Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 (39 page)

But the real celebration didn't come
until early February—Friday night and Saturday, February first and second—when
a dozen of Ruby's closest friends gathered at her house for an all-night,
all-day body-painting ceremony. Of course, most of Ruby's friends are in tune
with her unusual interests, but some of us aren't, and had to be persuaded.
The Whiz, for instance, who frowned severely when I told her what we were
planning.

"A
body-painting
ceremony?" she asked
suspiciously. "It sounds really weird. What is it?"

"It's an ancient
form of herbal body-art called
mehndi"
I said. "On Friday night, we
make up a paste of henna and water and tea and eucalyptus oil, and we paint it
on our bodies in ritual designs. Then we let it dry, and on Saturday, when we
take it off, we're beautiful."

The Whiz made a face.
"Sounds like we're messy and weird. Isn't henna that funny herbal stuff
that Ruby puts on her hair to make it redder?"

"Right. For centuries, people
have used it to dye hair and paint their fingernails and color textile fibers.
It's probably the most popular cosmetic herb of all time."

"I'm not much
into cosmetics," the Whiz said with a disdainful look. "Anyway, I
can't go into court with funny-looking squiggles painted all over my face.
Judges have no sense of humor."

"Paint
the squiggles on the soles of your feet," I said. "The judge won't
ask you to take your shoes off. Ruby will be really disappointed if you don't come
and join the fun, Justine."

"But what
happens if I can't get this henna stuff off?" The Whiz was plaintive.
"I could be marked forever."

"It'll come
off," I retorted. "After three weeks, maybe a month, you won't be
able to tell it was there." I frowned. "I'm not asking you, I'm
telling you, Justine. This is for
Ruby.
Stop being a jerk and put it on
your calendar. Friday and Saturday, February first and second."

The Whiz pursed her
lips. "February second? That's Groundhog Day, isn't it?"

"It is. It's also
a Christian celebration for the purification of the Virgin Mary and the
blessing of candles, called Candlemas. And in pagan cultures, it's a festival
called Imbolc, halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It
celebrates the return of spring and new life. Which is why we're having the
party that day. To celebrate Ruby's recuperation and to wish her continued good
health."

"Okay,
okay," the Whiz said with a resigned sigh. "You don't need to make a
federal case of it. I'll be there."

"And
you'll paint?"

"My
feet," the Whiz growled.

Ruby's body-painting party went on all
night—we camped out in sleeping bags on the living room floor—and most of the
next day. We brought our favorite party foods and drinks and flowers, and there
was lots of story-telling and dancing and listening to music and lollygagging
and laughing—the sorts of things women do when there're no men around to make
them feel self-conscious.

But the most
important part of the party was the body-painting itself. Each of us tried out
different designs on paper until we had something we liked, then we mixed up
the henna paste and painted it on ourselves. If there was a place we couldn't
reach, we painted it on each other. With Sheila's help, I painted an arm band
and a bracelet on my left arm (because I'm right-handed). With a little help
from me, Sheila painted concentric hearts and stars around her belly button.
With no help from anybody, the Whiz painted a geometric design on her instep,
and Amy and Shannon and the others painted their ankles and wrists, or the
palms or the backs of their hands.

But the most important body-painting
was Ruby's body—which was why we were there in the first place. Ruby was
wearing scarlet tights and a silky white off-one-shoulder tunic. It covered her
left breast and revealed the empty place where her right breast had been, where
the diagonal scar, almost completely healed now, curved sinuously from her
underarm to her breast bone. She had already drawn the design she wanted us to
paint, a delicate tracery of feathery lines and flowers. Her daughters were
first, then each of us took a turn, lovingly and reverently painting a part of
the pattern until the whole design was completed on our friend's bare,
breast-less chest. When we were finished, she sat in the middle of the floor
while we made a circle around her, holding candles and flowers and incense,
each of us offering our prayers and best wishes for her vibrant health and a
long, long life. As I stood there, I was swept by a complicated mix of feelings.
I felt a deep sadness for Ruby's loss, relief because it wasn't mine, and guilt
because I felt relieved. Glancing around at the women's intent faces, I was
sure that we all shared these same feelings, and something more—a deep
realization of what is really important in our lives: the grace of friendship,
the joy of caring for one another, and the resolute strength to care for
ourselves.

"Well, another
great party comes to an end," I remarked, as we said goodbye to Amy and
Shannon and shut the door. It was Saturday afternoon and Ruby and I were all
alone, with the usual aftermath of a party—food to put away and a couple of
rooms to straighten. "I think everybody enjoyed themselves, don't
you?"

"Even Justine," Ruby said with a laugh.
"Did you notice that she got carried away with the spirit of things and
painted a flower on the back of her hand?"

"No kidding!" I exclaimed. "What's
the judge going to say?"

Ruby's answer was
lost in the peal of the doorbell. "I'll get it," I said, with a
glance at her newly ornamented bare chest. She'd probably want to put on a
blouse before she met the public.

"It's one of the girls,"
Ruby said, "coming back for something she forgot."

But it wasn't one of our friends.
Instead, it was a plump, pretty woman with a halo of fluffy blond hair, a
carefully made-up doll's face, and beautifully manicured nails. She was wearing
a pastel yellow suit and yellow pumps and carrying a yellow shoulder purse the
size of a diaper bag. Beside her on the porch was a yellow plastic case with
Sherry Faye Cosmetics printed on it in large red letters.

"Hello."
Her voice had a built-in artificial lilt. "I'm Tiffany. I'm here for the
party."

"You're a little late,
Tiffany," I said. "Everybody's gone."

Tiffany's eyebrows
registered surprise, her mouth consternation. She looked at her watch.
"But it's not due to begin for another half-hour!" she exclaimed.
"I've come early to set up the sales table."

Ruby stepped forward.
"You've got the wrong house," she said. "You're looking for June
Cook. She lives across the street." To me, she added, in an explanatory
tone, "June is hosting a Sherry Faye cosmetics party. She does it once
every couple of months. She said we could come if we wanted to."

"Oh," I
said. I grinned. "Maybe we're not beautiful enough yet. Maybe we should go
and buy some lipstick and stuff." I turned back to Tiffany to say that
we'd drop in a little later, but I was stopped by the expression on her face.
She was staring at Ruby's bare and beautifully decorated chest. She started to
say something, but whatever it was, we couldn't hear it. She tried again,
blinked, gulped, and gave it up.

Ruby smiled sweetly. "I'll bet you're
wondering why I'm dressed like this," she said, gesturing at her scarlet
tights, her one-shouldered tunic, and her henna-painted chest. "Actually,
we've been having our own party. A celebration. I've just been
initiated."

Tiffany found her
voice, or part of it. "Initiated?" she squeaked.

"Yes." Ruby
lifted her chin. "I've just joined the Tribe of One-Breasted Women. It's a
very elite group, you see. Membership is limited to women who are willing to
sacrifice—"

But Tiffany wasn't
waiting around to hear the prerequisites for membership in Ruby's tribe. She
had snatched up her yellow plastic sales kit and was fleeing as fast as her
yellow pumps could take her, down the walk and across the street, to the refuge
of the Sherry Faye cosmetics party, where the women covered their breasts and
painted only their faces.

T
he
M
ysteries of
Y
uletide
H
erbs

Our modern Christmas
is far removed from its ancient roots as a solstice festival, and Christmas as
we know it in America today owes much to the story of the birth of Jesus of
Nazareth and to the Church's influence on the holiday. But the celebration of
yuletide dates back to times and cultures before the spread of Christianity,
and the familiar herbs of the Christmas season hold ancient mysteries that may
surprise you.

Ancient peoples of many cultures
observed the winter solstice on the shortest day of the year (around December
21), when the sun, worshiped as a deity, seemed almost to disappear from the
sky. Particularly in the northern regions, the solstice was celebrated in both
fear and hope: fear that the dark would triumph over the light; hope that the
light would be born from the dark. This darkest day, paradoxically also the
birth of the light, was a time for revelry, for feasting and drinking. In these
festivals, a number of plants took on special symbolic meanings, some of which
linger, transformed, to this day.

Oak and Holly

In Celtic myth, the Oak King
(symbolizing the new solar year and the waxing sun) ruled from the winter to
the summer solstice, while the Holly King (symbolizing the old solar year and
the waning sun) ruled from the summer to the winter solstice. An oak log (the
yule log) was burned to herald the coming of new light, while holly was brought
into homes and places of worship to bid farewell to an old year and a dying
god. In early Rome, the oak was dedicated to Zeus, because its hospitable
leaves shaded the god's cradle in his birthplace in Arcadia, and oak-leaf
crown was awarded to anyone brave enough to save the life of a Roman. At
first, the Church forbade these pagan practices, but when the people persisted
in their celebration, the priests gradually assimilated the plants into
Christian rites and Christian myths emerged to explain their meaning. The oak
was said to symbolize the hospitality offered to the Holy Family, while holly
(now called the holy tree) sprang up in the footprints of Jesus, its thorny
leaves and scarlet berries symbolizing the crown of thorns and the dying
Christ's blood.

Ivy

Ivy was held in high esteem in the
ancient world. Its leaves formed the crown of Bacchus, the god of wine to whom
the plant was dedicated. (In Roman times, the practice of binding the head with
ivy was thought to prevent intoxifi-cation, and holiday hangovers were eased by
drinking an infusion of ivy leaves in wine—something like the hair of the dog
that bit you.) During wedding celebrations, Greek brides wore an ivy wreath as
an emblem of fidelity, a significance reflected in an old Christmas carol:
"Christmastide comes in like a bride, with holly and ivy clad."
Revelry was an important part of the yuletide festivities, in whatever culture
they were celebrated.

Mistletoe

To the Druids, this plant was neither
herb nor tree but something of both. Since it grew in midair, often on the
branches of the sacred oak, they thought of it as a gift of the gods and
believed that it was suspended over the magical threshold between this world
and the spirit world. In Scandinavian mythology, the sun god Balder was killed
by a dart made of mistletoe (Shakespeare calls it "the baleful
mistletoe"). The god's death symbolized the end of the waning year, and
his restoration to life (at the plea of the other gods) the beginning of the
new. Mistletoe was given into the keeping of the goddess of love, and it was
ordained that all who came under it should exchange a kiss of peace and
reconciliation. By Victorian times, this tradition had evolved into the ritual
of the Christmas kiss: Each time a gentleman kissed his lady, he was required
to pluck one of the mistletoe berries. Since the kissing ended when the berries
were gone, it was to everyone's advantage to hang a sprig with a great many
berries.

Evergreen herbs

In the British Isles, wood sprites
were thought to take refuge in the branches of evergreen herbs that flourished
even during the darkest days of the year: rosemary, cypress, yew, juniper. As
garlands and wreaths, these branches were brought into the house to signify
hospitality to the spirits of the woodland and to keep them from casting
unpleasant spells over the new year—a practice we continue in the form of our
"Christmas tree." The Church attempted to keep evergreens out of its
sanctuaries but yielded during the Renaissance, when the "decking of the
hall" became an essential part of the religious celebration. The
significance of rosemary as a part of holiday festivals was explained by
another legend: that Mary washed her blue cloak and spread it over a rosemary
bush to dry, turning its white blossoms to blue, the color they have been ever
since.