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Literature Text
The matchmaker took in the girl standing in front of her with hard, cold eyes. The girl fidgeted with the sleeve of her jacket nervously.
"What did you say your name was, again?" the matchmaker asked.
"Luna Blacksmith Moon, ma'am."
The matchmaker bit her lip and nodded.
"Well, Luna Blacksmith Moon," the matchmaker said, "you will make a splendid wife. You have manners, you're polite, and you listen. You're also very attractive: curvy hips, a slight belly—both good for childbearing and childbirth—and you have plentiful breasts. The men will love you."
Luna didn't know how she felt about that.
"And you'll bear plenty of children."
"But what if I don't want to bear any children?" Luna asked.
"What do you mean, what if you don't want to bear any children?" The matchmaker looked shocked and incredulous at the notion. "That's what women are for. Except maybe me; I'm too old." She laughed a brittle, dry laugh, like dry leaves blowing in the wind and scraping on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. "You're a woman; you must provide meals and children for your husband. It's your job."
"What about love?" Luna asked.
"Love? Love!" The matchmaker laughed. "A man who'll take care of you—give you a bed and a roof over your head—is good as you're gonna get! Love! Ha!" The matchmaker fingered her jade beads. "Whether or not you love each other is irrelevant as long as you feed him after he comes home from the fields and bear his children. Make him a family—yes, that is your job. Love!" The old woman shook her head. "Anyways, you're a pretty enough girl; I'll find a gentle man for you. Go on, then; I'll send word when I find someone."
Luna walked out of the musky, smoky room, pushing past the silk curtains as she did so. Another girl stood outside the curtained doorway.
Maybe she would do better than me, Luna thought.
But isn't love a part of getting married in the first place? Is it really a woman's job to provide for the man in every way? Is it truly a woman's job to bear the children? What does love have to do with any of that?
"What did you say your name was, again?" the matchmaker asked.
"Luna Blacksmith Moon, ma'am."
The matchmaker bit her lip and nodded.
"Well, Luna Blacksmith Moon," the matchmaker said, "you will make a splendid wife. You have manners, you're polite, and you listen. You're also very attractive: curvy hips, a slight belly—both good for childbearing and childbirth—and you have plentiful breasts. The men will love you."
Luna didn't know how she felt about that.
"And you'll bear plenty of children."
"But what if I don't want to bear any children?" Luna asked.
"What do you mean, what if you don't want to bear any children?" The matchmaker looked shocked and incredulous at the notion. "That's what women are for. Except maybe me; I'm too old." She laughed a brittle, dry laugh, like dry leaves blowing in the wind and scraping on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. "You're a woman; you must provide meals and children for your husband. It's your job."
"What about love?" Luna asked.
"Love? Love!" The matchmaker laughed. "A man who'll take care of you—give you a bed and a roof over your head—is good as you're gonna get! Love! Ha!" The matchmaker fingered her jade beads. "Whether or not you love each other is irrelevant as long as you feed him after he comes home from the fields and bear his children. Make him a family—yes, that is your job. Love!" The old woman shook her head. "Anyways, you're a pretty enough girl; I'll find a gentle man for you. Go on, then; I'll send word when I find someone."
Luna walked out of the musky, smoky room, pushing past the silk curtains as she did so. Another girl stood outside the curtained doorway.
Maybe she would do better than me, Luna thought.
But isn't love a part of getting married in the first place? Is it really a woman's job to provide for the man in every way? Is it truly a woman's job to bear the children? What does love have to do with any of that?
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