Remy double checked to make sure his attraction sign was turned to face the midway. He was signed to the circus as a traveling ‘mystical’ apothecary. He sold holistic drams, salves, and remedies to ailments both physical and emotional. His best sellers were his many solutions that helped to erase signs of age and his ‘Breaths of the Past’ which boasted the ability to recreate a memory. In fact, it was just an empty jar which he would spike with fragrant herbs and oils. People would pay for Remy to concoct scents that would evoke whatever emotion they wanted. Remy walked through the closed circus after he finished cleaning up his tent. The worn wood was painted with varying shades of blue and read, ‘Tinctures of Time’. He noted each of the other attraction signs that were out in front of their spaces and tents, signaling that the performers inside were ready. He stopped at the Tattooed Lady.

Mei’s performance space was just a small, painted barrel that she could stand on so the audience could inspect her body and an aged chaise lounge for her to relax on when she couldn’t stand to stand. She sometimes utilized the negative space in her area to do contortion and light gymnastics. Behind her space was a heavy curtain that was usually closed, but was drawn open at the time so Mei could look out at the rest of the grounds before they opened. Her living space behind her stage area was just her vanity, ottoman, wardrobe trunk and the trailer wagon she slept in when the circus traveled between locations.

Remy always liked to watch her put on her makeup in the afternoon before the fairgrounds were open. Mei always painted her face in a new way each day. Remy was hypnotized by the finesse she always had. That day, she flared her eye kohl upwards from the outer corner of her eastern eyes. This made them look cat-like and enigmatic. Her barley face was the only part of her that wasn’t marked by a tattoo.

The rest of her skin was covered in a muted rainbow of ink. Most of it was an ebonized blue and grey. Every random inch there was a patch of red or yellow or green. Her show moniker was simply ‘The Tattooed Lady’ and her poster had a romanticized rendering of her shrugging off her red silk kimono. Her delicate rose nipples peeked out from the sea of ink and her face painted in a traditional Geisha style.

Mei looked over at Remy as she put on her lipstick. She was wearing the red kimono robe she was pictured in on her poster, but it was wrapped and tied closed with a wide belt. The loose fabric hung from her frail shoulders and swung from her arms whenever she raised them. Her black hair was rolled into a large bun with a pair of sticks poking out from the right side.

Remy met her gaze, then looked down at his feet in embarrassment before looking up to see if she was offended. Remy knew that they were great friends and there was no need for any extra decorum but he always felt bashful at the sight of Mei’s delicate features. Mei was so used to being observed and ogled, so she always found Remy’s shyness endearing. She smiled and waved her free hand at him. He returned the gesture. She beckoned him to come sit with her.

Remy sat on her trunk next to her makeshift vanity. It was a small, but ornately framed mirror resting atop a large wooden crate with what he assumed to be Chinese characters painted on the wood. Mei had once told Remy she was from China, but all Asian script that he’d seen looked the same to him.

“How are you today?” she said with a heavy accent. Her English was nearly flawless regardless. She was one of the few people in the circus who not only spoke more than their native tongue but was truly comfortable doing so.

“I don’t like the air in this city. It’s so heavy,” he said.

“How do you mean? Is London not your home?”

“I was born here, yeah. Big cities always have smog, but London’s is oppressive. Like the air itself is trying to beat your throat,”

“I suppose I understand. You do look a little sick,” Remy looked at his face in Mei’s mirror. He was always pale, but his skin did look slightly greyed.

“Sick in what way?” he asked.

“You do not have the same color in your cheeks,” she touched the high point of his left cheek. He hoped that the flush would continue to stay hidden in that moment.

“Would you like a cup of tea? That always helps me feel better.” She asked.

“I think I’ll be okay as soon as we get out of London.”

“If you insist. I will still have one.” She stood up and moved the mirror from it’s resting place and into her trailer. She reemerged with a tin pot and two small cups. Remy stood up to leave, but Mei asked, “Where are you going?”

“Don’t you need water? Or a fire to boil the water?”

“Oh no, I made this tea earlier. I steep it while I do my make up. Please, sit.”

How clever, he thought as he sat back down on the trunk. She set the pot and cups on the crate. He knew he didn’t ask for tea, but he didn’t want to deny her generosity.

Remy noticed a particular tattoo of an octopus on Mei’s left wrist when she began pouring the tea. He smiled to himself. They sat sipping at the earthy water for a few moments making idle small talk. Remy’s eyes kept trying to decipher the lettering on the crate. As if the longer he stared at it, the more the odd lines and shapes would speak to him.

“Would you like to see what is inside?” Mei asked. Remy felt a little jolt of embarrassment.

“Oh, um, it’s okay. If it’s personal, I don’t want to pry.” He answered. She had a final sip of tea.

“You are my dearest friend, Remy.” His heart jittered at the way she said his name, “I do not mind sharing with you,” she smiled. Remy nodded his head. She handed him the teapot to hold while she lifted the lid off of the crate.

There were a few amorphous and box-shaped masses wrapped in what Remy thought to be a kind of satin cloth. Mei looked down at the contents and then at Remy

“These are all pieces of my life,” she said. She plucked out a small, leather-bound booklet and handed it to Remy. He let his fingers make notes of the cracks and ridges in the leather before folding the book open. He carefully flipped through the photos until he came upon a photo of himself and Mei from when he first joined the circus. He took it out and said,

“I was wondering if this ever got developed.” Mei smiled at him.

“That is one of my favorites.” She took it from his fingers, “Do you remember your first night with the circus?”

“How could I forget? I ate so much fairy floss and drank so much of that godforsaken brown ale, I threw up in the pig’s trough.” Remy said. Mei started laughing as she began to speak.

“And then you were convinced one of them was your great-aunt.” The two of them laughed at the memory for a few moments. Remy looked through more of the photos as they both calmed down.

Mei was only in a few of the rest of photos, varying amounts of her tattoos missing and later appearing in the more recent pictures. Remy found a photo of Mei with a woman who looked nearly identical to her in a fashionable, fitted short-sleeved dress, wrap scarf and hat. If Mei had any tattoos at that point in her life, they were hidden by the Chinese dress she was wearing. She noticed Remy was fixated on that particular photo.

“That is my sister, Mingzhu,” Mei said. “That was the last time I saw her before I left China.” She pulled out the hat pictured in the photo from the trunk and placed it on her head.

She framed her face with her fingers spread in a jazz motion and flashed Remy her teeth. He looked between Mei and the photo.

“Is she the one in the gown?” He asked.

“Yes. Is she not lovely? She was the most beautiful bride in my city.” Her teeth disappeared behind a languid smile.

“She’s very pretty, yes.” He was being honest. For a moment, he imagined Mei as a bride, but in a white, western gown. The lacy sleeves hiding her myriad of tattoos. He felt a net of sadness wrap around his stomach at this image.

“I miss her very much. She is the only loved one I have left back home.” Remy wanted to ask about her family, but he already felt as though he was intruding on her past enough as it was. Mei remembered how quickly her parents forced Mingzhu into the arms of her fiancée. Mingzhu didn’t hate the man, but she was so afraid to be taken away from her family. They told her not to worry and that he was an honorable man who would make a good and faithful husband. Mei couldn’t stomach the thought of being forced to marry anyone regardless of their honor or upbringing. She disappeared before she could suffer the same fate as Mingzhu.

“I was an only child. I think my mum and dad are still around London, though.” Remy said. Mei perked up at this information,

“Why do you not try to see them? Or invite them to see the circus?” She asked.

“Eh, they’ll just try to get me to stay in London and be a doctor. Or get married.” Mei kept herself from showing her curiosity. She assumed arranged marriages were just an eastern custom. Then again, marriage was almost never the topic of circus-goers and her fellow performers.

“What are weddings like in London?” she asked.

“Weddings? How do you mean?”

“What is it like to be married here? In China, we are arranged to marry.”

“Well, uh… in England you can be arranged to be married if your family sees fit or you can’t be bothered to find a wife. But I’ve got a few relatives who’ve married on their own accord. But it’s all mostly for talk. Once the actual wedding is over, all anyone gives a fig about is how soon the couple has a child or how soon someone starts having an affair.” Mei felt a prick of sadness from the way he spoke. It seems that Western marriages shared the same pretenses as the ones she’d seen in her life in China. She didn’t want to be married until she found real love.

“Do people marry for love in England?” she asked.

“Sometimes, yeah.” He noticed Mei brighten a little at this. He continued, “It makes the most sense to me to find love, or at least a true friend before you make anyone a wife. At least, that’s what I want to do.” Remy couldn’t help but hold Mei’s gaze.

“Would you ever marry me?” She asked. Remy’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline without his consent.

“Mei, I-I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Do you think I would make a good bride?” Her face remained neutral, but Remy sensed a kind of defeated modesty in her question.

“Of course you would. Why on earth would you think otherwise?” She looked down at her ink- pocked hands.

“I have seen many couples during my time in the circus. Every woman is poised and pretty. Their clothes are always modest and in fashion. Look at me, Remy. What do you see?” She stood up and unwrapped her kimono. She was wearing some white undergarments which seemed jarring compared to all of her tattoos. Her eyebrows were folded in a kind of shameful shape. Remy wanted to comfort her but had no idea what to say.

“What would you like me to see, Mei?” He asked. She sighed and closed her robe.

“I do not know. I see the way people leer at me. They think I am disgraceful.” She said.

“What makes you think that?” Mei sat down without answering Remy. She sighed and said, “I think I was an octopus once.”

“Excuse me?”

“Octopus can change their skin color at a moments notice.” She looked down at her tapestry skin sadly, “I am not ashamed of myself, Remy. But sometimes, I cannot help but feel like I’ve ruined my chance at love with all of these tattoos. People do not see my heart or my soul. They only see my skin.” Remy imagined an octopus with Mei’s brown eyes wearing a kimono, gliding through the ocean. You’ve no need to change your skin, Mei. It’s lovely. You are lovely, he might have said to her if he had the courage.

“What did you say?” Mei asked. Remy blushed. He didn’t realize he had mumbled his last thought out loud. Mei’s almond eyes pierced him. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore what he wanted to say. He tried to keep eye contact while he spoke.

“Mei… you don’t need to change your skin. It’s- you are lovely. Just as you are.” She closed her eyes at him.

“You are very sweet, Remy.” She said.

“I mean it, Mei.” He gently held one of her hands. It felt as delicate as a lotus flower. “No, you’re not like the women that come to the circus, or any other woman I’ve met for that matter. And that’s what I admire about you. You’re smart and have a gentle soul.” He saw Mei’s face lift up with his praise, “You don’t judge anyone on a glance and you’ve proven to be a fierce friend to everyone here. And you always know how to make someone smile.” She herself smiled at this. Remy continued, “If anyone wants to think less of you, or if a man wouldn’t marry you just because of your skin, it’s his mistake.” he felt his whole chest rattle with nerves. He never spoke this fondly of anyone, much less to their face. Mei’s smile brought him a little hope, but he wanted her to say something in return.

“Would you marry me, Remy? And not just to be kind?” He wondered for a moment what her obsession was with marriage. He certainly wouldn’t mind being married to Mei, but he feared what saying yes to her might entail, apart from what he already suspected of marriage. But, the more he looked at Mei’s modest hope, the more he couldn’t bear to deny her.

“If you would have me, and promise to honor me the way a couple should honor each other, then yes. I would marry you, Mei.” He said. She smiled at him.

“Do you promise me, Remy?” He briefly doubted himself in his capacity to make a good husband. But he nodded his head regardless.

“Yes Mei,” she didn’t reply but reached back into her trunk. She pulled out a few more things before the bottom layer was revealed.

There were a few closed pots of colored liquid, needles with varied shaft lengths and wooden handles and a rag stained with mottles of black and time-worn blue. Mei began speaking as she pulled these things out.

“Most of my tattoos are of my own design, Remy. Did you know that?”

“Do you mean that you did all of this yourself?” He gestured to her arm.

“Every part of my body that I could reach, I have tattooed.” She replied.

“That’s amazing. Mei, you’re truly remarkable.” He briefly wondered if anyone in the circus was married. Mei unlidded a pot of black ink.

“May I please have your right hand, Remy?” She asked. Remy’s brows knit together as he leaned his hand towards Mei’s awaiting grasp. She traced a circle on top of his wrist. His skin tingled at her delicate touch.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Do you trust me, Remy?” He nodded. “I want to give you a piece of my soul.” She added.

“I’m confused, Mei.” he said. She kissed the space where she traced the circle.

“I asked if you would marry me. In my eyes, marriage should be the sharing of souls more than just hearts and families. I carry my soul in all of these inks. I have never wanted to share my soul with anyone until I met you, Remy.” She motioned to the pots and her own skin, “If you would allow me, I would like to give you a piece of my soul.” Her voice was almost musical, if a bit nervous. Mei mentally readied herself for Remy to deny her. She studied his face as it went from curiosity to a kind of nervous empathy.

Remy knew he valued and enjoyed Mei’s friendship. He always thought she was beautiful. He thought back to his idea of Mei in a white wedding gown as he watched her dip a pen-sized needle in a pot of black ink. Then he thought about his image of Mei as the kimono-clad octopus. Remy much preferred Mei in her own skin. He never imagined being married in this way. Yet he couldn’t deny that a tattoo in lieu of a wedding band would be more exciting. He smiled a small smile at her.

“Will it hurt?” He asked. Mei chuckled.

“It might. But only for a moment or two.” She lifted the needle to Remy’s wrist and began poking tiny ink flecks into his skin. Remy only felt a small pinch with each poke. Mei looked up at him to see if the pain was too much.

“It’s not bad. You can keep going,” He said. Watching Mei meticulously poke a few dots, then wipe away the excess ink and speck of blood helped him not focus on the little pain.

Remy thought about what he might offer Mei while she worked. He didn’t have a ring, nor the artistic ability to give her another tattoo. He looked between Mei, the tattoo which began to take shape as something circular, and her ink pots. He tried to focus on the smell of the ink as it entered his skin. Mei began shaping a long tentacle around the circle.

A short while later, Mei had finished the tattoo. She took a moment to admire her work. It was similar to the octopus she had on her own left wrist. She splayed the tentacles out in different directions and had the eye facing in the direction of her own octopus. Remy studied the tattoo closely. He was very impressed by Mei’s attention to the shading in each tentacle and all the many suction cups.

“I am sure you have something in your tent to keep it clean.” She said.

“Oh, of course. Thank you so much, Mei. It’s exquisite.” He smiled at her and looked down at his new tattoo. Even if he and Mei’s ‘marriage’ didn’t last, he wasn’t unhappy with the idea of the little octopus living on his hand forever.

“I’ll be right back.” He said. Mei watched him run across the midway to his black and white striped tent. She assumed he was just going to put something on his likely irritated skin.

Remy returned to Mei with a small, red jar in his hands. He pointed to the ink pot she used for his tattoo and asked, “Might I steal a drop of this?”

“Of course.” Mei knew Remy was an apothecary, but she wondered what he could possibly want with the ink. She watched him take the needle she used only moments ago, dip the end of the handle into the ink and drip a few drops into the red jar. He then picked up his cup of now cold tea, drained it in almost one drink and studied the remnants in the cup. He poured the last of the tea and the wet leaves into the jar. He corked the jar and shook it lightly.

Remy took a breath and knelt in front of Mei. He held the jar to Mei with the label facing her eyes. Mei saw in Remy’s crisp writing, ‘To my Octopus Bride, Love Remy’ on the pristine label.

“You offered me a piece of your soul, Mei. Here’s a piece of mine.” He said.

“What is this?”

“Open it, and smell it.” He said. Mei did so, but only smelled a light waft of sandalwood and perhaps rosewater.

“I do not understand, Remy.”

“Sandalwood has many special and sacred properties, and it happens to be my favorite scent. You think yourself an octopus with ink in your soul.” He gestured to Mei’s arm and her pots of ink, “This bottle contains this day, our wedding. Or, whatever you might want to call this,” Remy smiled at Mei, who was already beaming, “It may not smell of anything right now, but should you ever want to revisit this day, you need only to smell the inside of this jar.”

Mei slowly grabbed the little jar from Remy and cradled it gently in her hands. Remy used his apothecary skills to make people feel young and happy, excited and at peace, but he never made a memory jar for anyone in the circus. At least, not that he could remember. Mei felt warm blooms of delight throughout her chest. They both knew that they might not have been truly wed, but the promise of their mutual companionship and care was enough. Mei set the jar next to her ink pots before placing her small hand on Remy’s face. He placed his hand atop hers, covering it almost completely.