“Love?” Pira asked, her interest sparking.
“Have you heard the song 'The Sally Gardens?' He wrote the original poem it was made from.”
“A love poem?”
“A beautiful one. They meet at the Sally Gardens, her with her little snow white feet. She bids him take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree, but he is young and foolish and does not agree. Now he is full of grief.”
“That's so sad.”
“It is. He should have heeded her warning.”
“What's your favorite one?” She was really getting into it.
“'Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop.'”
“That's a poem?”
“It is.” Butler fetched a book, opened it, and read the poem aloud.
Orion was astonished. It told how old Jane met the Bishop on the road and talked with him, hitting him with truths he surely was not keen to hear, telling him that fair and foul were near of kin. “A woman can be proud and stiff/ When on love intent;/ But Love has pitched his mansion in/ The place of excrement...”
Pira's eyes were round. “Wow.”
“It takes some time to understand Yeats,” Butler said. “But it's well worth it.”
Then there was a sound, a sort of rushing. Orion looked up in alarm.
“The water!” Butler exclaimed. “They let it flow!”
“The beavers will be okay!” Pira said gladly.
“Yes.” Then an odd expression crossed the old man's face. “Pira, I want you to have this book; I know you'll appreciate it.”
“Oh, I couldn't--”
“I will have no further use for it.” She went to him, and he set the book in her hands. “And this,” he said, giving her also a cell phone.
Then he smiled, leaned back in his chair, and became very still.
Orion jumped up. “He's dead!”
“Oh!” Her eyes were filling with tears.
They gazed at the man. Orion realized that attempting heroic methods to revive him was pointless; Butler had departed in a manner of his own choosing. He had saved the beavers, and relinquished control of the dam.
“We'll tell the others,” Orion said heavily.
They had accomplished their mission, albeit not in quite the manner they had anticipated and not with light hearts. They had time off, but neither was in a festive mood. They just stayed in their hotel room and quietly suffered. They had known Bill Butler only briefly, but he had become a friend.
“That song,” Pira said. “Can you sing it?”
Orion looked up the music and sang it for her. Tears ran down her face. “I love it! Sing it again.”
He sang it again, and saw her acting out the role of the sensible love whose wise words were not heeded. She was really into it.
“I'm like that man in the song,” she concluded. “You keep giving me good advice, and I don't pay much attention.”
“You're young and foolish,” he agreed with a smile.
“I'll do better, Orion! Honest I will!” She returned to the book.
Orion saw an ad for a dance in a neighboring town, Scotland Heights. It seemed it had been settled by Scots, generations ago, and maintained some of their traditions, such as difficult fast-stepping dancing. They had a weekly dance that was open to the public, with spot dancing competitions. It had become a tourist attraction.
They needed something to snap them both out of their depression. “There's a dance,” he said. “Why don't we go?”
Pira hardly heard him; she was still locked in the book Butler had given her, the collected poetry of William Butler Yeats. “Love has pitched his mansion,” she read. “In the place of excrement. What does that mean?”
He had to tackle it if he was ever to get her attention for anything else. “The ultimate expression of love is considered to be sex,” he said. “It's even called 'making love.' That means penis in vagina, and the vagina is right between the urinary and the defecatory apertures.”
“Oh, come on! We're alone now. It's that fucking is right between pissing and shitting. Now I get it. What a place for love!”
“What a place,” he agreed wryly. “It's no better with the man; he uses the same penis to piss and fuck. But please don't use gutter terms; it's unladylike, and it demeans the sentiment.”
“I'm sorry.” She seemed genuinely contrite.
“Regardless, Crazy Jane certainly smacked the Bishop with some home truths.”
“Oh, he deserved it.”
Orion decided to let that pass. “Can we change the subject?”
“You said something about a dance?”
At least it had snapped them out of grief. “Yes. There's a local dance. I thought we might go.”
“I can't do that! I've never been to a dance.”
“Why not? You twirled well enough for Bill Butler.”
“That's different. I was alone. I'm too small for a real dance. I'd have to dance with a boy five years younger than I am. Ugh!”
“You could dance with me.”
“And get my head caught in your armpit while people laugh? Some dance!”
“Pira, any two people can dance together, if they know what they are doing.”
She glanced at him in the sidelong way she had. “You actually want to dance with me?”
This might be mischief, but perhaps the risk was worth it. “Yes.”
“You're just teasing me.”
“When you come of age and want to fascinate me, you will have to dance. It's a form of courtship.”
“Oh, you fight dirty!” But she got to her feet, ready to dance.
“I think you know the basic motions,” he said, joining her. “The box step, the traditional swing, the patterns.”
“Oh, sure. I've danced by myself all the time.”
He took her hand and put his arm around her back, as her waist was difficult to reach comfortably. They stepped together. She did know it, and they meshed nicely. “Can you twirl as part of this?”
She twirled. “But I'd rather have you holding me close.”
“We already sleep embraced.”
“Not the same. You never touch me, you just sleep. What's so great about a dance anyway?”
“Well, the hidden point of dancing is to make the girls look petite, adorable, and innocently sexy.”
Her interest quickened. “I can try that.”
It was clear that they could do it. “So let's go to the dance.”
She hesitated. “Will you promise to have me dance only with you?”
There was her fear of public exposure, alone. “Yes.”
Her commitment increased. “Let's do it.”
Orion called, and got information on the dance and the admission charge. It was done in the traditional costume of blouse, skirt, white gloves and slippers for the woman, dark clothing for the man. Their authorities observed the dancers and invited the better ones to contest separately. There was no prize, only applause. It was low key.
“That seems good for us,” Orion said. “Oh—are there any age limits or other cautions?”
There turned out to be only one caution: any couple selected to compete had to do the traditional dance, with its tricky stepping, plus one original element. They would be judged on both.
“That shouldn't be a problem for us,” Orion said. “We won't be competing.” He ended the call.
“Problem?” Pira asked.
“Competitors have to do the traditional dance with the fancy stepping, plus one original element. We won't be into that. We're just going there to have a good time.”
“Yeah,” she agreed dreamily. “It's the only way I can get you to hold me.”
“Now let's see about getting appropriate dance clothing. And we'd better practice that step. I understand it can be difficult for non Scots.”
“But not for us.”
“We'll practice it anyway.”
“I'll practice it all day and night, while you're holding me.”
“Pira--”
“I know,
I know. If I had a body I'd be dangerous. Can I have a tiara for my hair so it won't get all messed up?”
They shopped. They dressed. They practiced. Pira's superior coordination enabled her to catch on rapidly.
Next day they went to the dance. Pira clung close to him, as she did in public, but he knew she would relax once the setting became familiar.
A Scot in a tartan greeted them at the door. “I called yesterday,” Orion said. “We're not professionals; we just want to relax. We won't be a dancing with anyone else, just each other.”
“You and the child,” the man agreed affably. “Daughter?”
“Ward.”
“Have a ball. The punch is spiked, but you can get an alternate if you ask for it.”
“Thank you.”
“Do I get to drink the spiked punch?” Pira asked hopefully.
“No. We'll both abstain.”
“Awww,” she said, exactly like the child she looked.
“If something came up unexpectedly,” he tapped her hand to indicate the laser capacity, “and you were sloshed...”
She was instantly serious. “Point made.” Because of course she wore the harness under the long-sleeved blouse; her lasers were always ready. They were never off duty in that sense.
There were a number of couples in the ballroom, each garbed in the traditional manner, just as the two of them were. Orion could feel Pira relaxing. She was anonymous, apart from being the youngest participant there.
The music started, played live, including bagpipes. The couples danced. So did Orion and Pira. He felt her remaining stiffness melting as they got into it. This was easy and it was fun. Soon she was doing the fancier moves, and twirling. She was lovely in her animation. O body swayed to music...
In due course there was a break. “We will now have the contest,” the tartan man announced. He walked among the couples, selecting some.
And he selected Orion and Pira. “We thought perhaps you would be taking baby steps,” he murmured. “Clearly we were wrong. You dance well.”
“Oh,” Pira said, taken aback.
“We did not come to compete,” Orion said hastily. “Just to relax.”
“As came we all,” Tartan agreed, and moved on.
They looked at each other. “Are we up to this?” Orion asked her. He meant her, because this would be a more public exposure.
“Oh, let's do it.”
“But we'd need an original element. We don't have one.”
She considered briefly. “I've got an idea. We could do it, but I don't think anyone else here could, so it must be original.”
“What is it?”
She told him.
“You're sure?” he asked uncertainly. “I mean, your harness could handle it?”
“Yes. It's tough.”
“Okay, then.”
When their turn came, Orion requested the melody of “Down by the Sally Gardens,” knowing that would thrill Pira.
There was confusion. “We don't know that one,” Tartan said.
“The words are by William Butler Yeats, which were set beautifully to music. Suppose I sing it for you, so that your musicians can pick up on the melody? Then they can play that music for our dance.”
“This is unorthodox, but let's try. We do appreciate Yeats.”
So Orion stood and sang. “Down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet.” Pira had walked away some distance, but as he sang she walked toward him. “She passed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet.” Her white slippers flashed in the spotlight. “She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree.” She faced him and pantomimed earnest dialogue. “But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.” She looked disappointed. In her joy of the occasion, she had become a consummate little actress.
Now they stood side by side, facing the audience. “In a field by a river my love and I did stand.” They looked together across the river, which was a sea of faces: the audience converted. “And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow white hand.” Pira laid her gloved hand on his shoulder, looking earnestly at him. “She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs. But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.” He bowed his head in grief, remembering William Butler, who had introduced them to this song. Pira looked sad too.
It was not supposed to be the occasion for it, but the audience broke into applause. Some of the women were wiping away tears. The song was evocative, and Pira had played her role perfectly. She was the sensible love who had tried to caution him about his impetuosity.
The musicians played the melody, now having it straight. Orion and Pira faced each other, then did the dance. This time the spotlight was on them, and Pira seemed to glow as she moved and twirled, and her tiara reflected light like a halo. Now he saw her in all her ages, as she had been when they first met and pulled dandelions, as she was now, and as she would be when she bloomed. Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? She was all of them, and he embraced them all.
She caught his eye, and smiled. O brightening glance...
And loved them all.
Then they came to their improvised finale. They gravely linked elbows, his right hooking her left, and put their free hands on their hips. Then, doing the intricate step, Orion swept her forward. Her feet left the floor, still doing the step, and she swung by her elbow, her right hand on her hip. Faster and higher she swung, until she was almost parallel to the floor, her feet still dancing. She was so small and light she was able to do it; few if any other dancers could. Again there was applause.
He slowed, letting her down gently. Her moving feet touched the floor, still dancing, matching his own footwork. They had done it.
Pira was breathing hard, still glowing. She loved this, for multiple reasons. How could he blame her? He loved it too.
He picked her up and hugged her close. He had never told her he loved her, but he knew he was getting there. He did not plan to say it now, dreading the complications, but she knew; her glad smile signaled it. She kissed his ear.
They won first place, probably more for originality than for expertise. There was no prize, merely applause. That was more than sufficient.
That night in the hotel they both remained charged up by the experience. “I did it!” Pira said. “I danced in public and I didn't mess up.”
“Indeed you didn't,” he agreed. “You were perfect. The dancer and the dance.”
“We were perfect,” she said. “I loved the way you sang it for them.”
“I loved the way you danced. I couldn't help loving you, then.” He had finally said it openly. He knew this had been coming on for some time, but it was good to let it flow.
They hugged each other again when they retired, and kissed fervently. “I love you, Orion,” she whispered.
“I love you, Pira,” he whispered back.
“Are we going to do it?”
“We shouldn't.” Both of them were breathing hard, flushed.
Then they were naked on the bed, and his state was apparent. Pira evinced no concern. She spread her legs wide. “I know it'll hurt the first time, but I'm ready.”
He hesitated. “I don't want to hurt you.”
She drew him in toward her. “I'm ready,” she repeated.
He positioned himself, knowing that he couldn't stop now. He kissed her again, repeatedly, as his hot groin sought hers.
“Tell me—tell me to say no,” she gasped.
He obeyed. “Say no.”
“No.”
He paused. “No?”
“No.” Her tears formed. “Oh Orion, I want to say yes! I want to so much! But it's no.”
He drew back. “Why? I thought you wanted this all along.”
“I did. I do. But it's not time yet.” The tears were flooding now. “Oh Orion, hold me tight!”
He held her tight, his urgency between them but not inside her. “To wait until it's legal?”
“That too.”
“The body,” he sai
d, understanding. She wanted to have the woman's body, for their first occasion, rather than the child's body. To be all that she could be, for him.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Oh, no, Pira, no! I was going wrong, but you did the right thing.”
“I hope so. I don't really know what's right, and don't much care. I just think it's better to wait.”
He drew back. “You're right. Let me get my pants back on.”
“No! Let's stay naked. I love feeling you against me like this.”
With his sexual interest rampant? “But Pira--”
“Please.”
“But the temptation--”
“It's our compromise. Love has pitched his mansion. Everything but the last thing.”
He saw it. “All but the last thing,” he agreed.
“I've got the place of excrement, but not the mansion, yet. That's not enough.”
“You don't want it to be without the mansion.” She wanted the balance of the good with the bad, as she saw it.
“Yes! It will be a wonderful mansion.”
He remembered her mother's form. “I know.”
“We don't want to be young and foolish.”
“Or full of grief,” he agreed, kissing her. She was still a child, technically, but she was already becoming a woman.
And so they slept together, aroused, naked, and clasped. Without sex.
It required phenomenal discipline on his part, but somehow that seemed better than the completion might have been.
6
Acorn
The next call came, and the next. They handled them all, staying mostly anonymous as far as the public was concerned. It was really better that the bad guys not know how their weapons could be quietly nullified from a distance; they were not on guard against that.
A year passed. They were allowed to return home for a week's “vacation,” though they were still on call. Pira kissed Orion passionately in the car, then jumped out and ran gladly to her mother's arms. He smiled, and drove to his own home. They had agreed to be apart this week, both feeling that such a break could be instructive. “You can date some real girls,” Pira had teased him. “And maybe do the last thing with them.”
“The place of excrement,” he agreed, making a wry face.
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