Mother's Love

1.

She'd chosen a refined fabric of pink, with thick gold trimmings and embroidery splashed over the warm colour to give off the air of festivity and class. Made of chiffon, which was as troublingly plush as silk, it was one of the three fairest dresses she owned, bestowed by her in-laws for occasions like today, and it had been necessary to clothe herself in one of them. The skirts rippled about her legs, confined to short, shifting steps forward, creating a vaguely deliberate, if lurching, breeze. It caused all the petals lining her quick path to the altar, and upon the plates of the offerings, to lift a little, in greeting, revealing pale underbellies before resting back down in her wake and renewed stillness.

The freshly plucked petals were of pink lotus and orange-tinged marigold, brightly adorned across decorative twines that lined the altar and idol, the plates and candles, and the wide velvet mat that flushed deep red against clean white floor. These decorations had been painstakingly finished last night, wound all around the vestibule, now, to gain the favour of the spirit within the idol. She'd done it, alone, like a servant, he thought bitterly, yet she loved the hard work, the meticulous attention it took to beautify the altar. She served willingly.

He watched, silently proud, that she'd chosen the pink and gold dress. Every move she made picked up and reinforced the bright splices of gathered petals everywhere around her. When he glazed his eyes, her slight figure, from behind covered entirely in soft falls of colour, took on the sway of a giant warped flower, in a sparse meadow littered with her seeds, or a frozen tumble of water, her droplets shaken precisely through the large room into neat patterns.

The only petals that stayed still around her were those on the plates reserved for blessings. Their arches had fortuitously been stuck down by the drippings of wax, or snowed under by the ashes of veritable bamboo trees lording it over the stubby, mossy candles - sticks of sandalwood incense, tops glowing and pluming up smoke that diverged from cinders into clouds, shaping into coiling asps that ghosted above the colour, bites of food and other burning essences, dotted around the altar in little trays, before dissipating over the ever-watching idol.

The sweetly spicy sandalwood scent travelled much further than the smoke which bore it ever did. Knowing it was filling her nostrils, he inhaled it deeply with each new wave that arrived, feeling bonded to her by this tiny action. His long-suffered reserve - suffered by her the longest, since their marriage; only regretted in recent times the more her pure virtue in her awe for him gradated his resentment - crumbled just a fraction further. It would be a while yet before he could ever, on a day like this, stride over and give her his attention, wholly, without his customary acerbity or awkward formalities stunting their slow-growing understanding and newfound warmth.

The girl held her focus away from all the small, involved minutiae of the altar - such was her virtue and reverence for the One represented by the heavy, pure gold idol, raised up on a dais so it could imperiously stare at everyone in the vestibule, when it was full, with its wide, kind, pupil-less eyes. Usually those were the beacon for which she forgot the sweaty, nervous tightness that held her palms together, no air to cool the heat. Supplicating herself daily for her family to live well was easy; knowing she was being watched, this time, wouldn't have mattered had it been anyone else in the house.

She could barely contain her flustered state, excited at thrilling squirms in her belly. The internal wishes and prayers were, for the first time in her life, rushed, for she was flushed and distracted. She picked up a nearby plate for the blessings, shifted carefully to her feet, and turned, glad he'd be the first coming forth for the day's blessings - but he suddenly wasn't there. Perhaps she'd imagined his shadow just behind her, descending the staircase while she entered the vestibule. She tried to think no more of it, and waited for him, or perhaps another, to come receive the first blessings of the day.