Page 38 of Factory Controller

“Torch? What kind of wedding is this?”

We step out under a starry sky, the moon a bare sliver amid the celestial tapestry. The villagers have gathered outside of a hut. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing to distinguish it from the others. It’s not larger like the chief’s hut or the shaman’s.

Trent leads me to a fire pit, where a number of torches formed from fallen limbs lie soaking in a tub. He takes one of the upthrust handles and lifts the torch from the tub, shaking off the excess of syrupy fluid.

He then lights the torch from the ceremonial flame, lighting up his handsome features with an amber sheen.

I follow suit, finding the torch to be lighter than I’d been expecting. We join the villagers outside of the hut while a thin, reedy-voiced shaman speaks some kind of ceremony.

“What is he saying?”

Trent squints his eyes at the shaman, tilting his head to the side. “Uh…that’s the bride’s hut. He’s asking if she’s ready to accept the matchmaker.”

“Matchmaker?”

“A sort of priestess who arranges the marriage through the gods.”

The chief winds down. A girl, barely a teenager, appears, naked as the day she was born. I blush a little at the sight of her. She’s been adorned with paint that seems to accentuate rather than conceal her womanly curves.

A middle-aged woman, the matchmaker I presume, steps up and anoints the bride with incense. She then bends her knees, and the bride climbs onto her back, to my amazement.

The villagers spring into action, forming a dual line and holding their torches aloft. Trent and I hastily joined them, squeezing in near the end. We watched the naked bride on the matchmaker’s back as she passed through the line of torches until the matchmaker deposited her on the ground outside the groom’s hut.

Again, the chieftain utters a ritual chant. Trent translates as best he can.

“Kind of the same speech as the woman, just with more emphasis on hunting and providing. You get the gist.”

The groom pushes past his reed curtain and stands in view, naked as the bride. They share a smile of uncontained pleasure; a private moment had when exposed to the entire village—and two strangers.

They’re so very young. At home they would be going to school and dreaming of their first kisses. Here they’re treated as adults. I’m not sure what to think except that they seem so happy together. I wonder if the matchmaker’s interference was even unwelcome in this case. The villagers part, which means Trent and I have to fall in line. We follow the bride and groom to the center of the village, where a large pot of incense burbles and smokes on a roaring fire.

The cloying smell of the incense stings my nostrils as we approach. The chief makes an offering to the gods, the incense meant to convey more than just scent into the heavens.

“What’s the matchmaker lady doing?”

“I’m not sure.”

The matchmaker steps forward and affixes a sleeveless red blouse on the bride, but lays her grass skirt on the ground before her. She then turns to the groom and puts on a tunic, laying his loincloth on the ground before him.

The chieftain utters a final word, and the bride and groom nervously finish dressing each other.

“This allows them to inspect each other’s peerless parts, and make sure there’s no venereal disease,” Trent says.

“I could have gone on fine not knowing that,” I whisper back.

The matchmaker ties the bride’s blouse to the groom’s tunic, and then says a word. As one the entire village launches into song, including the bride and groom. Trent and I stand there awkwardly for a moment until it becomes obvious no one expects us to join in.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” I ask.

Trent’s brow furrows. “Not really, but you know, maybe I had yet to met the right woman.”

He turns his gaze on me, and it’s molten. Trent’s eyes openly undress me, not that I’m wearing much. Suddenly I move forward, wrapping my hands around his head and kiss him.

It’s a sweet sensation of relief. At last, I’m no longer fighting myself. I’m giving in to my desires. For a few seconds there’s no one else on earth but me and Trent.

I become acutely aware of the eerie silence. The singing has ceased. I pull away from Trent and find that the entire village is staring at us. My skin burns red hot as I move several steps away from Trent.

Fortunately, our faux pas proves to be of little trouble. The wedding ceremony turns into a feast, complete with dancing and happy faces all around.

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