“The dough is rising, grandmother,” said the youngest sister, opening the door.
Every one gathered around the grandmother, for this was a ceremony of great importance. The future happiness of the young couple might depend upon it.
First the grandmother took the dough out of the bowl, kneaded it a little, shaped it properly, and laid it in the baking-pan. The mother was standing by with five candles in her hand; the grandmother took them one by one, planted them in the centre and the four corners of the korowai, and lighted them. Then all the women stood around and began to sing. It was a somewhat sad tune, yet very sweet. The song had many verses; the first was to the young couple, who would be “princess” and “prince” for the next three days; the next was to the Virgin; then followed verses to the sun, the moon, the stars, and to a white stone beyond the seas. It was a long song, and by the time it was finished the candles were burned down. Then the pan was carefully lifted into the oven.
After that all was hurry and bustle. The room had to be swept, and long pieces of brightly striped cloth brought from the chest to cover the bench that ran around the whole room. The cloths were of the same colors as the brightly painted shelves above and they made the house very beautiful. There were wreaths to be made for the “princess” and the “prince,” and the bride’s wedding-dress must be laid out carefully in the grandmother’s room, where nothing could harm it.
[1] Maize; Indian corn.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE WEDDING
Next morning was the wedding-day, and the bustle began bright and early, for the table must be spread with all the good things, and the korowai in the centre. Then every one put on his best clothes. The “prince,” with as long a train of young men as the village could afford, came to the door to claim his bride. The “princess” came out of the grandmother’s room in her bridal-dress, a wreath of flowers on her head.