My First and Only Omiai
Or, How I Survived an Arranged-Marriage Attempt
In Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s novel, Sasameyuki (serialized 1943–1948; translated The Makioka Sisters by Edward Seidensticker, 1957), the action centers around finding the third sister, Yukiko, a suitable marriage partner. Matchmakers busily scour the field in search of eligible bachelors willing to overlook the third sister’s advancing age (she was 30!) and questions about her health (she was rumored to have TB.)
Poor Yukiko has to produce x-rays in addition to the standard portrait photograph. Throughout the course of the novel, Yukiko is bombarded with photographs and dragged off to awkward dinners. All, it seems, to no avail.
When I first read Tanizaki’s novel in the mid-1970s, I assumed these meetings to interview potential marriage partners, known in Japanese as omiai (お見合い、literally: a meet and see), were largely relics of the past. Imagine my surprise when I found myself the subject of just such a meeting.
Here’s What Happened
My parents were missionaries in Fukuoka, Japan. I was spending my junior year of college with them and attending a program at Seinan Gakuin University for international students (mostly American).
I came home from school one afternoon a little earlier than usual and found a number of women gathered in the living room with my mother. They were enjoying their weekly Bible study. When their sessions ended, I poked my head in to say hello. I had been in Japan for over six months by then and managed to introduce myself in Japanese.
Enticed by a Dancing Doll
A few days later, when I came home from school I found a middle-aged woman seated in the living room with my mother. On the coffee table between them was a beautiful Hakata doll. My mother’s face was pinched with worry. But my eyes were drawn to the doll, as it was in the shape of a dancing woman.
The doll was over twelve inches high, dressed in a glistening white kimono with a soft pink design at the hem. Her obi was gold and featured a large butterfly. In her left hand she held a dancing fan and in her right a black lion’s mask with a long red ribbon that streamed over the doll’s shoulders. She was beautiful.
“Becky,” my mother sounded nervous.
“This is Mrs. T.”
I bowed politely to my mother’s guest who was looking me up and down with a surprisingly eager smile.
“Now, I’ve explained to Mrs. T. that American young people do things differently.”
That got my attention.
“She wants to know if you will meet her nephew and talk to him about America?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“It wouldn’t be a date exactly. I mean, I’ve told Mrs. T. that American parents don’t arrange marriages for their children.”
What?
I shot Mother a questioning look. Who said anything about marriage? Mother was beginning to look panicked.
At that point, Mrs. T., apparently having gotten what she came for, prepared to leave. Mother saw her out and came back to fill me in.
A Plan is Hatched
When Mrs. T. saw me the other day at the Bible Study, she hatched a plan. Her nephew was finishing medical school and wanted to train in the United States. Of course, she decided, he would need an American wife. And of course, she decided, that American wife would be me. As Mother recounted, she was adamant.
I told Mother in no uncertain terms that I would not have any part in this crazy scheme. And she understood. She seemed genuinely embarrassed that I had gotten roped into the situation, but she also seemed genuinely perplexed about how to handle it.
Mother was a very polite and gentle soul. She never wanted to offend anyone. And sometimes that meant her children had to work extra hard or go without so that others were not inconvenienced. But this time, Mother uncharacteristically put her foot down. The next time Mrs. T. contacted her, Mother told her I was not interested in meeting her nephew. Ever.
And so we assumed that was that.
But it wasn’t.
And, here you thought omiai were just for fictional characters in Japanese novels!
I had a dance recital in the large auditorium of a fancy hotel across from Hakata Station. I had gotten up early that morning to have my hair dressed in a momoware (split peach) style, a Japanese coiffure for young maidens; afterwards I traveled to the hotel, where my dance teacher and her assistants dressed me in a beautiful furisode kimono of heavy silk crepe, mostly white with brocade flowers scattered across the hem and shoulders.
In my mind’s eye, I looked like the Hakata dancing doll Mrs. T. had given Mother. She had meant the doll to soften our hearts to the notion of an omiai with her nephew. Whereas I had been beguiled by the doll, I was not interested in meeting Mrs. T.’s nephew. And Mother had explained it to her friend as gently but clearly as possible. “American parents do not arrange marriages for their children.”
No sooner had Mrs. T. crossed my mind, then she burst into the dressing room, her arms heavy with flower bouquets. She had one for me, my friend, Lydia, and my dance teacher, Ura Sensei. Mother rushed in behind the bluster of bouquets looking frantic. I could tell at a glance that she had not expected Mrs. T. to ambush me this way. But there she was, doling out flowers and insisting that I join her and her nephew after the recital for a “cup of tea.”
I said yes just to get rid of her.
My knees were wobbling. I was already fighting stage fright, the last thing I needed was to worry about getting roped into an arranged marriage!
A Five-Course Meal
Somehow I managed to make it through the recital without too much incident.
I did step on the sleeve of my sensei’s furisode and ripped the seam. But I hardly had time to apologize before Mrs. T. was back in the dressing room pushing me, literally pushing me out the door, furisode and all.
My teacher tried briefly to intervene, more so to rescue her kimono than to assist me, I suspect. But she, like my mother, was powerless to withstand the full force of Mrs. T’s intentions.
I was led to a luxurious Chinese restaurant on the top floor of the hotel. Mrs. T. had arranged a private banquet room. My parents were already there, looking sheepish, alongside another couple, and a very awkward young man of about twenty-six with glasses and a messy bowl haircut. Mrs. T. made the introductions with dramatic flair while our “cup of tea” turned into a five course meal.
Young Couple Enjoys Time Alone
At some point Mrs. T. decided the young couple should spend some time alone. So she ushered us out of the restaurant and onto the elevator, pushing the button for the street-level floor.
I don’t remember his name.
I don’t remember if he ever even looked at me. But it was hard to tell. His glasses were smeared, and he was at least a foot shorter than I.
He hardly spoke at all, and then only in reply to my questions.
Nervous, I chattered nonstop. How do you like medical school? Have you always lived in Fukuoka? Why do you want to go to America? No matter what I asked, his answers were barely more than a single syllable. “Well….umm….ah….”
And so we sauntered down the street alongside one another. It was a lovely April evening, and my furisode sleeves fluttered in the breeze. I was still wearing my stage makeup. And with my hair done up in the momoware maiden’s coiffure, I’m sure I was quite a sight. People turned to stare as we passed.
My “date” looked relieved when I suggested we head back.
They Sent a Gift Instead
Once alone, my parents apologized to me over and over. By that point, though, the whole thing had become comical. And soon we were laughing.
Mrs. T. appeared at our house the next week. She was delighted by how well our omiai had gone. Her nephew’s parents were pleased to have found such a lovely American girl for their son. It was important for the young couple to spend more time together. After all, there was a wedding to plan. She demonstrated incredible tenacity. Even after my mother told her I was not interested, she pursued the topic, bringing more gifts, hatching more plans.
I never met Mrs. T. again. And I never took another walk with her nephew.
She stopped attending Bible study.
Eventually she disappeared entirely from my parents’ lives, only to re-surface a number of years later to announce that the nephew was getting married. My parents were invited to the wedding, and she was insistent that they attend. They sent a gift instead.
If you enjoyed my story, please read my mystery novel of Kyoto, The Kimono Tattoo. 4.4 stars on Goodreads!
