception, and hence, Yoshi’s parents’ prejudice toward his bride.
* * *
On the wedding morning, Madame dressed Eiko at her family’s home near the sea. Madame dressed informally, cautious against over awing her hosts, but her manner could not be helped. And they were indeed struck with the dignity conferred by this noblewoman dressing their daughter.
I dressed Mother Ishiyama, the only mother I ever knew. She received me coldly as ever, but she was eager to look as well as she could at Yoshi’s wedding, so she consented to let me tie her obi and see to her cosmetic. These tasks, I performed quietly, as though I were a hired servant. While I worked, I noticed my adoptive mother seemed to take some pleasure in giving me orders in front of her friends.
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“The mother of the groom looks very well,” I proclaimed, smoothing imaginary lines out of the skirt of her kimono.
“It is hardly worth the trouble,” she sighed. “She will bring bad luck with her fish monger’s odor and ill health.”
“She is small, but not unhealthy.”
“She will die before her first child is born,” Mother Ishiyama predicted.
I had bourn Mother Ishiyama’s cruelty toward me without a tremor, but the barbs aimed at Eiko and Yoshi lodged painfully in my heart, and I left the house in tears. How would Eiko bear her mother-in-law’s abuse? How could Yoshi let her? My own help seemed so slight. Would it even matter at all?
* * *
I watched from a distance, but even from my remote position on a hill above the observing guests, the wedding procession transported me. Eiko was not regal. Regality required material. And poised in her simple wedding robes, Eiko ascended to the spiritual. A gray sky loomed low, and great billows of mist rolled in from the wine dark and torpid sea, encompassing Eiko all around like a water nymph, and hypnotizing us all.
She trod as though borne upon a cloud. The subtle drama of her sea-storm wedding robe heightened the effect. No one could escape associating her with Mazu, herself. I didn’t need to hear the guests and their whispers. Eiko was not a mere lovely bride. She was the form of spiritual beauty.
Father Ishiyama hosted the feast at a large and reputable tavern within the village. The event lengthened through the evening and long into the night. The Ishiyama family could afford to feed their guests well, and did so.
I stayed only long enough to see Eiko much admired and Yoshi quite saturated with sake and the pleasure of his new domestic comfort. I left with a stomach half full of rice and the smallest sip or two of sake.
Even after seeing Eiko’s impression upon all present at the wedding, I left the tavern unsatisfied that my involvement would bring no inauspicious consequences to the wedded couple. I couldn’t really celebrate. When everyone was well settled, I would be as happy as the bride herself, but until then, I brooded.
By the time Madame returned to the farmhouse, I had already slept once and risen to do my garden chores.
Madame was precisely the right amount of intoxicated to do proper credit to the Ishiyama’s hospitality, and she sat down heavily next to me on the veranda to make her report.
“You did well.”
“They are well suited for happiness,” I said.
“Yes, but take what credit is due.”
“I hardly see what I had to do with it.”
Madame huffed.
“It was a great triumph! Didn’t you hear the talk?”
“What was the talk?”
“That Eiko was the most elegant bride the village had ever produced. The daimyo himself proclaimed it. ”
“Surely that was flattery.”
“Yes, certainly. But flattery would be hardly necessary for a lesser occasion. Rest assured, the Ishiyama name gained much face tonight. I think they will be kind to Eiko.”
I hoped this was true, but it would turn out to be a mostly unnecessary development. Mother Ishiyama died very early that morning.