The Temple Dancer (15 page)

Not even acknowledging Lucinda, Slipper blinked at the closed door,
his mouth forming a small pink 0 in his enormous face. "She'll pay for
this!" he whispered as he walked Lucinda to the howdah.

The morning sun shone so crisp that even the cheap gilt of the elephant's traveling livery gleamed.

After another ten minutes of Slipper pounding at her door, Maya
walked across the courtyard with Slipper beside her. With exaggerated politeness he pointed out puddles in their way. With one hand she lifted the
hem of her sari over the mud, with the other she held a long loose fold of
sari cloth over her head. The creamy silk, edged with red and gold, framed
her golden skin and gleaming hair. "It isn't right, mistress, for everyone to
see you thus. It's time you began wearing a veil," Slipper hissed.

"There's time enough for that when we reach Bijapur," she answered.
Still, she kept her eyes down, and held the sari to shield her face, but as she
walked she determined to remember forever the feeling of the breeze soft
as rose petals against her cheek.

Slipper glared and clucked his tongue. As he tiptoed across the muddy
courtyard, he heard a servant making rude remarks. Unable to contain
himself, he turned and gave the fellow a grateful smile.

Near the elephant stood Da Gama and Pathan, conferring in hushed
tones. Da Gama gave Maya a sweeping bow. Such a strange man, thought
Maya. None of his clothing seemed to fit; any moment some new bit of
pasty flesh might show.

Pathan for his part did not lift his hands as would have been polite, but
merely nodded. Noting the Bijapuri's arrogance, Maya ignored him, turning instead to Da Gama. "So, Deoga, how shall our travel be today?"

"Excellent, madam," Da Gama smiled. "We have a good road; the rain
is gone. Easy travel."

"So it seems. You fear no ... trouble?"

Da Gama glanced at Pathan, but he had turned his cold eyes elsewhere,
content to ignore Maya as much as she ignored him. Da Gama smiled
warmly. "I think we'll be fine. Captain Pathan has sent some men to scout
ahead, to be sure that the road is not too slippery after last night's rain."

"I place my trust in you, Deoga," Maya answered as she melted Da
Gama with one of her special smiles and made her way to the elephant's silver ladder.

"You should not speak to him so familiarly," Slipper whispered as he
held the ladder for her. She did not answer, but hurried to the howdah.
When she passed through the silk curtains, Maya found Geraldo already
there, chatting with Lucinda, and although they both tried to hide it, she
saw the longing in their eyes.

"Geraldo was just telling me about our route," Lucinda told Maya.
"We go through the Sansagar Pass today. He says it won't be easy."

"The mountain road gets rather narrow in places," Geraldo said, turning his dark eyes toward the nautch girl. "It could be difficult. Elephants
have a rough time, I'm told, particularly after a rain."

"It wasn't much of a rain," Lucinda said.

"Most times it's heavier in the mountains."

"Are there bandits?" Maya asked quietly.

Geraldo's face darkened. "Who told you that?" Maya shrugged. "Yes,
it's true," Geraldo answered. "But Deoga has made arrangements. I'm sure
we'll be fine." Still, a chill had fallen on Geraldo's attractive face.

Puffing with the effort, Slipper now heaved himself into the howdah. Once
seated, he yanked the curtains closed, glaring at Maya, glaring at Lucinda,
then smiling shyly at Geraldo. With the mahout's hu;'-hut the elephant's
walk began, and with it the rolling lurch of the howdah. The elephant's
footsteps made no sound-they heard only chittering morning birds, and
the talk of the riders and the clip of their horses' hooves, the deep, arrhythmic clunk of the elephant's lucky bell.

"Let's open the curtain," Lucinda suggested. The sun was brilliant; the
trees and grass and ground sparkled like emeralds. Ahead of them dark
mountains loomed like black fingers. The road, as Geraldo had suggested,
was getting narrow. Whoever had built this road, hundreds of years before,
must have had a difficult time. They had scraped it from the living rock of
the mountainside: a sheer rock wall on one side, a narrow road of stone
scraped flat, and then a sheer drop where the mountainside continued.

A deer appeared in the brush, took a long, terrified look at the procession, and dashed off. The caravan toiled upward. At one point they
squeezed past a couple of women placing flowers on a rock painted bright
orange. "What are they doing?" Lucinda asked.

"Hindis," snorted Slipper. "They worship stones."

"No! Do they?" Lucinda looked at Maya for an answer, but the nautch
girl had buried her face in her book. Slipper glared at her, then snatched the
curtains closed.

Growing uncomfortable in Slipper's icy silence, Lucinda began to prattle
on about nothing. A memory popped into her head: the children's puppet
shows that Uncle Victorio had put on when he visited Goa. As she talked
about the beautifully crafted dolls, Lucinda's memory stirred-Princess
Colombina, graceful, lonely, cold as ice; the jester Arlequim wretched with
love for her. The stories were meant to be funny, and of course the children
had hooted and laughed at the jester's misfortunes, but as she spoke, Lucinda
realized that even then, her child's heart had stirred at the pangs of ill-starred
love.

Slipper's mood improved as Lucinda spoke. He seemed eager to hear
everything; his eyes gleamed like black beads. Even Maya looked up from
her reading. Soon Geraldo brightened, and joined in, remembering the fox
prince, so sly and debonair. "But the fox always confused me!" laughed
Lucinda. "Was he a hero or a villain? You could never be sure!"

"I suppose he hardly knew himself," Geraldo answered.

It seemed only a few minutes had passed when the howdah lurched to a
stop. Geraldo now threw all the curtains wide. They stood at the foot of the
ghats. A great battlement of black craggy stone leaped into the air ahead of
them, so high that it blocked the morning sun and left them in shadow. Geraldo moved casually to a seat near Maya, and pointed with his forefinger as
farangs do, not caring that it was impolite. "You can just see the road there,"
he said, loud enough for all to hear, yet Maya felt that he spoke to only her.

In the midst of the mountainside Maya saw a deep cleft, like a stone
curtain ripped in two. They stood at the narrow juncture between two cliff
faces, above the stream that had over the years cut them in two. Far below
ran the chattering stream, now brown and turbulent from last night's rain.

Their road led into this fissure, a narrow pathway that seemed scarcely
wide enough for a man to walk. The road clung to one side of the sheer
rock walls, and disappeared behind an overhanging crag.

"You can't mean we're to go up there," Lucinda said, her eyes wide.

"I'm sure the captain knows what he's doing," Slipper put in. But his
eyes too had grown as big as marbles.

Geraldo laughed. "You are all too nervous. You'll be fine. I'm sure this
beast has walked this road a hundred times. Elephants are more surefooted than horses, you know."

"Do you say that to relieve us?" Lucinda asked. "When all the horsemen fall to their deaths, will we not be next?"

"And just look, just look!" Slipper pointed to a :pair of mountains to
the rear. "Those are forts. Bijapuri forts! You can see the green flags."

"I can't see flags," Lucinda said.

Slipper sniffed. "They're there. We have reached Bijapur." The eunuch
leaned toward Maya as if teasing her, but his eyes were cold. "And now you
must obey me." Maya did not reply.

Geraldo laughed. "We're not to Bijapur just yet, Master Eunuch.
Bijapur is miles away."

Slipper lifted his nose. "General Shahji would disagree. All these lands
belong to Bijapur."

Captain Pathan rode up to the elephant and spoke to the mahout. Then
he looked into the howdah. "Senhor Silveira," he called, his expression
guarded. "Please come down and join us. From now on the howdah is off
limits."

Geraldo bristled but kept calm. "I asked Da Gama's permission."

"You did not ask mine." With that Pathan whispered a few words to
the mahout and then wheeled his horse back to the head of the line.

Geraldo shrugged. "A self-made man, I understand," he said to Lucinda.

"I think he's very rude," Slipper told him.

Geraldo crawled to the edge of the howdah, and stood carefully on the
elephant's back. "Can't you help me?" he asked the mahout, but the elephant handler had suddenly gone deaf, and steadfastly stared straight
ahead. "That's what Pathan was talking to him about," Geraldo whispered
in Portuguese to Lucinda. "No ladder. I'm being punished." He kissed his
fingertips to his cousin, gave a carefree nod to Maya, and then slid down
the elephant's flanks.

"What a handsome man," Slipper said as they watched him stride off.
"Pity he's such an awful cardplayer."

,,who told you that?" Lucinda asked.

Slipper smiled. "Oh, I learned it for myself. He lost ninety-three tangas to me last night. He said he'd pay me when we get to Bijapur."

"Well, now you have two things to look forward to," Maya said.

As they waited at the foot of the ghats, Slipper passed the time by telling
tales of bandits. He seemed to have an endless supply. The bandits of his
stories had some similarities: they were all young, all handsome and virile.
Many were princes living in exile. Their hearts-stolen in an instant by the
sight of a beautiful woman-drove them to reckless action: kidnapping
sometimes, or secret meetings within the harem walls. Maya managed to
focus on her reading, while Lucinda listened in rapt attention.

"What's the delay?" Slipper said, looking around irritably. "It's almost
time for prayers." He crawled to the edge of the howdah and looked out.
"Why aren't we moving?"

"It's not like Bijapur is going anywhere," Maya said softly.

"Well, neither are we," Slipper sniffed. "It's those scouts. What has become of them?" The eunuch glared at Maya. "I'm sure they're Hindis."

"I thought they were Captain Pathan's men?" Lucinda said.

Slipper snorted. "For a price, a Hindi will do anything, even pretend to
pray. They have no principles." He called for the mahout to bring the silver
ladder.

First they'd waited while Da Gama and Pathan arranged and then rearranged the order of ascent along the trail. Then more waiting while they
debated whether they should proceed without word from the scouts.

Da Gama wanted to go up the pass at once. He pointed to the sky, which
had changed from hazy blue to bright gray, and to a heavy black cloud that
had curled around the opposite peak, which seemed to grow larger and
darker even as they watched. "If we don't start soon, we'll get caught in the
weather," he said to Pathan, his voice growing loud enough for all to hear.
"And we can't stay here. There's no shelter."

Pathan answered softly, but his demeanor suggested that he had his
own worries. He knew the scouts, and their failure to report troubled him.
So they waited. Flies began to buzz around the elephant's flanks as the sun heated the air. After the noon prayers, Da Gama tried once more. "How
long have you known those scouts, Pathan?"

"I think long enough. There must be some trouble or they would have
returned by now."

Now Da Gama's frustration showed. "You send out scouts before sunrise, and of course they'll nap before they come back ... probably asleep
right now," he said, smiling to show that he meant this in a friendly way.
"Hell, I could use a nap myself."

"Maybe that is the way of farang scouts," Pathan replied.

Da Gama changed his argument. "Forget the sky. What if the scouts
were lost or hurt? Shouldn't we go to their aid?"

At last Pathan agreed.