The Street of a Thousand Blossoms (56 page)

The afternoon of Hiroshi’s grand champion ceremony, Kenji sat between Mika and his
obaachan
in the front row of the Meiji Shrine, watching the majesty of his brother’s moves as he performed his first
dohyo-iri
as grand champion. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. Hiroshi had always been a champion to him, and now all of Japan would celebrate the fact. When they were boys, he and Hiroshi often played at being
sumotori
, his brother always careful not to get too
rough. Kenji knew there were times he disappointed Hiroshi, backed down when he should have stood tall, whimpered when he should have raged. He was grateful when it began to rain and no one could distinguish his tears from the drops falling from the sky.

When they arrived home after dinner, Mika couldn’t stop talking about Hiroshi. “Hiroshi-san truly fits the image of a perfect
yokozuna
,” she said, as she slowly undressed, reaching back to unfasten her obi.

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“He’s someone larger than life.” She turned and asked, “Can you help me with this?”

Kenji walked over and stood behind her, unfastening each small hook of her obi. She looked very beautiful in the purple kimono; the subtle texture of leaves was woven into the material with fine gold thread. Kenji could recognize a piece of his father-in-law’s material anywhere. In the past year, Mika had taken an even more active role in helping her father get his textile business back up and running at full operation.

“And what about me?” he asked, suddenly embarrassed at sounding too much like a small boy competing with Hiroshi again.

“What about you?”

“What am I like?”

“You’re my real life,” she said, glancing back at him and letting down her hair.

Kenji unhooked the last clasp and dropped the obi to the tatami.

An auspicious day in early October was chosen from the Japanese almanac for Aki and Hiroshi to marry. His
obaachan
had selected favorable dates for both their engagement and marriage. Aki liked Hiroshi’s grandmother, though it frightened her that the slight, gray-haired woman could see so much without saying a word. Her
grandparents on both her mother’s and father’s sides had died when she was still a baby. And she would never be able to see her own mother grow old. So she had been instantly drawn to the older woman even when Fumiko Wada gazed intently at her the first time they met, as if drawing out all her frailties.

Aki stared into the mirror the morning of her marriage ceremony and couldn’t recognize herself. Behind her, Haru smiled reassuringly as she watched the hairdresser comb her hair back in an old-fashioned upswept style, similar to that of a geisha. Bright
kanzashi
ornaments then decorated her hair, which would later be covered by a
tsuno kakushi
, a white cloth hood for the ceremony. It was worn symbolically to hide the
tsuno
, or horns, and to show obedience. She willed herself not to reach up and touch her small hairless spot hidden beneath all the ceremonial objects. Their wedding would be in the traditional Shinto style, closed to everyone but family and close friends. Aki thought of how she had very few of the latter, except for Haru and Hiroshi. A large reception would be held at a hotel afterward where the media would be allowed. It frightened her to think how the marriage of Yokozuna Takanoyama had become a national event. For weeks leading up to the ceremony, they were pursued wherever they went by media and fans alike.

She looked into the mirror and caught Haru’s eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Her sister smiled. “Where else would I be on your wedding day?”

Aki tried to smile. The words were a comfort, if only for a moment. She felt helpless among all the grandeur. After Aki’s hair was styled, Momoko-san, an older woman who specialized in preparing brides for the traditional wedding ceremony, arrived. She knelt in front of Aki and evenly applied a creamy white makeup all over her face, so that she appeared to be wearing a thin, white mask. Momoko-san then darkened her eyebrows and Aki felt like a ghost, with only her eyes and lips appearing natural. Just after, her lips were painted a bright red and she was reminded again of the photo of her mother as an apprentice geisha and just how much she resembled her.

On a stand near a full-length mirror was Aki’s white silk wedding kimono with elaborate embroidered cranes stitched into the material.
Underneath it, she’d have to wear several underrobes and another white kimono. This way of dressing carried on a tradition begun by the brides of the samurai. White also symbolized the beginning of her new life as Hiroshi’s wife and the end of her old life as Tanaka-san’s daughter. It was a complicated ritual, which she was just beginning to understand. Aki would be changing two more times, from her wedding kimono to an ornate red and gold flower-decorated robe, and finally, to a deep purple mixed-pattern kimono usually worn by a young, unmarried woman. Afterward, as a married woman, she would no longer be able to wear such a bright kimono. The idea of not being able to do something turned over in her mind. It was followed by a sudden, sharp pain that gripped at her stomach and made her hesitate. Aki quickly glanced into the mirror again, but Haru was no longer there.

While Aki was being helped into her wedding kimono by Momoko-san, Haru slipped out to the courtyard for some fresh air. It was the first time she’d been alone since returning to Tokyo; she found the constant buzz of voices almost too much for her to bear. Each time Haru returned home from Nara, she noticed that even the air was different, heavier with fumes that made her head dizzy. Upon arriving home, the first thing she saw was the
sakura
tree her father had planted in front of the house, along with a few new shrubs by the front gate. It brought her a measure of calm to see them.

Haru walked across the courtyard to the stable, knowing it was most likely empty, the wrestlers having been given the day off to attend Hiroshi’s wedding. She’d made the trip across the yard hundreds of times as a girl, but in this instance it felt strangely unfamiliar, as if she were crossing new territory. The wooden door creaked open and she had the impression of being young again, sneaking a peek at her father’s
rikishi
. Only this time, Haru was looking for a place to be alone for a few moments. She stepped into the practice room, the dirt floor soft against her wooden sandals. The room was dim, smelling of damp
earth and sweat; the bold white line of the
dohyo
almost glowed. She walked to the edge of the circle and stopped. Ever since they were little, she and Aki were told repeatedly that girls were never to touch the
dohyo
. As an adult, she thought,
If it’s so sacred, why can men touch it?

Haru suddenly felt the weight of all the things she should and shouldn’t do upon her shoulders. During Aki’s engagement party in June, she had borne the whispers of women dressed in expensive kimonos, who openly wondered why Haru, the older daughter, wasn’t marrying first according to tradition. She felt their furtive glances when they thought she wasn’t looking and their false smiles as they bowed to her. She’d had enough of their narrow-minded, old-fashioned thinking and had only wanted to leave.

Haru looked down at the simple round of dirt and felt a quick, sharp urge to step over the line and onto the sacred ground. After all, it wasn’t made of clay like the real tournament
dohyo
. She glanced around the dim room to make sure she was alone before her bare foot slipped out of her sandal and balanced just over the white line. In the next moment, Haru’s foot brushed and then rested on the cool dirt. Just as quickly, she pulled it back and into her sandal. Her heart raced as she stood perfectly still and waited for the roof to collapse or for the gods to strike her down, but neither happened. Haru turned around to see the practice room unchanged, even if something small and hard inside her had.

It would always remain her secret, her first step toward an unknown direction, and Haru found solace in knowing that tomorrow she would be on the train back to her life in Nara. She couldn’t think beyond that. She closed her eyes for a moment and took several deep breaths until she thought she heard Aki calling for her. They were to leave for the Shinto shrine within the hour. Haru glanced at the silent room and then hurried back to the house to get dressed.

Hiroshi stood next to Aki at the altar in the middle of the temple’s ceremony room. He wore a black silk kimono, the Matsumoto family
crest of two pine trees emblazoned at five different areas in white. Under his kimono, he wore a
hakama
, a pin-striped pleated skirt. Aki resembled a beautiful light in all white. She kept her gaze lowered and glanced shyly up at him once before the ceremony started. When the priest began his chanting, the austere formality of the ceremony filled the clean, spare room. They stood before their family members, who sat in two rows to each side of them, facing each other. Hiroshi’s
obaachan
sat to his right, and next to her were Kenji and Mika-san, chanting silently along with the priest. He glimpsed Haru sitting next to Tanaka-sama on Aki’s side and caught her eye for just a moment before she looked away. After the purification ceremony, the priest called upon the gods to bless them, ending the ceremony with the
san-san-kudo
, the ritual of sharing sake. Hiroshi held the first of three flat cups and sipped from it three times, handing it to Aki, who took three sips from the same cup. This was repeated with the second and third cups, and then sake was offered to their families. Hiroshi thought of how similar these wedding rituals were to a sumo match, the preparation taking much longer than the ceremony itself.

After the private ceremony, Yokozuna Takanoyama and his new bride, Aki-san, stood and smiled for a multitude of wedding photos, including the press waiting outside of the hotel. Their guests dined on a lavish eleven-course banquet, with each dish symbolically representing felicity, prosperity, and longevity. These delicacies included abalone,
konbu
, a fish with its head and tail turned up to form an eternal circle, clams whose two shells symbolized a couple, and lobster with its lucky red color. After dinner, they lit a candle at each table to symbolize their new life together, and Hiroshi hugged his
obaachan
and bowed low to his father-in-law, Tanaka-oyakata. At the end of the evening, Hiroshi and Aki bowed to their families and friends before they retired upstairs to an awaiting suite.

The suite was large and inviting, with a balcony overlooking the lights of Tokyo from the sitting room. On the table were gifts, bottles of sake, champagne, and wine, bowls of rice crackers, edamame, and seaweed. In the bedroom, two large futons were laid out side by side on the tatami. The newly married couple stood silently on the balcony, breathing in the cool, fresh air, until Hiroshi excused himself to bathe. When he finished, he waited on the balcony for Aki to bathe.

It felt as if words would be an intrusion. They’d said very little since coming up to the suite and moving silently into the bedroom. Hiroshi had spent so much of his life learning the detailed rituals of sumo, each step with its own meaning and purpose. Now, as he loosened the sash of Aki’s silk kimono and it slid away from her body like water, he felt as if the rules he’d learned would be of no help. She’d just finished bathing and he felt the heat of her skin against his own as they lay facing each other on the futon. He would always remember the softness of her skin and its pale, creamy color, not unlike the white of her wedding gown. She’d seen him near naked in his
mawashi
belt during practice and on the
dohyo
, but her body opened up like a flower to him as he moved toward her slowly, gently. She was so lovely, and his fingers traced the rise of her hip as she shivered under his touch. He slowly undid her hair, which spread across the pillow like black silk, the tips still damp from her bath. He kissed her lightly and his fingers found the nape of her neck, caressing it slowly, sending a shudder through his own body. Hiroshi looked into her eyes and saw that she wasn’t afraid. Aki was waiting for him. She smiled and raised her hand to stroke his cheek as he pulled her toward him.