Reflections on an Arranged Marriage
A Ranma 1/2 fanfic by KaraOhki (karaohki@snet.net)
January 9, 2000
This story is the result of this month's FFIRC one hour fanfic
challenge.
Ranma 1/2 belongs to Rumiko Takahashi, and I'm borrowing her
characters. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.
The day he arrived at the house had to have been the worst of my life,
or so I thought at the time. How could my father expect me to marry a
total stranger?
What made it worse was the fact that he didn't want me any more than I
wanted him.
Now, don't get me wrong. I understood the traditional role of a
Japanese wife, and what was expected of me. Arranged marriages were
not outside the scope of my knowledge, and I was well aware that love
often did not enter into such arrangements.
I also had seen the results of such arranged marriages, and such
observation had soured my opinion of them to such a degree that I
wanted nothing to do with one. Now I was trapped in an engagement I
hadn't asked for, and I didn't know what to do.
That was why I treated him so badly. It really wasn't fair of me to
do that, since the marriage wasn't his idea, but I couldn't help it.
Taking out my anger on my father was a waste of time. As far as he
was concerned I was going to obey him for the sake of family honor,
and there was nothing more to be said.
*****
After such a rocky start to our relationship, you would think it was
hopeless. We were forced to be in each other's company nearly all of
the time. We even attended school together.
It didn't take long for my friends to realize that I found my fiance
attractive, and that he felt the same way about me. It was also
pretty obvious to them that we were both too stubborn to admit it.
I had always had boys who liked me, and having a fiance didn't make
them stop. Although I tried hard to hide it, I found it amusing when
my fiance would get jealous because of all the attention I was
getting. He had his share of girls following him around, and although
I tried very hard not to let it bother me, it did. We got into
frequent arguments about the most foolish things, all because we
wouldn't talk about what was truly bothering us.
*****
Eventually, we married. He never asked me to marry him. I never told
him I wanted to marry him. We simply obeyed our parents, followed
them to City Hall, and filled out a marriage certificate. It was as
simple as that. Then we went home.
Our families left us alone in the house. Two people who couldn't be
in the same room without starting an argument were now alone together.
The front door closed, and I turned to my new husband.
"What now?" I asked.
"I don't know," he replied. "I'm sorry." He paused, and I saw
something in his eyes that was new. "But I want you to be happy. We
can try to be."
That statement tore at the defensive wall I'd been hiding behind, and
I couldn't help but respond in kind. "We can try."
We talked that night as we'd never talked before. We never did get
around to going upstairs to our bedroom. When the sun rose in the
morning we were still downstairs talking. Everything we should have
said to each other during the years of our engagement came out that
night. We had more in common than we knew, and that discovery made us
feel better about our future together.
The two of us yawned over the breakfast we prepared together, dumped
the dishes in the sink, and dragged ourselves upstairs. I hesitated
in front of my bedroom door, wondering what to expect. My husband led
me inside, sat me down on the bed, and kissed my forehead.
"Go to sleep. We'll talk more later."
He had the door half shut when I heard a very soft whisper. "I love
you." I flew to the door and opened it.
"What did you say?"
"I love you."
He didn't expect me to cry. I couldn't help it. After all the time
I'd known him, those were the last words I thought he'd learn to say.
"I love you, too," was my response to him.
*****
That was twelve years ago. The foundation we started to build that
very first day grew into a relationship I never thought possible. It
was not perfect--I have never seen a perfect marriage--but it was
happy, loving, and satisfying.
Now I have to leave him. I don't want to, but the choice is not mine
to make. I've already said goodbye to our children. The only thing
that will hurt more will be to say goodbye to my husband. Twelve
years wasn't enough. One hundred years wouldn't have been enough.
I can hear him coming up the stairs, and I try to think of what to say
that will help him, or that will help us.
The door opens, and he is standing there, trying to keep the tears in
his eyes from spilling over. It takes an effort to lift my hand and
wave him to my side, but he is there in an instant.
"Don't talk. Save your strength."
"There is none left. Just hold me."
My husband's arms are warm and strong. I used to think they could
protect me from anyone and anything, but this time he can't. I have
been watching that knowledge erode his self-esteem as inexorably as
the sea will wear down a stone, and that makes me fear for our
children. They will need him.
"Love, please take care of the children. Protect them. Teach them.
Love them."
"I do love them."
"Then be strong for them."
I can feel his arms shaking. "I'll try. I'll try."
My sight is dimming. I must see his face one more time, and I pull
back so I can look at him.
"Thank you. Good bye, Soun. I love you."
I would like your comments on this one...public or private or both
karaohki@snet.net
read my other stories at www.karaohki.com