Wielding a Red Sword (2 page)

She did not even smile. “Come inside,” she said.

He followed her into the wagon. Inside, the space was tight, but well organized; there was room for two to sit facing each other, and this they did.

“I do not know you,” the woman said. “I have not before talked directly with a person with your problem. Forgive me if I am clumsy; I don’t quite know how to help you.”

Again the man tried. It took time for him to get the words out, but the woman was patient and did not try to interrupt or to fill in the words for him. Digested, what he said was this: “I need help to leave the Kingdom.”

“But if you have committed some crime, and are fugitive from justice, I shall not help you,” the woman said.

He asserted that he was not a criminal; he just had need to depart anonymously.

“Forgive me again,” she said, “but I must ask you to touch my harp. This will advise me whether what you say is true.”

He touched her harp. Nothing happened.

She smiled. “Thank you. Now let us be introduced. I am Orb Kaftan of Ireland, and I sing for my supper. My harp is a gift of the Mountain King and it will not suffer the touch of a dishonest person. I am sorry I had to doubt you before.”

“I—must not tell you my identity,” the man said haltingly. “I am not injured; I wear the bandage to conceal my face.”

“Ah—a political refugee?”

“Approximately.” His stutter was diminishing as her warm attention helped him, but that word remained a considerable challenge.

“May I see your face?”

He unwound the bandage. His face was clear and hand
some, almost aristocratic. “But I must not show it openly,” he said.

“I think we might help you, but I am not sure you would like the manner,” Orb said. “We always have need of inexpensive labor, tending the animals, cleaning the cages, menial chores. I think you are of higher birth than that.”

“I am. I will do the work.”

“Perhaps we can improve upon your camouflage,” she said. “Let me fetch you a mask.”

She set him up with a clown-mask. She assured him that it would not seem unusual, as long as he remained with the group, as most of the members had more than one task, doubling as entertainers and workers.

And so he joined the group and shoveled dragon manure and cleaned the harpy cage and fed fish to the mermaid. He was paid only with food, a bunk in a wagon, and his right to be anonymous.

The group moved slowly from village to village, on wagons hauled by rented elephants, and put on its show at every stop.

After several days, the man approached Orb again. “I think I could perform,” he explained haltingly.

“But everybody laughs at the clowns!” she protested.

“They laugh
with
the clowns,” he clarified. “And I could do other things that don’t require speaking. I could be a mime, a juggler, an acrobat.”

“These things are not as easy as they may appear,” she protested.

“But I have some natural ability and some training,” he said. “My mouth may be handicapped, but not my body.”

“Well, if you’re sure, I can take you to the tour master,” she said doubtfully. “But he is an exacting man.”

“Take me to him.”

She did. The tour master was large and fat and, when he wasn’t playing to a crowd, he tended to scowl. “Show your stuff or get out,” he said gruffly.

The clown did a front-flip in the air, then stood on his hands, then flipped back to his feet.

“So-so,” the master said, unimpressed. “Can you do it on a high platform?”

The clown nodded. There was no platform handy, so he scrambled lithely up a tree and took his stance on a horizontal branch. He repeated his flip and handstand, then swung himself down, around, and back to the top of the branch.

The master became more interested. “No fear of heights, eh? What else can you do?”

“He says he can juggle,” Orb explained.

“Jugglers are a dime a dozen. He’d have to be something special.”

The clown pointed to a collection of knives, used by a sometime knife-thrower. Then, with permission, he took five, tossed them up singly, and juggled them. The blades flashed as they twisted in the air, but no knife dropped to the ground.

“What else?” the master asked, impressed.

The clown had evidently prepared for this. He went into a mime act, doing a clever imitation of a warrior whose sword kept getting in his way. He had no costume and no sword, but it came across clearly. When he managed to spear his own foot, the master smiled. When he tried to sheathe the blade rapidly and passed it through his crotch instead, the master laughed.

“You got it, mime! Work up a complete act; I’ll put you on pay. We’ll call you—um, let’s see.” The master stroked his chin. “The Mime. No, Mym. Mym the Mime! You’ve got a talent, boy. Wish I’d know before.”

And so he joined the paid performers, leaving the dragon dung behind. “I had no idea!” Orb told him warmly. “You are a very talented person, Mym.”

It was merely coordination and training, he informed her, as much by gesture as by words, for he did not like to embarrass them both by constant stammering. Orb was always understanding, but still it represented an imposition, and the last thing he wanted to do was burden a woman as lovely, inside and out, as she.

But her interest in him had been aroused, and his ascension to performer status brought them into closer natural association. Though the group was casteless—which made it technically Pariah—it did have its own type of stratification, with the master at the top, the performers
next, and the menials at the bottom. Orb, as the main attraction, was second only to the master in importance—but as Mym refined his act and the flow of rupees increased, his status ascended correspondingly. At first the others had been condescending or diffident, because of his speech impediment and his inexperience, but no one laughed at him, because all were outcasts in their own fashions. The mahout who tended the lead elephant had a clubfoot, and the dragon-trainer was an alcoholic—the dragon liked the smell of alcohol—and the cook was so grossly fat that he expected in due course to assume performer status as a freak. None of them were inclined to laugh at something as minor as stuttering.

In fact, Mym discovered that the group was a kind of family; it looked out for its own, and he had become a part of it. This became clear one day when they were setting up for a show in a village not far south of Ahmadabad, the giant capital of Gujarat. He was helping the exotic dancer, Pythia, prepare for her act. She had to strip and spread a special protective grease over all her body, so that the digestive acids of the python would not damage her skin. She had a magic pill she would gulp just before the snake swallowed her head that enabled her to stop breathing for twenty minutes or so; that and the salve enabled her to perform her act once each day. But the girl who normally helped her and who reached into the python’s open mouth to haul her out by the feet when the act was over, had run away with a handsome drifter, and a replacement had not yet been recruited. So Mym, whose act was done before hers, helped her with the preparation and the conclusion.

He was spreading the salve on her body, making sure to catch every spot, when they were interrupted by a party of armed, uniformed officers of the Gujarat law-enforcement staff. “Stand where you are, masked man!” one snapped at Mym, holding his sword ready. “Identify yourself.”

Mym, of course, was unable to respond, in part because of the stutter. Had they found him? He had thought he was free …

The dancer, knowing his problem, faced the troops. Her
breasts shone with grease and became more pronounced as she inhaled. “This is a private dressing room!” she protested in the local dialect.

The chief officer contemplated her assets. “This is Kingdom business, woman,” he said gruffly. “We are in pursuit of a party of thuggees. They may have passed this way—and this man is masked.”

“This man is my assistant!” she exclaimed, taking a really significant breath. “He is no thuggee! He has been with me all day!” She shook herself, and all three officers struggled not to gape. “He wears a mask so the fumes of the python won’t hurt his face.” She snapped her fingers, and the great snoozing snake woke and lifted its snout, hissing.

The men backed away. “To be sure,” the leader said. “If you speak for him—”

“Of course I speak for him!” she said. “I couldn’t function without him.”

They departed, and Mym relaxed. He resumed spreading the salve. “Certainly I spoke for you,” Pythia said. “I didn’t even have to lie, really, but I would have. I know you’re no thuggee, and whatever you did do to make you hide is no business of mine. We cover our own, here.”

He continued with the salve, not trying to speak.

“You do a good job,” she added reflectively. “Your hands are clever. You get me covered much faster and better than I could do myself, even in the easy places. That girl I had before never was much good; she’d tickle me in one place and skimp on another.”

Which meant that she had been at risk for burns from the stomach acids. Mym knew she didn’t like that!

“Do you know why I asked for you to help me?” Pythia continued. “It wasn’t because you are good. It was because I can get any ten men to do this, but their hands would be sweating hot and their eyes would be hotter. I don’t like having a man do it—never since one got carried away two years ago and tried to rape me.” She smiled reflectively. “The only reason he missed was because the salve made me too slippery to hold. Actually, I’d have given it to him, if he’d asked; I can take a man or leave him, anytime. What’s a little thing inside me for a minute,
compared to what
I
go inside of for my act? But I don’t like to be forced. So I told the master, and he made a eunuch of that man. I was the lead act, then, you see. Don’t misunderstand; I’m not jealous of Orb. I’m in this for the money, and she brings in three times as much as we ever had before, and the master is generous when the takings are good. And you, too—you’re bringing it in nicely, too, and that’s so much the better. But that’s what I’m saying; when you’re with us, we take care of you, and you take care of us. The master took you on because Orb asked him to—and now he’d do anything you asked, too, because you’re good for the show, Mym, you really are. But I asked for you because I knew you could handle me without making a move.” She meant the handling physically—his hands rubbing salve into every part of her, public and private.

He was finished, now, and her act was almost due. She turned to speak directly to him, as she slipped into her scant costume. “I know you get hard when you stroke me; any man who’s a man does. When he doesn’t, I’ll know it’s time for me to retire. But you wouldn’t try to force me, because you’re the most disciplined man I ever met—yes, you are, even if you try not to show it!—and because, even if you weren’t, you’re in love with Orb and you wouldn’t touch another woman if you thought there was any chance at all you might one day touch her, because you know she’s a one-man woman and expects the same in return. So I’m safe with you, Mym.
That’s
why.”

Mym stood there, chagrined. Had it been so obvious?

She answered, not needing the question. “No, you hide it well. But Orb—what I can do to a man by showing my body, she can do just by being herself. I’m dried fish; she’s caviar. So I knew what to look for.”

She stepped toward the stage, bringing the python along with her, but paused once more. “And you know, you just might,” she said, winked, and went on out.

If Pythia understood him that well, then perhaps she also understood Orb. If she thought he had a chance …

He watched the dance and consummation, half-dazed. But he snapped out of it as the python slithered back, bearing its burden, because he had to get Pythia out before
she suffocated. The trained snake opened its mouth, which had been defanged, and Mym reached in and caught the dancer’s bare feet. He hauled, and the greased body slid out. The skimpy dress had already dissolved away, leaving nothing to impede the motion. Of course this would never have worked with an ordinary python or a fully clothed and ungreased woman, but that didn’t matter; it was a decent show, and as long as it never played twice at the same place, the seeming horror of it remained.

He got her clear and hosed her down, getting the acids away. The salve combined with the acid, so that both were neutralized, but, as long as she remained inside the snake, more acids were forming, so it was important to get the refuse off. After the hosing, he set her up, took a clean cloth to her face, cleaned her closed eyes and mouth carefully, then did the same for her genital region. Then he snapped his fingers at her ear, waking her from her trance.

She shuddered, then resumed her breathing. Her eyes opened. “You do such a good job,” she said. “With you, there’s never any smarting, no bad patches. I’m completely clean.” She leaned forward and kissed him. She put her arms around his neck, set her face into his shoulder, and sobbed for a moment. Then she lifted her face. “Thank you. I am back from the abyss. This, too, is very fast with you.”

Mym nodded. The act, spectacular as it was, was not accomplished without cost. Pythia risked death, and the trance that stopped her breathing was halfway to death; though she had been through it many times, each time she knew it could be the last, and each successful recovery was a profound relief. Most others, even in the group, were not aware of the full nature of the experience she undertook.

“Should you ever need me, you won’t even need to ask,” she said. “You are the best of men, Mym.”

Had his heart not already been committed, he would have taken her up on that. Yet Pythia’s acceptance of him was only a manifestation of the acceptance of the group. He felt as good as he could remember.

It was the monsoon season, and daily the winds and
showers intensified. The master had a spell to ward off rain during the actual show, but it was too valuable to waste during travel, when there was no money to be reaped. The dragon did not like getting wet, but was too big to cover, so he was increasingly surly. Mym had a good way with the animals, so had to be out cajoling the monster forward, getting soaked himself.