Prelude to The Beginning con.
Together Takakura and I bumped down the worn road in an old wagon away from the city and towards Forget-Me-Not Valley. Along the way Takakura spoke every now and again about my father. I listened earnestly to his stories, catching glimpses of my father in his reminiscing. He was determined, generous, but at times a young fool in love with a beautiful woman and the earth. Every tale filling in gaps that my fathers grief would prevent him from even touching. I do not hold this against him. Takakura mused that my mother was the most beautiful woman of the valley, that all who looked upon her fall in love for she had been blessed by the harvest goddess at the time of her birth. She was also highly intelligent, very brave and fell in love with my father for his heart, not his success. Knowing all this I could imagine the loss my father must have felt from her passing, perhaps even daily, as even the smallest things can bring sweet memories to the surface, only compelling him to shutter away in pain, as I had seen him do so often. My father had my mother to thank for most of his success according to Takakura, and that he would not have been half the man as I knew him to be if not for the relentless beauty.
Before their marriage they would bait each other with competition constantly, who could fish the most, ride the fastest, or produce the best crop. Normally her suitors would simply proclaim their intentions, present her with a lovely gift and expect a reply of adulation. My father had a different approach, one that always was accompanied by a challenge. The winner would be declared the owner of the other's heart and could demand the loser to perform any task. They took turns declaring challenges through the years but the outcome would be the same every time. Takakura chuckled as he went on about how formidable my mother was, her cunning mind, her vast knowledge of the valley, and her athleticism. All these attributes combined seemed to guarantee her as the victor of every challenge, resulting in my father having to perform humiliating stunts upon request. One such request involved riding horseback backwards for a week. I came to the conclusion that my mother was as amazing as she was terrifying. Her sadistic requests were probably her way of making marriage impossible for any suitor. This did not deter my father as the entire valley would see that his determination was what brought my mothers heart to be in his possession at last.
It was monsoon season and ocean storms bring heavy rains to the valley after a hot cloudless summer. The challenge at hand was whoever could grow the most delicious crop before the first big storm would be the champion. They worked fiercely as always, my mother was sure she would win, and my father was determined to achieve at least one victory and see that his one request be completed. The first storm to sweep over the valley was monstrous, trees were snapped in half and homes were almost blown away with families inside them. The onslaught of nature lasted three days and three nights, but on the fourth day only a gentle shower could be felt as the storm raged on past the valley. My mother was expecting her competitor to appear any minute at the meeting place, claiming with boundless confidence that he had produced the most delicious crop. She had used all of her knowledge and techniques to produce her own high quality crop, a hybrid of a tomato and a carrot, a Tomaca. In similar challenges in the past, my father had never been able to best my mother at raising high quality hybrid crops and this time seemed no different. She was ready to accept her victory and demand that my father spend the next week barefoot but there was no word from him all that morning. My mother was determined to secure her victory so she set off to confront him. She arrived on his land horrified to see him lying by his fields, seemingly lifeless. She went to him in grief but was relieved to find that he was still alive. He was weatherbeaten, feverous, and would not wake to her touch or voice. She brought him inside his home and began to nurse him back from the brink of death. He regained consciousness some hours later, blinking in the dark, laying in bed with his rival by his side. She took him by the hand and called him a fool and said but I would be the most foolish of all if I were to watch you die. He asked her if she was willing to settle with him claiming her heart with his entry. She was shocked as to how he had anything to put forward after the hellish storm. He told her that in the fields there was such a crop, one that he battled the whole storm to protect as it ripened. For three days and three nights my father had nurtured his crop and fortified the grounds around it. Together they went out in the calm night air to see if the crop had survived. They held onto one another in awe at the sight of the crop ripe with the most beautiful fruit, glistening in the harvest moon's light. My father had grown his magnum opus, a coveted hybrid of a melon and a strawberry, a Berryto. The fruit itself was prestine, like a jewel ready to be set in the most gilded of crowns. Together the rivals picked the fruit and carefully brought it to the meeting place.
The whole valley had gathered, buzzing with excitement as this challenge seemed different than previous other's, not as absolute, like the beginning of something, but no one was sure yet of what. This feeling intensified as the competitors arrived together, one of them seemingly ill, but holding each other by the hand. The Berryto was revealed to the crowd and all were struck with awe and disbelief. The judge presiding over the event was a gourmet from the city and even he suddenly sweat in surprise that such a fruit would grace his tastebuds tonight. A hush went over the crowd as everyone repositioned for the judging. The two rivals faced each other for the last time. First was the Tomaca, the judge bit into it, chewed thoroughly, and swallowed. His verdict to the crowd was that the crop was of the highest quality, its flavors were delightful, and it was probably the best Tomaca he had ever judged. Moving on to the Berryto, the crowd grew still and seemed to be holding their breath. All eyes in the room watched the judges trembling hand as he took the fruit, raised it to his mouth and bit into it. After just one chew his face melted into a state of indescribable bliss, his eyes watered as the sweet delicious fruit danced on his tongue and teeth. Never before had he tasted a fruit that was so full of flavor, so sweet, and had a crisp texture that sent chills up and down his spine. He struggled to swallow as to not leave the heaven he was sent to so early. The crowd had watched his reactions and were on the verge of stopping the whole contest just to get a bite of the Berryto. But the result had to be announced, there had to be a winner and a loser to do the winners bidding.
The gourmet cleared his throat and addressed the crowd, informing them he had come to a decision. He continued that never in his whole life as a gourmet had he ever tasted anything as delicious as the Berryto my father had grown. My father was declared the winner and the crowd cheered and wooped in amazement at the precidings. No one would ever forget the day my father bested my mother, and in the way that he had. The rivals approached each other, only as rivals for the last time. My father announced that as the winner he now owned her heart and she must complete his one request. My mother, Takakura said, was smiling from ear to ear as he announced this, her eyes were ready to overflow with tears. He said she looked like the gourmet had, like tasting heaven for the first time, but he was sure it was only that she was happy to see her true love alive before her, not lost forever. The young fools looked at each other in love and longing as my father demanded her hand in marriage. she nodded, overcome with joy and relief, tears now streaming down her face, replying, consider it done. They embraced each other passionately as the room roared with cheer. Takakura finished the story with, that if it weren't for all those challenges my father would never have pushed his limits and become a successful farmer. My mother had taunted, pushed, and nearly drove my father to his death, but it proved to her that man was not only worthy of her love but also her life.
