Chapter 2: Painted Doll

Satou tossed and turned on his sleeping mat, images of the beautiful red woman flashing through his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the way that her red skin shone in the sunlight, about how her hair looked as fluffy as a cloud. Those golden eyes, her alluring body...

He didn’t care what Nagao said, he had to see her again, he would go crazy if he didn’t. He felt like there was a hot coal burning in his belly, as if the only way to quench the fire was to gaze upon her one more time. He didn’t know what he was feeling, it was strange and unfamiliar, a kind of compulsion. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, mulling over the day’s events and trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

Tomorrow he would meet his bride to be for the first time. Would she be pretty? Kind? Would she like him? He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with someone that he had never met before, with someone whose full name he didn’t yet know. But that was the way of things, it was his culture, his family’s tradition. Like an ox plowing a paddy, Satou had to drag around so much responsibility, and now the promise of marriage had added another crushing weight to that burden. He had to do it, for his family and for his shoen, so why did he feel so apprehensive? Was he a bad person for desiring only to shirk these duties, to avoid his responsibilities?

“Ancestors ... give me strength,” he groaned, turning over to stare at the wall. Again his mind turned to images of bulging muscles beneath wet, red skin, of womanly beauty the likes of which he had never beheld before that day. The Oni had seemed so wild and free, she was everything that Satou desired, everything that he wanted to be...

The kimono was hot and stifling in the May heat, weighing him down, Satou adjusting it uncomfortably as he watched the Matsuyo procession emerge from the trees. They had followed the footpath up from the West, their shoen was situation further down the valley, it must have been a long and arduous climb.

His father and brother were clad in similar kimonos, formal clothing in a shade of black with white undergarments, while his mother’s was made from fine blue silk and decorated with floral patterns. Many of the laborers were standing nearby too, clad in what formal clothing was available to them as they waited to greet the visitors. Everyone was standing to attention like soldiers, unmoving, adhering rigidly to ritual and tradition. Every step of this meeting had been planned out, everyone knew what was required of them far in advance, having learned these customs by rote. It was liberating in a way to know exactly what to say and do, and to know precisely what the response would be. Yet at the same time, it seemed almost insane.

For example, the visitors would be offered a beverage once they were inside the family home, and they must decline three times before finally accepting the fourth offer. That was considered polite and proper, and although both parties knew what the eventual outcome would be, they still had to go through the motions. That was just one of many such rituals that Satou would be required to participate in, it was going to be a long day...

As the party came into view, Satou saw that the members of the Matsuyo family were traveling by kago, a kind of seat suspended beneath two bamboo poles and carried on the shoulders of servants. They would allow the rider to travel in relative comfort, with coverings protecting them from the elements.

The bearers were clad only in their loincloths, Satou didn’t want to imagine what carrying such a load in this heat and through such rough terrain would be like. If they were to be offered cool beverages, he doubted that they would refuse three times before accepting.

The servants set the three kago down on the grass, and from within emerged their guests. There was an older man who was sporting a similar black kimono to the one that Satou was wearing, a woman who was wearing orange silk that was embroidered with birds and flowers, and finally...

Satou looked upon his future wife as she stepped out of her kago. She wore a flowing kimono that was not too different from those of the other women, the silk a shade of red with a black collar and floral patterns sewn into the fabric. Around her waist was a large sash that was pink in color, tied in a bow. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, adorned with a kanzashi in the shape of a blooming rose, a traditional hair ornament that was said to bring good fortune to the wearer.

Her face was painted a shade of snow white, her lips dyed blood red, and her eyebrows shaved, replaced with small dots. She looked like a ghost to Satou, somehow unnatural, and she was wearing so many layers of heavy clothing that she could barely walk.

The two families went through the motions of greeting one another, there was plenty of bowing and nodding, Satou smiling until his cheeks began to ache. He noted that the girl’s teeth had been dyed black, as was currently in fashion, making her smile dark and strange. When the formalities had concluded, they led the Matsuyos back to their house. His mother had fretted over the place all morning, making sure that everything was perfect, as if the visitors would notice and be offended if a single mote of dust was to be found.

They sat around the table in the center of the main room, and more formalities followed, the two families eventually progressing to a point where they could begin eating and chatting more readily. Satou’s mother had broken out the good stuff for this visit, what few luxuries the Hisamotos could afford. Although they were a wealthy family by farming standards, the luxuries enjoyed by the higher echelons of Japanese society were mostly out of reach to them.

Today they were going to dine on boiled rice and salted fish, with tea for the women and sake for the men. Satou had never liked the taste of the alcoholic beverage, but he was expected to drink it, and so he did. Even the act of raising a cup to one’s mouth was a ritual in itself, every action precise and measured, almost like they were performing a kabuki theater show.

During the meal, the two patriarchs discussed the expected yield of the rice paddies this year and Satou shared a few tentative glances with the girl. He still didn’t know her name, and it would not be proper to ask her at the table. She didn’t seem to want to meet his gaze, she was so shy, meek. It was the way that women were expected to be, delicate and fragile, like a lily floating on the surface a pond. It held no allure for Satou, and not for the first time he wondered if there was something wrong with him. Why was it that the other men all seemed to desire such traits in their partners? Why did they want them to be submissive and deferential, small and soft?

As his father had warned him, those who come together in passion stay together in tears. Marriage was not an affair of love, it wasn’t about passion or attraction. It was at best a kind of alliance for social or political purposes, with the ultimate goal of producing heirs and joining families. Perhaps a kind of friendship could develop between a man and his wife over time, a certain tolerance, and it was always possible that having children might bring them closer together. His mother and father got on well after all, but what choice did they have? Their marriage had been arranged just as his had, they could either live in misery or accept their situation and make the best of it.

Satou looked across the table at the porcelain doll, her face white and expressionless, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her. Could he ever grow to love this person? Perhaps she was kind and loving and wonderful, and he just didn’t know it yet? Images of the beautiful red woman flashed in his mind, so strong, so wild. This girl was the polar opposite, and he didn’t really know any more about her than he did the Oni.

The meal took a long time, and by the time that it had concluded the sun was just beginning to dip behind the mountains. It was suggested that Satou should take the girl for a walk amongst the rice paddies so that they might chat a while and get to know each other a little better. It was not Satou’s place to refuse, so the two prospective spouses left the house and walked up the pathway that led to the farms. They passed many of the shacks and huts that the laborers lived in along the way. There was more than one face peeking out of a doorway and whispering behind a hand as they walked by.

The village was abuzz with the news, everyone was excited over the prospect of Satou marrying. The shoen was more than just a farming community, it was an extended family, like a tree with the Hisatomos serving as the trunk and each peasant family making up one of the branches. The joining of the Hisatomos and the Matsuyos would benefit everyone, and he felt the weight of their expectations on his back along with their stares.