Silkpunk and Steam Page 8

  At first my suffering in the hot water was so great it was everything I could do not to cry. After several minutes I adjusted. With the steam rising around me in swirls, and the water relaxing me, it reminded me of how warm the whole jungle had been. Back before the gaijin machines kicked up all the dust and made the sky clouded, we had known moist heat that had felt like this.

  It would have been paradise except for sharing the pool with the old women. I’d bathed with plenty of grandmothers and grandfathers and other children—back when the streams were more than trickles of ice—but those elders had been of my own tribe. They were nice to me. These elders treated me like an outsider, like sisam.

  One grandmother clucked her tongue. “I’m surprised Nipa would accept such a slip of a thing.”

  “She’s pretty, at least.”

  “But not a woman.” One of them poked my chest, emphasizing my lack of breasts. “No chichis or hair in the right places. She doesn’t even have tattoos.”

  I endured their conversation, keeping my chin high and pretending I didn’t hear them. They continued evaluating me as they dried me and massaged oils into my skin. The more the primping went on the more I suspected I would be doing more than memory exchange. I was doing this for Faith, I reminded myself. Better I endure this torture than she did. The worst torture for her so far would be seeing so many naked bodies, even if they were shriveled old women and not men. The silliness of that made a giggle rise in me.

  One of the women gave me a reproachful look.

  “It is time to instruct you. You will pour tea for the nipa,” the most weathered of the women said.

  “But you must use your left hand,” another said.

  “He is your nipa, not just your husband. You must not complain or cry like a child.”

  My stomach churned as they gave me instructions.

  “Remember to speak to him formally to show your respect. He is nipa, ne?”

  They dressed me in an attush so soft and light I had to keep looking down to make sure the robe was still there. The eboshi they gave me was similar to Shiromainu’s own. It was made from the green and purple tanuki furs, only smaller, and my face was visible. Seed pods were tied to the crown of horns and the tusks that protruded from the temples so they rattled when it moved.

  As soon as they placed it on my head I felt like I shrank under the weight. It was too big for me and slid forward over my eyes so that I had to push it back.

  “Keep your head up, girl,” one grandmother said.

  “You must wear this headdress the entire night,” said another. “A bride who keeps it on, brings good luck. A bride who rattles, shames herself by demonstrating a lack of self-control. A bride who removes it, proves she isn’t worthy of her husband’s affection.”

  Iya! I wondered which I would be.

  Shiromainu Nipa waited for me in his chamber. I swallowed when I saw him. He bade me to pour cha, the tea, for him. The floor was warm where I knelt on the woven mats. My hands shook and the seed pods on the eboshi rattled the entire time, despite my struggle to keep still. Halfway through the tea ceremony, I had to set the teapot down to push my headdress back from covering my eyes. I pushed too hard and it toppled off.

  I was so mortified I could have burst into tears. My clumsiness had just condemned my tribe to death. Faith and my brother and Michi would all die. Everyone I knew would be punished for my failure.

  Shiromainu laughed a thin, reedy croak of a sound.

  He removed his own eboshi and set it beside the table. “I’m tired of wearing that musty thing inside anyway, yo ne! Aren’t you?”

  I sagged in relief. Perhaps I hadn’t ruined all chances for my tribe. I smiled and nodded.

  He stretched his neck and that was enough to give me permission to stretch my own. “Did you enjoy our onsen, little bride? Or was the water too hot for you? Did the grandmothers give you enough to eat?”

  I bowed my head, so much easier to do now that I was free of the heavy eboshi. “Yes, Nipa. Thank you. Your people have been most kind.” I used formal language, like the grandmothers had told me. I went back to pouring cha.

  “Burei ko.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.

  I understood the words, “to speak without etiquette,” or that I could speak freely, but the concept was foreign when addressing an elder. Except maybe Faith, but she didn’t count. She wasn’t good at our etiquette and it made it easier to break the rules with her.

  “Tell me why you agreed to tsuma no koukan?” he asked. “And do not give me some polite answer how you could not resist my good looks.” He laughed and I laughed with him. Shiromainu might have been old in body, but at least he was young and sharp in mind. The kamuy who lived inside him was a tanuki. That meant I had to be careful.

  I hesitated, trying to figure out what he wanted from me. “I wished to help my people find a better home. My brother is very wise and he thought your tribe would—”

  He held up a hand and waved away my words. “No, no. Tell me the reason you offered in the gaijin’s stead.”

  My mouth felt dry and it was difficult to swallow. How could I say my true reasons and not cause Faith or Taishi shame? Then again, anything I didn’t admit to him now he might see in memory exchange and it might prove me a liar. He might see all my secrets, my love for Faith, and everything that would condemn me as different and wrong.

  His eyebrows rose in expectation.

  I bowed, giving myself a few seconds to think. “My brother’s wife is still learning our ways. Her customs are different and she doesn’t understand many of our traditions. She brings many skills and new ways of knowing to our people, but she wouldn’t be a good bride for a nipa such as yourself.” I bowed again.

  He picked up his tea. “Not a good bride, but she is a good mistress for your brother?”

  “She is not a mistress or concubine.” I said it too harshly for speaking with an elder and a nipa, and dipped my head in apology. I lowered by voice and used the word that served as apology to excuse oneself. “Sumimasen. Faith-san is his geari wife. Taishi Nipa has taken her into his household because he loves her sister and he wants to keep Faith-san safe. He treats her like his little sister.” It didn’t make much sense she would be his geari wife if he thought of her like a sister, but that’s what they had told me on separate occasions. If I’d been Taishi, I would have married Faith. She was so pretty and smart and nice.

  “And where is Fu-He—eto—Heisu-san’s sister?” He tried to say Faith’s name, but it was a mouthful and those sounds had taken a long time to work out for my tongue as well.

  “Faith-san’s sister was kidnapped by the off-worlders. They have many tribes, just like our own. Faith and her sister were from the American tribe, but a British tribe look her away. Their leader is an evil man, Lord Klark Nipa. Faith-san says he is the reason our water is muddy and burning rain falls from our skies. They took her sister from our world years ago.” I swished the tea round in my cup, but I didn’t feel like drinking it.

  He drummed his fingernails on the table. “Why would they take the sister, but not Heisu-san? Because of her face?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I think Faith-san escaped. Those bad off-worlders were the reason she has those scars. She isn’t like them. She doesn’t want to destroy the planet or kill anyone.” I hoped my explanation was enough to help him understand.

  He leaned back, staring off into the distance. He scratched his chin. “There must be something about this gaijin woman that makes her special if she has become the Chiramantepjin nipa’s geari wife and you would volunteer to take her place, ne?”

  “Oh, yes!” I agreed. “Faith-chan makes pretty pictures.” I slipped into using the informal honorific after her name, the title we used for children and cute, young women. “She paints and makes things no one else can. She has taught me the gaijin tongue and tells me stories to translate for the children. Some people see only the scars on her face, but she i
s beautiful if you can look past it. She’s my friend and very kind to me. I would like to be just like her someday.”

  “I see. You admire her.” He sipped his tea. “Have you considered she might be a spy for the star men?”

  I stared in wide-eyed shock at such a question.

  “Have you seen her speaking with other gaijin? Does she have any of their metal boxes they use to talk with each other from afar?”

  “No, I’ve never seen any other gaijin, except from a distance when Shipo-chan and I hid from them.” My chest tightened with sorrow when I thought of my friend. I pushed the memory of her away. I had no time for grief. I never had time for grief. “I’ve seen their ships plenty of times though. Faith-san hides when we hide. She doesn’t have any way to talk to her people or her family.” I suspected she would have gone home if she had.

  Shiromainu’s face was impassive. I wasn’t sure if he believed me. I had to make him see Faith was no spy or traitor or someone to be feared.

  He nodded to my wrists. It was obvious I hadn’t come of age from my lack of tattoos. “How old are you?”

  Heat flushed to my cheeks. “Thirteen. And a half.”

  “You are brave, young one.”

  “No, Nipa. I am just doing my duty.” I bowed my head.

  “Have you ever given yourself in memory exchange?”

  The heat in my cheeks spread to the rest of the face. I drank a tiny sip of bitter tea so I could hide myself behind the cup, even if only for a moment. Shiromainu probably remembered catching me in the moss. There had been times I’d played in the moss after that. Nonno scolded Shipo and I afterwards, and I wasn’t sure if it would bring me shame if I spoke of what I’d done. Nonno had told me it would bring me shame because we were both girls and girls didn’t use memory moss with each other.

  “Burei ko,” he said again.

  I tried to remember I wasn’t going to get in trouble for my lack of etiquette, but even so, it was hard to admit what I’d done. “I was a naughty child, too curious for my own good.”

  He slapped his knee and chuckled. “We are all curious as children. Let me guess, you found a grove of memory moss and rolled in it when you liked the way it made your skin prickle? That’s how I discovered memory moss the first time.”

  “You did?”

  “Indeed, and I paid for it with a rash. I was only six. I rolled in it with my brother.” He smiled and shook his head. “My mother beat us and told us we’d committed a double taboo. First because we were family and second because we were both boys. We were too young to even understand why we were being beaten.”

  I wanted to believe he wouldn’t think me so bad. Only, I feared this was all a trick to get me to admit how immoral I was, how unworthy I was to be his temporary wife. If I did one thing wrong, he would send me back to my tribe and my family would never be safe from cold and starvation.

  I went on, watching his face for maliciousness. “I remember getting a rash too. I was with my friend, Shipo. I think she might have given me a memory, but it was only a brief flash. It isn’t like what adults talk about. The rash was awful.” I made a face at the memory. I left out that we’d snuck to the memory moss two more times after that to see if we could experience the pleasure of it again, but it hadn’t worked when we tried to exchange memories on purpose. Both times we’d been caned for it. And those hadn’t been little taps with switches by Faith. Nonno had been good at hitting us.

  Shiromainu nodded. “Sometimes the rash happens to children and sometimes the elderly. It’s the memory moss’s way of telling us our bodies we aren’t suitable for the herb. I’m afraid you and I both might get a rash. Do you understand what we must do for the memory exchange?”

  “Of course, I do. I’m not a child,” I said a little too quickly, not wanting to appear stupid. It was a fib.

  He smiled patiently. “It sounds like you don’t need an explanation then. Go sit on the furs.”

  I sat on his bedding. My heart beat faster.

  He took out a wooden box and placed it beside me. His hands danced gracefully as he ground up the green herb with a mortar and pestle and mixed it with water. He spoke as he worked. “It is typical a man and woman share something happy from their past the first time they experience memory exchange. Maybe it’s the first time they met, the moment they knew they were in love, or the first time they held hands. But my reasons for tsuma no koukan are not for pleasure, they are for the practicality of memory exchange. I wish to know about Taishi Nipa and the gaijin woman. Give me something that shows why he trusts her.”

  I wasn’t sure why my brother trusted her. He knew her for many years before the attack on our village. He had promised his wife he would always take care of Faith like a little sister. Sometimes he treated her more like a little sister than he did me. I pushed that thought away. I needed to focus on what he wanted. Only, I couldn’t show Shiromainu why Taishi trusted her.

  I could only show him why I trusted her.

  “If I choose the right memory to make you see her as my brother sees her, you will allow our tribe to join yours?” I asked.

  He sucked on his teeth. The old men in my tribe did that when they didn’t want to answer your question.

  “I don’t like gaijin much,” Shiromainu said. “Nor do any in my village after they brought us disease and winter. Allowing a gaijin to live here would disrupt the peace and unity I’ve worked to build in the last decade. It’s hard to imagine you have any memory that could be worth risking all that for one person, ne?”

  My hope deflated. What was the use in trying?

  Shiromainu brought the bowl over to me and knelt across from me. “We are alone; you are not at risk of losing face. You may refuse memory exchange if you choose. Now that you know my thoughts on this matter, you can see the impossibility of changing my mind.”

  Giving up meant Faith would die—that my tribe would die. This was not an option. I picked up the pestle. Green paste from the stone dripped into the bowl. “I paint this on my body?”

  “On your hands and then press your hands to my chest. We always give our memories near the heart because the heart is where our bodies store those feelings. Focus on the memory you wish to part with.” He untied the thick white and blue belt that signified his rank. It fell away, along with his attush robe.

  I tried not to stare at his shriveled chin-chin. His man parts weren’t much to look at, and I didn’t want to point that out with my eyes. He was as wrinkled as old leather, but at least not as hairy as I’d imagined.

  I told myself he really didn’t look any different than any other grandfather I’d seen naked while the weather had been warm enough to go without clothes. Even so, my heart pounded harder now that his chin-chin was visible. What if Faith was right and Shiromainu did want me to perform wifely duties? I tried not to think about it. I had to focus on a memory that would show Faith’s true character. I had to select something that would show how safe she was.

  I plopped a glob of green mush on my hands and pressed my palms to his chest. I stretched my arms out since we knelt knee to knee. There were many distractions from the memory I wanted to give him: the tingle of memory moss on my skin, Nipa’s deep breaths, and the ache in my arms and legs from hours of riding. I closed my eyes and focused. Still, nothing happened.

  He placed his hands over mine. They were warm and felt like the worn paper from Faith’s only book. “Relax your shoulders. Lean back,” he said.

  I shifted back toward my heels and sighed. Was I to be a disappointment on every level? Not old enough for wifely duties. Not focused enough to perform memory exchange. I stayed like that for another moment, my brow furrowing in concentration. I needed to give him a memory that would show my trust—but not my love—something that would persuade him what a good person Faith was.

  I bowed my head and used the catch-all apology my parents had taught me at a young age. “Sumimasen. I can’t make it work.”

  “Lie down on th
e blankets and make yourself more comfortable,” he suggested.

  I did so, all grace leaving me as I attempted not to touch the furs with my sticky green hands. He lay beside me, turned on his side. I rolled to face him and positioned my hands where they had been on his chest.

  He said, “Close your eyes and tell me what it is you wish to give me.”

  I hadn’t decided what memory to give him. I searched my brain until I found something that fit what we both wanted. “I want to show you Faith-chan as I first saw her. I had been separated from my brother for years after the attack. I lived with Shipo and a few adults. When I joined my tribe again, I found my brother had a geari wife. I vaguely remembered Faith-chan and her sister from years before, but only that their eyes were as blue as the sky and their hair was golden. The idea of living in the same camp with a gaijin scared me. It was a month or so after we’d joined their group that I saw Faith-san’s kindness.”

  I slipped into the memory, the colors around me vivid with the jungle surrounding us. This wasn’t the same jungle with towering trees and flowers growing everywhere as when I’d been a little girl in my village, but a new forest with stubbier trees and prickly plants that choked out the fruit bearing bushes. I crouched with Shipo under dense brambles of branches and vines where a few of us could sit to get out of the rain. When the rain had come, others had climbed inside the hollows under the roots of trees or tried to conceal themselves under our pathetic tents. Faith had grabbed me by the arm and pushed me under the thicket. Even though Shipo didn’t like Faith, she had followed me like she was my shadow.

  I didn’t like this rain. It was brown like the clouds the starships made, and it stung my eyes. When it poured like this, we all dove for the nearest cover.

  Shipo and I knelt in the back where the roots poked out and tangled into our hair. We squeezed together to make room for the adults. A drop of rain fell on my head. I brushed it off so it wouldn’t make my scalp itch later.