Clockwork Memories

by Sarina Dorie

  “Are you focusing?” she asked.

  “If this isn’t the usual way memory exchange is performed, that means Jacques won’t suspect I’m trying to steal anything from him. He’ll think I wish to give him a memory.”

  “Just so. You’re getting used to the idea of guile.” She glanced over her shoulder at me, grinning. “Now I will think of a thought. It will be something from my childhood. See if you can capture it from my mind and place it in yours.”

  I rested my hands on her smooth skin, closed my eyes and cleared my mind. It was a struggle not to think of a memory of my own that I might gift to her. Everything in me wanted to use the moss to give. This act we were about to perform, from the reverse direction to the taking, felt wrong. I sighed in frustration when nothing came.

  Sumiko pulled away and broke the connection. “You started to give to me again. Focus.”

  It happened this way several more times. After a while I grew more tired. It was too difficult to keep my mind clear enough to receive thoughts. All I wanted was to sleep. Sumiko leaned against me, smearing green paste against the front of my chemise. I must have been relaxed, as I didn’t chide her.

  All things considered, a few more stains after the previous night probably wouldn’t be noticed. I massaged her shoulders absentmindedly.

  Sumiko turned her head over her shoulder. “Do you know how boring it is to keep thinking about the same memory over and—”

  A jolt of heat flooded up my arms. I sucked in a breath and became oblivious to the world around me. . . .

  I was a little girl with olive skin, tan and healthy from playing in the sunlight. The air was muggy and hot, but I didn’t mind. Taishi held my little hand in his larger one. His cheeks were round like a tanuki’s after stuffing too much satsuma imo in its cheeks. He scolded me for following him into the jungle. “You are too young to wander about alone. You’ll get lost.”

  As the feeling of being anchored to this jungle world faded and the memory slipped away, I made myself hold on. I sank into Sumiko’s mind more deeply. I imagined more of her memories pulling into me. I held on to the vivid purple ferns and red flowers of the jungle. I tasted the perfume of the ume blossoms in the air. Tree snails chittered in the distance and wind whispered through the trees.

  My consciousness divided into two. I wasn’t quite myself, and I wasn’t quite Sumiko. Unlike other times I had shared memories, I retained an awareness of who I was and that I was an outsider viewing the past, rather than these being my own memories. I drank in memories of her relief at being reunited with her brother two years after the attack on their village. I saw another memory: Taishi gathering up the feral children living in the jungle and uniting them. He took in the elderly and the injured whose own tribes had left them behind when they became a burden.

  When the band of warriors found him, they called him “little nipa,” a term for leader. These men made fun of him for his ragtag band of invalids and children. They bossed him around and said he had to join them, that he must leave the babies and grandmothers behind.

  He refused to unite with them if they didn’t accept all his group, his gaijin geari wife and his baby included. Geari was a word that translated to “social obligation,” but meant so much more.

  The geari wife, I realized during the muddled transfer of the past, was me. Sumiko understood he felt obligated to care for me as though I were his wife since it was unlikely I would ever marry. I was a friend and sister to his wife. He had promised Felicity to protect me and taking her—me—as his wife was the only way he could see the Jomon accepting me.

  I slipped into another memory. Eventually the warriors permitted him to join them. The children would only listen to him and ignored the orders of the other adults. Pride filled my heart when I saw how the elderly sought his opinion or gave him council, whereas many of the elders shook their heads at the folly of warriors. Taishi was set on survival and helping his people live safely, not making themselves even more of a target by engaging in war.

  Taishi saw what people needed. We needed hope. He saw the way Faith, his geari wife, gave that with beauty and art. That was me, I realized again. I was seeing myself from Sumiko’s perspective. The two minds at once, mine and hers, was most disconcerting.

  Faith showed me how to create beauty in a world where none existed. She undid a mistake of a line by erasing and starting over. How sad it was she couldn’t do the same for herself. She was so beautiful with her blue eyes and hair like sunlight, I wanted to be her. I wanted to love her. I did love her.

  Not just as a sister.

  The world wavered around me and my vision grew soupy. I dove back into the memories. I became Sumiko again, though older now.

  I knew this by the women’s garb and tattooed lines on the tan skin of my wrists to signify adulthood. My heart longed for Faith-chan, but she remained cool and aloof, only thinking of me as a little sister. I tried to show her how much I loved her with gifts and special attention for just her. I looked after Michi so she could paint. At night when I slept by her side, sometimes she permitted me to hold her hand, and I imagined we were lovers.

  Taishi noticed how much time we spent with each other. “You spend more time with my geari wife than I do, sister. Watch yourself or people will talk.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re too young to remember what happened to the two men caught lying together back in the Chiramantepjin village. We cannot afford to lose a warrior such as yourself.”

  Anger squeezed my heart. Was that all I was to him? Another warrior. Guilt made me contrite a moment later. I had to think of the good of the village. They couldn’t afford to lose me. I was young and strong. The burden of hunting and scouting parties often fell to me. I shared in duties of a nipa. My dishonor would also be my family’s. I kept my longing for Faith-chan silent.

  Sumiko’s memories swam before me, shimmering in and out of my grasp. I skimmed through them, touching a point here or there like a stone skipping across water before sinking into the depths. The shock of seeing Jacques’ face stopped me from further exploration of memories. I plunged below the surface of this memory, becoming Sumiko once again.

  I sat beside Faith in a little cave, feeling powerless as she cried. That look on Jacques’ face wasn’t true anguish. It was mock sorrow as he told her he had to leave again.

  I loathed him more than any other man I’d met. Faith-chan and I were perfectly happy before he came along and spoiled it. Now she would be depressed again because she wanted to see him, and his ship would take him far away. She would never love me if all she could think of was him. He wasn’t worthy of her.

  He didn’t love her like I did.

  The memory slipped away. I tried to understand what I had just seen and felt. Surely, I had misunderstood. The sensation of skipping along a river of memories subsided and the darkness of my own mind returned. Feeling that had been muted during the exchange rushed back into my limbs.

  I rolled onto my back. It took a moment to catch my breath. My hands prickled uncomfortably and my arms ached. Every muscle in my body felt like a fire had sizzled through me. I blinked my eyes and forced myself to stay awake. I was so tired, but only now that I was in my own body did I understand everything I had witnessed.

  Sumiko had loved me all this time and I had never realized. How sad for her to waste her years pining for me.

  She turned to face me, a little smile playing across her lips. “What did you see?”

  I looked away from her naked chest, embarrassed. The sight of her nudity had never bothered me before to this extent, but it had never occurred to me that she walked around naked in front of me, not because she felt no embarrassment, but because she wanted me to notice her.

  I thought back to all the times she’d rubbed my shoulders or did nice little things for me. The times she made jokes about men who she whispered were close because they must be sharing a bed with each other—and then made me promise I wouldn’t repeat what sh
e’d said—it wasn’t because she thought they actually were, she was trying to hint to me she was like that. Every time she’d denied wanting to marry and have children for this reason or for that, it wasn’t because she didn’t want to be with anyone, but because she wished to be with me.

  The shock of this realization surged through me like an electric jolt.

  Sumiko swallowed and she wrapped her arms around herself. Never had I seen her look so young and fragile.

  I turned my gaze to the bedspread. I didn’t know what to think. “It worked. I should give you your memories back before I grow too tired.”

  “You know, don’t you?” Tears filled her eyes. “Iya! You hate me now? You know why I was so selfish and stole your memories.”

  “No, no. I told you I don’t care about that. I just think I should give your memories back to you. They aren’t mine.” Nor did I want to keep something so personal. I quickly added, “I always give you your memories back and you give me mine back when we practice.”

  She covered her face. “Don’t look at me like that, like you pity me.”

  I tried to make my face calm, to not wear my feelings as openly as she always said I did, but I didn’t know if I succeeded. I wanted to reach out and hold her, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. I’d never thought of her as a lover. Truly, I’d never felt at such a loss for what to do.

  “It doesn’t have to change anything between us,” I said at last. “We can keep on being friends.”

  “No, it can’t be the same. You know how I feel. And now I know you’ll never love me.”

  I closed my eyes from fatigue as much as not wanting to look at her mournful expression. “I do love you. Just not like that. I, well, I like men. I can see how I might have given you the impression otherwise, and I’m sorry about that.” How would I tell her my disinterest in Jomon men didn’t mean an interest in Jomon women? The truth was, I had always wanted a man from my own culture whose customs were the same. Would she think me a prig if I admitted this? No matter what I said, she’d perceive it as an insult.

  I reached for the bowl of memory moss. “Here, let me—”

  She pushed the bowl away. “I don’t want my memories back. I don’t want to know what you saw.” She started to crawl over me to get out of the bed.

  Sometimes I thought about perfect moments to capture in a painting. Usually they were happy times that expressed a mood I wanted to remember forever. This moment was the exact opposite. Sumiko was halfway across me, naked and covered in memory moss. Her face was stricken and full of anguish when the door swished open.

  It was a most compromising position to be found in when Jacques swaggered in.

  Chapter Ten

  In my youth, my dearest friend was my sister. In my adult years, when I had no sister, my dearest friend was Meriwether Klark, who became like a brother to me. If there is one thing that brings my conscience relief beyond all measure, it is the idea that these two people I hold so dear in my heart have fallen in love with each other. It is like the happy ending to a fairy tale for everyone I esteem.

  ―From the diaries of Felicity Earnshaw

  Jacques’ good eye widened, but only for a second. He bellowed out a laugh. “But of course, I should have suspected sooner that the two of you would find a way to rendezvous. I have half my subordinates searching the ship for where you escaped to and you are in the room next door satisfying carnal passions.” Jacques gave me a wink. “I knew there was a reason I admired you.” He held up his hands as if in defeat and backed away. “Do not let me interrupt. I can always come back later.”

  Sumiko clutched the blankets to her chest and huddled behind me.

  I rubbed at my temples. This all was too much in so short a time. Jacques raised an eyebrow. “On the other hand, if you wish this tête-à-tête to become a ménage à trois instead, I would gladly—”

  “Go to the devil!” I said. I threw a pillow at him. It missed, but the one Sumiko threw hit him square in the face.

  “Ah, the two of you mademoiselles have been conspiring against me then. N’est-ce pas? I am no longer in your good favor. Perhaps you will be more agreeable after I give you a chance to finish up and refresh yourselves. The captain wishes your presence in his private dining hall for dinner. You have half an hour.” He bowed.

  The officers stood when Sumiko and I entered the room. The captain was all smiles when he greeted us, though in truth, it was me who he stared at. Perhaps Sumiko’s ethnicity made her lesser in their eyes, or perhaps it was because they now thought she was the mistress whereas I was the fiancée. Captain Jeanfreau still wore the bionic spectacles over his own eyes. It gave him a monstrously mechanical aspect that made it easier to remember what he was inside. Perhaps they had the same opinion of my scarred face.

  The captain pulled out my chair. “Ah, Madame Klark, a pleasure to meet you again. You neglected to tell us of your relationship to a certain rich patron.”

  “Do you mean my patron or yours?”

  He chuckled. “I see you are skilled in the art of banter. As a gentle lady should be.”

  He didn’t pull out Sumiko’s chair. Sumiko hesitated. Jacques belatedly stepped forward to assist her, but before he made it around the table, she seated herself.

  She stared down at her plate. The black silk of her hair fell forward, hiding her bruises. She still wouldn’t look at me. Only grudgingly had she permitted me to tie her kimono minutes earlier. I imagined she was hurting dreadfully inside.

  The captain poured me a glass of wine. “I trust you are comfortable in your rooms.”

  I bowed my head. As he prattled on, I overheard two officers muttering in French what a shame it was about my face.

  “Can you tell me about my husband?” I said, doing my best to sound innocent. “And the captain of the Absinthe? No one will tell me a thing.”

  Captain Jeanfreau’s smile faltered. He looked to his commander and asked in French, “She doesn’t know?”

  Jacques lifted a shoulder noncommittally.

  Captain Jeanfreau patted my hand. “The captain is of no consequence to you or me. We’ll let Lord Klark decide his fate. As for your Meriwether Klark, perhaps that conversation is best left for another occasion.”

  One of the officers snorted, and the captain give him a sharp look.

  Likely the captain didn’t want to spoil a perfectly good dinner on a hysterical woman grieving for her husband. Nor would it do if Lord Klark discovered his son was dead before arrival. The French might lose their bargaining power. I did my best to look as if I might cry, a difficult task when the only thought in my mind was how nervous and unnatural it felt to pretend like this. “Are you saying something is wrong? Why have you separated me from my dearest Meriwether?”

  “The truth of the matter is, he was injured when we boarded the ship. He insisted we were pirates and wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  “Pirates? C’est stupide!” Jacques snorted. “Corsairs, privateers perhaps, but never pirates.”

  Jeanfreau eyed him reproachfully. He went on. “Monsieur Klark is in our hospital recovering. We will reunite you with him shortly.”

  One of the officers farther down the table whispered in his native tongue. “I hope he doesn’t mean to reunite them in the trough for the animals.”

  I did my best to keep my eyes on the captain, not the officer speaking in French. I feigned a quivering breath and dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief.

  “It would seem Lord Klark has learned of our whereabouts and has called me directly,” the captain said with a frown. “If it would please you, Madame Klark, we would be most obliged if you would call Lord Klark on my bridge to let him know you are safe, and we are returning to you to his care.”

  After I had officially called Lord Klark, Jacques escorted us to my room. Jacques leaned against the doorway to my room. “You have five minutes to assist each other in undressing before Mademoiselle Sumiko is escorted to her room. If you take lo
nger than that, you will have to rely on me to aid you the rest of the way.” He winked at me before strutting out.

  I dodged the mess of broken furnishings and went to the vent. It was bolted down this time. There would be no escaping.

  “He’s going to come to me tonight, isn’t he?” I said. “That’s why he really wants to separate us.”

  She took me by the arm and led me toward my dressing table. “Perhaps. But you have the upper hand now. If you can keep yourself from falling for one more pretty face.”

  Sumiko unbuttoned the back of my evening dress and unlaced my corset. She handed me a fresh chemise from a drawer and turned away.

  She went to a corner to change into her plain attush. When she was done, she sat with her knees tucked to her chest and hugged herself, staring at the floor. The silence was unbearable. We only had a few minutes together at most. I wanted to comfort her in the time we had together, but I didn’t know how. I knew she was hurting and I was the reason. How could I have been so naive not to recognize her affection for what it was?

  I kneeled beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. I expected her to shrug away. When she didn’t, it gave me some confidence she might be willing to listen. “You’re still my dearest friend. And it’s my hope I’m still yours.”

  A hopeful smile flitted across her face before vanishing. I hugged her and she slumped against me.

  “You are still my best friend,” she said at last.

  The door swished open. Jacques chuckled and shook his head. “That’s enough of that. We must save some of those hugs and kisses for me, no?” He took Sumiko by the arm and led her out.

  I didn’t know how long I had before Jacques came to me. I tiptoed around the broken porcelain and furnishings as I busied myself with the preparation of fresh memory moss I’d gathered from the shower so it would be handy when I needed it. Even after I washed it from my hands, the citrus, lavender and mint perfume of it lingered on my skin.