by Sarina Dorie
I shivered when we kissed again. Where my back and legs touched the moss, it felt as though tiny electric currents traveled into my body. My body buzzed and lightheadedness washed over me—only without the dizziness that usually accompanied it.
“Turn over and I will rub your back with memory moss. I will give you a memory and then you will give me a memory, yes?”
I adjusted myself in the bed of green. The moss smelled of citrus and mint and lavender all rolled into one. He plucked up a handful from the tree trunk and rubbed it against my skin. Immediately, warm drowsiness stole over me. This was far more intense than when he’d rubbed it on my arms. I sank into darkness, and when I surfaced, I was watching Taishi’s memory. The sunlight filtering through the trees was shimmering and extra bright. I saw myself wearing my pale green dress. He held my fair hand in his dark one, reveling in the way the blonde girl absently rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. It was strange seeing myself and not being in my body. The transition from me to she and he to me became more natural as the seconds passed.
My eyes now saw what he saw. I felt his admiration for the golden hair that reminded me of dark sunshine and eyes as blue as chiramantep fur. The novelty of copper freckles, on what I imagined to be the most perfect nose, made her even more exotic. Her eyelids were so strange, but beautiful. It was hard not to stare.
Her lips parted, asking why she should bother with me if I was to wipe off all her kisses and complain when she hugged me too tightly. She didn’t look at me as she spoke. She fidgeted with the white lace on her puffy sleeves. I hated the way I’d hurt her feelings. I squeezed her hand, wishing more than ever she would kiss me again and I could show her. I wouldn’t be afraid this time. I would squeeze her as tightly as she squeezed me.
I waited for her to help me—she was so good at words—but she said nothing. I knew she wished me to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. She rose and shrugged off my hand. “I shouldn’t tarry. I’m going back to the ship.”
She stepped away. Why did it have to be so hard for me to speak? She obviously liked me. I couldn’t let her go without telling her how I felt this time. I chased after her and spun her to me. I planted a quick kiss on her cheek. She scowled. It must not have been enough to change her mind. I pushed down the demon of fear gnawing at my insides, telling me that if I went further I might mess it all up. I would kiss wrong and she would laugh. We would never go back to being the friends we had been before.
I pressed my lips to hers. She closed her eyes, and since she always had a better understanding of this than I did, I followed suit. The tension in her muscles melted as I hugged her to me and I kissed her again. Desire built up in my manhood, the throbbing between my legs too urgent to ignore. I pressed her against a tree, covering her face and neck and shoulders with these kisses she wanted so much from me. Her fingers wove through my hair. She moaned against me, sending fire to my loins. I wanted her the way the animals wanted each other, something I doubted she understood, even with watching animals. Nor had we spoken of this or union, and she hadn’t yet spoken formally to my mother.
The wanting was torture. I waited until I couldn’t stand it any longer, then ran off into the bushes and hid in the trees to alleviate my aching need on my own. It was only a few seconds before my pleasure burst forth and I was left panting and alone.
She called my name in the distance. I was so ashamed. How could I tell her? She stomped around using her funny, angry words. Would she kiss me again? Just the thought of her lips on mine sent a new surge of warmth to my limbs. My manhood throbbed with new wanting.
I ran back and kissed her more.
The memory faded into blackness. I slowly slipped back into my own body and my own consciousness. The ecstasy of release still pulsed in a phantom member between my legs and made me pant.
Everywhere my body touched the moss tingled with pleasure. The side of my face and neck, a path across my chest and belly and legs. My flesh prickled with the sensation of warmth and desire. My breasts felt hot, yet my nipples hardened as though I was cold. If I had been myself, I might have been embarrassed. As it was, I was too relaxed to feel my usual shame.
Taishi turned me toward him. His face was flushed. “Did you see it? Tell me.”
“I was you. I saw what you saw and thought what you thought about me.” I kissed him and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stroked me with hands that tingled of the moss. Every caress brought new waves of mounting pleasure. When his fingertips touched the spot between my legs, I gasped at the unexpected magnitude of sensation. I moaned as the throbbing peaked and then dissipated. I sighed into his chest and clung tightly to him.
“Now you will give me one of your memories?” he asked. “Something small that you can part with.”
We exchanged many memories in the weeks that followed. Sometimes in the grove, and sometimes with moss that had been ground up and rehydrated with oils. He said it wasn’t mating, but it certainly felt intimate. And I had no doubt if my father hadn’t been too busy studying the Jomon to notice, he would not have approved.
Even so, I enjoyed these secret moments when Taishi and I shared ourselves with each other. Not only did I understand him better, but I understood his people and their customs in ways I hadn’t before. Knowing me this way, he became part of me and I became part of him. There was no one in the world I trusted more.
Chapter Eight
The Jomon people, who left Earth to settle colonies in the galaxy, are thought to have evolved much like the Jomon culture on Earth in Korea, Japan, and arctic areas of North America. Because of the diversity on Earth alone, and because of the way the Jomon changed and adapted to various climates and socialized with already existing peoples, it is difficult to say if Jomon colonists on a planet may practice “wife-swap” and “kunik” (nose kissing) as Eskimos do. We have yet to establish if there will be raw fish eating, xenophobia, and enforced isolation as we see in the modern Meiji era of Japan. We surmise there will be formal and ritualized behavior such as bowing, removing shoes upon entering buildings and “saving face.”
—The Guidebook of Colonization and Interplanetary Etiquette
I woke to the sound of giggles. Sumiko was gone. Three children poked their heads under the curtain of hide hanging from the doorway. When I lifted my head to look at them, they squealed and disappeared. I had the sense I had slept for a long time or at least that I’d slept well. The room glowed with the light of the fire, but I suspected Sumiko or someone else had been in to stoke it. Cracks of light showed under the flap of hide serving as curtain in the window.
I nibbled at the cold vegetable cakes left on the low table. I wasn’t sure what else to do. As a teenager, I had been free to roam where I pleased in the Chiramantepjin village, but this wasn’t the Chiramantepjin, nor had I been a prisoner. For a while I studied the tapestries on the wall, weavings made of grasses and plants. Animal masks hung above the hearth.
I untied the flaps of animal skin noren that sealed up the window, letting in bright daylight. Powdery snow drifted downward. I stuck my hand outside to catch the snowflakes.
To the right of my room, the side of a gray turret jutted out from the wall. The chambers and buildings below my window resembled a mess of hatboxes stacked on top of each other. A surprisingly small amount of white powder dusted the ledges and rooftops compared to the distant piles along the banks of the icy river and the snow-covered cliffs rising beyond that. When I looked up I understood why so little snow touched the palace; a large rock overhang sheltered the buildings from the elements.
How had the Jomon adapted so quickly to the climate change? I could only speculate those who lived in the colder mountains of the north must have migrated south, while the local tribes had perished. In this time of change, my sister had somehow survived. I wondered if the weather was clear enough to travel to where she resided. Now that I knew she was alive, I missed her more than ever. I hated to think about all the times I had slipped off with Taishi to get away from her.
Did she feel betrayed that I had left her? Did she understand I would never have abandoned her? When I thought of Faith, my heart filled with inexplicable foreboding. I knew I wanted to see her, but part of me felt such anxiety it was difficult to understand what I was feeling.
When I grew too cold, I tied the furs back into place. I peeled the heavy furs from the door. There were no guards.
I ventured down the drafty corridor, pausing at a room of women combing plant fibers and weaving them into fabric. A few men sat in this room as well. A group of children ran over and greeted me by bowing. The women in the room stopped what they were doing and bowed. As custom dictated, I did the same. Sumiko looked up from where she tended the fire. “Ah, you are awake. Let me fetch my brother. He will wish to take lunch with you.” She left me there.
The Tanukijin in the room stayed busy in their work, but they glanced at me out of the corners of their eyes. Only the children stared openly. I once had preferred this custom of not staring to what Westerners did on the space station. Now I found it unnerving in the way they pretended I wasn’t different when everyone knew I was.
I introduced myself and then asked if anyone there had once been part of the Chiramantepjin tribe. The two nearest women exchanged bemused glances.
“Have you ever met my sister, Faith?” I said her name the way the Chiramantepjin had once mispronounced it. “Heisu-san?”
An old man pursed his lips and said something too low and too fast for me to understand. No one answered. I was certain I had said something wrong, but I couldn’t understand what. I tried again. “Does Heisu-san live near your village?”
People diverted their eyes. The silence was unbearable.
When Sumiko at last returned, she bade me to return to the onsen with her to clean myself for the day. I halted at the entrance of the room. The windows were uncovered, letting in light. Many women and children sat in the large pool of hot spring water. I averted my eyes at the cavalier display of nudity. In daylight I could see the green tapestries on the walls. Upon closer examination—it was one of the few places it was safe to gaze—I saw the wall was covered in moss.
I edged closer to the door. “I still feel clean after my bath yesterday. Pardon me if I pass this time.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “But you need to be clean for your husband. What if he wants you again?”
“Ugh—that’s not going to happen.” I backed up toward the exit, bumping into a mother undressing her child.
“Sumimasen,” I said, excusing myself with words as well as a bow.
Sumiko took me back to my room and showed me how to dress in soft fur skirts, a woven tunic, and a loose poncho-like jacket made from green and purple pelts. The airy design was more comfortable than the fitted clothes of home, and felt nice in the warm air. She showed me how to clean my teeth with a fragrant chewing stick. Unsure where to fasten my father’s pocket watch, I hooked it onto my tunic and wore it inside so that the chain hung between my breasts. The metal of the watch bobbed against my belly as I moved.
“Come. Your husband waits.”
His room wasn’t far from mine. It was furnished with similar tapestries dyed with geometric designs. On one wall a mural of the jungle was painted with bright colors that reminded me of my sister’s drawings. It made me think of happier times seeing the way the planet once was.
He bowed upon seeing me and I bowed back. He wore his purple and green furs and raccoon dog mask again. The horns were even more menacing in daylight. In the light of the open window, I could see his eyes under the mask more clearly. They were as black as ink and full of warmth I hadn’t noticed before. I wondered what he looked like under the fur and horns covering his head.
He poured my tea with elegant, graceful movements of his hands that were like a dance. I did my best to imitate his gestures when I served his.
I dipped my head and looked at the table to show respect and formality. “Excuse my inquisitiveness, but where is the rest of my party? How are they being treated? As prisoners or guests?”
“Stop that. I am not your elder. I am your husband and equal.” He tipped my chin up to make me meet his eyes. His English sounded well-practiced. “Your friends are being treated with hospitality. If it pleases you, we will visit them when we finish our meal.”
I nodded. “And we will see my sister too?”
“You must be patient. She is to be informed of your arrival and sent for. We will speak of her again in a couple days.”
“Oh.” I was disappointed I couldn’t see her that day.
We shared food from plates set on the table. The winter food was different from what I had experienced in the warm years before the climate change. The stringy vegetables, starchy roots and salted meats were not as much to my liking, but I made no complaint. Nipa spread a red spicy paste onto a slice of boiled root and held it up to my lips.
“It improves the taste, yes?” he asked in my language.
I chewed and did my best to swallow the sour concoction. I nodded, but the expression on my face surely revealed my opinion.
He chuckled. “I don’t think so either, but I keep trying to like it.”
I giggled too now.
He had a hearty laugh, and it made him likable if his humor wasn’t at my expense. He took my hand. “I have been thinking upon what you told me last night. The purpose of wife-swap can be for many different reasons. Learning another tribe’s ways, a way to gauge sincerity or friendship, and sometimes . . .” His eyes twinkled. “. . . simply for enjoyment.”
I must have made a face, because his grin grew broader.
“Memories are exchanged to serve these different purposes in a wife-swap. I do not understand your reaction last night, but I can see the idea of memory exchange makes you uncomfortable. What alternatives can you offer me instead? How do your people see into each other’s hearts?”
I was so surprised that he was willing to compromise that I hadn’t any alternatives. “I don’t know. We give each other our word.”
He scratched his beardless chin, his smile sly. “Do you believe everyone who gives you their word?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “No, of course not.”
“Then what else?”
“We spend time with each other. We get to know each other through friendship.”
His face lit up and he nodded. “This will work. I will keep you with me so that we might spend time together and know each other better. No?”
“Is this another trick?” It seemed far too easy to persuade him. If I didn’t know better I would have guessed this was what he wanted me to say.
“Not at all.” He took my hand. “Are you finished? Shall we see your ‘not-husband,’ as my people would call him?”
I pressed my hand against the furs over my pocket watch. The ticking pressed against my belly with steady rhythm. Nipa was not unkind, as I had first thought. It surprised me he should be so accommodating and permit me to refuse his customs. In all my time at the space station, it was rare to be given a say in my own life. For years I had felt as though I had nowhere else in the galaxy to go. I had been so indebted to Lord Klark that I had permitted him to choose my books and gowns, what events I would attend, and decide all the minutiae of my life. Even after I found out about my inheritance, I knew it wouldn’t be mine to claim until I married Meriwether and he managed it for me. Marriage would be a loss of freedom, though with Meriwether it might afford more sovereignty than I had ever been permitted under his father’s care. Yet when I thought of being that close to any man, I didn’t think I could manage it. Even the idea of a temporary marriage, this tsuma no kokan in the name of cultural ambassadorship, was intolerable.
Nipa scooted closer. “Felicity-san, are you well?”
I swallowed. “You have chosen to enact tsuma no kokan but I have told you I do not wish to compromise my virtue, and you have agreed you won’t expect that of me. Last night I told you I do not wish to perform memory exchange, and you have compromised o
nce again and claim you will be satisfied to be friends instead. Will you truly permit me to refuse both your marriage customs?”
“If that is your desire.”
I sighed in relief.
“The time you were here before on Aynu-Mosir, do you remember experiencing memory exchange? Did our custom disgust you?”
It wasn’t an unreasonable question. Even so, my mouth went dry and I tried to swallow, but found I couldn’t. How could I expect him to understand when no one on the space station would?
Nipa lifted the teapot to refill my cup, but the pot was empty. He slid his own cup over. I gratefully drank. He held his hand open toward me. I stared for a long moment before realizing he meant me to take it. I placed my palm on this ungloved hand and he held it. The gentle pressure of his fingers infused mine with warmth and reassured me he might not shun me if I told the truth.
His eyes searched mine. “Was memory exchange unpleasant for you?”
I nodded. My eyes stung with tears, but I wouldn’t let myself cry. “It is more than that. I believe a man forced himself on me. If the doctor is to be believed, he violated my, um, my female parts with a knife. I was dying of an infection when they found me.” As if the pain hadn’t been proof enough, the stitches had convinced me.
He sat back as if he’d been slapped.
“Being violated was traumatic enough, but then he stole my memories, so I will never be able to identify him for certain. He might have stolen weeks or even months of memories.” I didn’t think it was possible for someone to force me to perform memory exchange, and Taishi would have been the only one I would do so with voluntarily. “I don’t know. I think, well, I think it was a man I trusted, someone I loved who did this to me. He was the only one I would perform memory exchange with.”
He sucked in a breath.
Why had I not kept my mouth closed as Lord Klark always advised? Was it my familiarity with the Jomon people of this planet that made me so free of tongue, or out of necessity that I’d told him? I was mortified at my lack of prudence. I cleared my throat. “I thought if I came back . . . maybe there’s a way to retrieve my memories. One of the elders might tell me how. But your warrior, Horiuchi-san, said the Chiramantepjin are all dead.”