CHAPTER ELEVEN

“HOW TO DISTINGUISH ENEMY CARRIER BASED PLANES”

Showa 19 November 5, NHK Radio Sunday program

“Yuriko-chan, come here, please,” Aunt Kimiko’s singsong voice called to me. When she used her singsong voice—and so politely—she was really demanding that I run to her without delay. Just to annoy her, I took my time reaching her dressing room. She was supposed to help me get dressed for the double wedding ceremony, and I was resisting, mainly because I hated wearing kimonos. They were beautiful, but they had so many layers. By the time the kimono was in place, I always felt packed in as tightly as rice in a sushi roll. But I wasn’t only stalling to spite Aunt Kimiko or because of the kimono. As much as I liked Sumiyo-san, I was not fond of change. Having both Sumiyo-san and Akira-san move in would be a big change.

I let out a long breath, trying to push those thoughts aside, and entered Aunt Kimiko’s dressing room through the ornate mahogany wood carvings that decorated the transom above the silk-screened shoji. Tansu chests with their narrow drawers lined three walls and were filled with beautiful kimonos, some almost a century old. A large beveled mirror hung on one side of the room, and Aunt Kimiko was standing in front of it with her hands on her hips. Before she could scold me for taking so long, I said in my best singsong voice, “Kimiko-san, I am so sorry for being late.”

“Never mind that. Come over here, and put on your juban.”

As she slipped the first layers of the kimono over my head, I admired the sea of beautiful fabric that was my kimono, which had been laid out before me. I skimmed my fingers over the delicate gold threads outlining the cherry blossom design. I wondered if Aunt Kimiko knew that when I picked out the kimono fabric from Gofuku’s that it would be worn at her and Papa’s wedding in addition to the two upcoming festivals. I stuck out my arms and slid them into the silky work of art. The fabric felt soft and cool against my skin.

“Stop squirming and stand still, Yuriko.”

“But you are wrapping the obi too tightly!” I exclaimed, attempting to take a breath.

“It is fine. I want to finish with your kimono so I can get ready. It is my wedding day, after all.”

“And my papa’s, too.” I set my jaw, rolled my shoulders back, and stared at our reflections in the mirror.

“There, you are done, Yuriko-chan.” Then she waved me out of her room.

I walked to the sunroom, hating the delicate, short steps the kimono forced me to take. Papa was listening to the news on the radio when I entered.

“Remember to abolish desire until victory!”

“Good morning, Papa. Oh! You look so handsome!” I said, gasping a bit.

Papa turned off the droning announcer. I shuffled over and hugged him. In his black ceremonial silk kimono with the family plum Mon—the samurai crest—on it, he resembled one of our samurai ancestors from the pictures on his desk.

“Joya, what a beautiful young lady you are. We shall have our picture taken in the garden and then the ceremony will start.”

The small wedding ceremony took place in our dining room. The mahogany screens were open wide, so the dining room expanded into one large room looking out over the garden’s fountain. Our relatives were seated on one side of the room facing Akira-san’s family and Sumiyo-san’s sister and nieces. Both my aunt and my soon-to-be stepmother were wearing white silk brocade shiromuku. The heavily embroidered over-robe had a scarlet lining and a padded hem so it trailed just a bit behind each of them. The shiromuku was worn over a plain silk white kimono with an obi and had gold embroidery outlining cranes, pine branches, and plum blossoms. The only other color was the black eye of the crane. The left neckline fold had a white brocade pouch tucked in with two tassels showing. I found it quite interesting that in samurai times this pouch held a small dagger for protection. However, these days a good-luck charm has replaced the dagger. Papa had told me that this was a tradition of samurai families.

Sumiyo-san looked elegant, and even Aunt Kimiko looked pretty. Each wore a tsunokakushi, a white ceremonial headband, in her hair. As my papa had told me, in samurai days, the bride wore a white hood instead of the tsunokakushi “to hide a bride’s horns.” I almost laughed out loud wondering if Aunt Kimiko’s horns were hiding somewhere.

The Shinto priest began the purification ceremony. Genji tapped me and asked, “What is that man doing with those sticks?”

I tried to ignore him, but he was persistent. I began to regret bragging to him about the book Sumiyo-san had given me last week, which explained all about a Shinto wedding ceremony—something I’d never seen before. I turned to him and whispered, “He is the priest and is performing the purification ceremony to bless the newly married couples and their families. Those sticks are from the sacred sakaki tree, and they are tied together with white linen streamers. See how he is waving the branch back and forth? That is how he blesses the married couple. Now, watch, and be quiet.”

Soon after, the san san kudo ritual began. Genji threw me a puzzled look, so I whispered, “The grooms each have three small cups of sake. They take three sips from each cup and then hand them to the brides. After your mother and Sumiyo-san take three sips from each cup they will pass them to the families. But we do not get to drink any sake.” Genji grunted, folding his arms across his chest, and stayed quiet for the rest of the ceremony.

After the ritual came my favorite part—the food! Fumi-san brought out lacquered trays with dishes of azuki bean rice, egg omelets, sushi cakes with smoked salmon, rice, and vegetables. For dessert she served delicious azuki mochi cakes!

For the meal, Sumiyo-san and Aunt Kimiko had each changed into a breathtaking red silk kimono with pairs of cranes, plum blossoms, chrysanthemums, and evergreens embroidered across the fabric. Their hair was now styled with lacquered combs and delicate flower kanzashi metal hair ornaments swaying daintily anytime they moved their head. My papa was seated at the head of the table with his bride. Aunt Kimiko and Akira-san sat next to them. Papa stood, raised his cup, and said, “Kanpai! Congratulations!”

I looked across the table and noticed Aunt Kimiko’s face glowing. It was one of the few times I had seen her so happy. During the toast, Genji kept poking me with his chopstick. I had yet to understand why I had to be so delicate while he got to act like a monkey. At five years old he should behave better, but because he was a boy he got away with it.

“Kanpai!” we all shouted again. As I raised my glass of juice, my elbow accidentally nudged Genji off his chair, but I made sure it was done in a delicate way.