The Temple Dancer

by John Speed

  "At last my guru took me back, farther from the churning waters and the churning couples, until at last I saw the structure in its fullness-they formed the surface of a tower so enormous that it stretched into the endless sky and down into the endless depths, and every inch of it alive with forms of passion and desire.

  "'What have you shown me, my guru?' I cried. But for answer she only took my hand, and we began to plummet down, deliriously down along the length of that enormous spire. It was so huge that we were small as mites beside it. My guru then held out her hand to show me, far below, that the tower's base was ringed round with a circle just as vast and grand, pulsing like an annulus of light. And I gasped, for I realized at last what I was seeing.

  " `This is desire, daughter, the endless piercing that informs the universe throughout eternity,' my guru told me. `Here is great Shiva's lingam, the source of all creation, and there the boundless fertile yoni of the Goddess which embraces and envelops it. Their endless longing creates through time the three worlds. Do you wonder that you yearn to feel this very pulsing in your soul? Desire is the essence of the gods, my daughter, and we ache to feel that godhood stirred within us.' "

  Maya's voice softened as she ended the telling of her dream, and Lucinda's breathing was already deep and long. Together they rocked and slept beneath the long dark boughs and the bright sky, and together dreamed.

  Next afternoon, Lucinda stood alone on the verandah, staring over the lake to where the shore road met the causeway. All along the far shore, fullers spread long bolts of bright, fresh woven silk on the sword grass for the sun to dry. The silk billowed in the breeze like the feathers of a giant bird. But the scene hardly distracted Lucinda. Her eyes never wavered from the road.

  She hardly noticed when Geraldo sat upon the railing next to her. He must have found some way to quiet his noisy boots. But there he was, his eyes as bright as ever, his mouth as ironic and suggestive as ever. "So, cousin," he said cheerfully. "Now you will be married sooner than you thought." Lucinda glared at him, which made Aldo's laughing eyes dance. "Once your old uncle, now your husband. Dear old uncle Victorio."

  "I should be very glad when you stop repeating `old,' cousin. Are things not bad enough?"

  "At least your future is secure. You at least know what will happen to you. Your uncle is your future now."

  "We shall see," Lucinda said, after a pause. "What do you want from me, Aldo?"

  Geraldo leaned back. He reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. "I understand you, Lucy, dear. I more than anyone understand. Are we not the same in many, many ways? Strangers. Homeless. We are alone, and lonely. The ones we love desert us."

  "It is you who deserted my sister," she spat back. Geraldo raised an eyebrow. "Maya, I mean!"

  Sadly Geraldo shook his head. "Is that what she told you? She must have her pride, I suppose."

  "Are you saying she's a liar?"

  Geraldo looked injured. "I am a gentleman, cousin. Never would I say such a thing. Don't you understand, though, that she used me, too?"

  "I didn't see you fighting her off."

  "Of course not. I am a man. I have desires. Just as she does. Just as you do, cousin . . ." Geraldo looked at her significantly ". . . exactly as you do."

  Why has the air become so still, Lucinda wondered. Birds had been playing tag just inches above the ripples of the lake; but suddenly they'd disappeared. Only the growling of frogs in the mudgrass could be heard, and her own pounding heart.

  "What will your life be like, without a real man, cousin? Are you ready to give over all hope of pleasure? For old uncle Victorio? God knows he'll probably mount you once or twice before his spirit wanes entirely. Once, twice, and then what? Months? Years? Then what hope will you have, cousin? That some day Tio Victorio will mange to stay awake long enough to come to your bed? You'll be a wife, but will you be a woman?"

  Lucinda wanted to scream out, to slap Geraldo's smug face, but her lips were frozen, and her arms. He knew she could not stop listening to his voice.

  "What will you do? The harem women have devices. Will you find a way to get one? Would you use one? Or would you find yourself a gelding, with a long soft tongue? Slipper, for example-though he's come up in the world, I understand. Slipper as he was, then, when he was so ready to shampoo you. Many women like the hijra more than husbands, so they say.

  Though Lucinda's ears grew hot and her cheeks burned, she could not find a word to answer.

  "But there's an alternative-me, cousin. Think of what I offer. We are family. Our language, our habits, our temperaments so similar. In this land of strangers, you and I have much in common. Even common needs, cousin.

  At last her tongue could move. "Go. Go away."

  Geraldo smiled then, and stood, and seized her by her shoulders, and leaned toward her face. But he only kissed her forehead. As if by chance, his fingers slid across her breast as he stepped away. "Ask your friendyour sister, as you call her. Ask her if it was not pleasant, our time together. Ask her if she was not satisfied. Often. Ask."

  "Go."

  "When dear old Tio Victorio flops upon you like a gasping fish-when you're trapped beneath that sagging, ancient body-think of me, dear cousin, think of me. Think of me, as I will surely think of you." With that Geraldo walked away. This time his boots clacked brutally upon the tiles. Lucinda turned and stared across the lake once more, and cursed the memory of her last words to Pathan.

  Pathan did not return that night, but crossed the causeway to the palace the next morning just as dawn broke. As soon as he and his suite entered the courtyard, he sent word that they would depart immediately.

  Maya and Lucinda entered the courtyard arm in arm, heads close together. They needed no servants to help them, for they had little left to pack. Geraldo watched with cold amusement, tracing with his eyes the shape of Maya's shoulder bag.

  "Ready?" Geraldo asked. The ironic smile that had seemed so attractive in Carlos's study in Goa now irritated Lucinda, and she would not answer. Geraldo chuckled and turned to Pathan. "The palanquin for these two, Captain?"

  Pathan nodded. Geraldo with exaggerated formality escorted them to the eight-man palanquin that Pathan had brought. Neither woman looked his way. He bowed with a flourish when they reached it, and walked off with a chuckling nonchalance.

  "Are you comfortable, madam?" the old palkiwallah asked as they settled in the cushions. "And you, madam?"

  The women told him yes. Maya slid and sat in a corner, took out her palm-leaf book and set it in her lap while Lucinda fluffed her skirts and petticoats. "Now all we need is Slipper," Lucinda said ruefully.

  "We'll have him soon enough," Maya answered.

  The palkiwallah gathered his men, and they took their places at the bearing poles. Maya leaned out past the curtains of the palki. "But what about our hostess, Captain?"

  "She will not come, I think," Pathan answered from his horseback.

  "You are wrong, sir." There came Chitra, as they first had seen her, her gold shawl billowing in the breeze behind her, her long walking stick banging step by step upon the tiles, and Lakshmi, tinier than ever, holding her hand.

  Pathan dismounted, and to Geraldo's amused surprise, knelt to place his head at Chitra's feet. "Get up, my boy," she said. She found his sleeve and tugged him to his feet, and whispered in his ear. Lucinda saw him shake his head and whisper, "No." Chitra smiled indulgently, the way a mother smiles at someone else's misbehaving child.

  "The girls," Chitra ordered, and Lakshmi tugged her to the palki's side. Lucinda slid around to embrace her. While Chitra's cheek touched hers, Lucinda heard her whisper, "Be brave, sister, be brave. Do not forget me." When she opened her eyes, she saw Lakshmi staring at her.

  A sudden impulse struck her. "Come here," she told the girl while she searched in her bag. She found at last her miniature locket of Marques Oliveira, still on its fragile golden chain. She coiled it into a tight bundle and pressed it into Lakshmi's hand. "Keep the chain and throw the rest away,
" she whispered. But she knew from Lakshmi's face that the girl would keep everything as a mysterious souvenir.

  By this time Chitra and Maya had nearly finished their embrace. Chitra stood back. "Now go, in the Goddess's protection. Do not forget your time here, and remember me!"

  Chitra stepped away from the palki, and once more the bearers took up the poles. Lucinda felt the lurch as they stood. She looked to Chitra and was surprised to see her waving at Pathan as though she could see him. "Come, come, Captain. Do your duty!"

  Pathan, it seemed with great reluctance, stopped mounting his horse, and came with slow steps to the palki, and at last to Lucinda's side. He glanced at Chitra, who stared nearly in their direction, and then looked into Lucinda's eyes. The force of his glance was so intense she felt her belly tremble. At last he leaned close to her, placing his lips near the place where her ear met her cheek. She felt his breath, like a silent whisper, but he did not speak. Then he stood, searching her eyes.

  "Eu desejo tu," she said, answering his silence. She spoke without intending to-the words slipped from her as if by their own will. Lucinda trembled. He looked at her strangely-though he had heard, of course he had not understood. Pathan straightened and then walked slowly, stiffly, back to his horse. She watched each step. He did not look back. From his horseback Geraldo had seen it all, and could barely contain his amusement.

  "We go!" Pathan shouted when he'd mounted. He waved his hand, and led a slow procession through the gate. Behind them Chitra and Lakshmi stood and waved.

  As they reached the long lake bridge, Maya slid next to Lucinda. "What did you say?" But Lucinda could not answer.

  The bearers tried their best not to walk in step, and mostly they succeeded. When by chance their different paces merged into unison, the palki bounced and lurched, but then would settle down once more into a gentle bobbing as the bearers mixed their strides once more. "It's not the same as an elephant, is it?" Maya smiled, but Lucinda's thoughts were too busy to reply.

  As they reached the other shore, Maya turned to look one last time at the Lake Palace. "I wish I had danced more at the temple," she murmured to herself. "I wish I had spent more time with Chitra, and with Lakshmi. I expect I'll never see them again."

  "Eu desejo tu," Lucinda said. Maya looked up. "That's what I said. It just came out. I had spoken before I realized." Maya lifted an eyebrow, waiting. "He didn't understand. How could he?" she said softly. "It means, `I desire you."' She turned to Maya, and her tears brimmed over. "Why did he say nothing?"

  Maya reached over and took Lucinda's hand. Behind them, the palace hid behind mists rising from the lake. "But could you not tell from his look? From his breath?"

  "Why was he silent?"

  "He is a man. I'm so sorry, sister."

  "What will become of us?" Lucinda whispered. But Maya only shook her head.

  Lucinda Dasana's future husband belched.

  This was his hour. This was his caravan; these were his men. The fire that lit their faces was his fire. The wine they drank was his wine. As if to prove his point, he belched again.

  "You ate too fast, Senhor Souza," Slipper smiled across the flames. "Or ate too much, maybe? Perhaps the cook Senhor Deoga hired is not agreeable?"

  "No, Senhor Gelding"-Victorio lifted his arms expansively, sloshing wine from his flagon-"you mistake me. My digestion has been bothering me, that's all."

  "Perhaps you have a cold, sir?" Slipper piped, his voice like honey. "Your eyes are rheumy, I see."

  "Only the smoke." Victorio caught another burp, which puffed out his cheeks. He rose from his folding camp chair and mocked a bow, spilling a little more wine. "Gentlemen ... gentle people . . ." Victorio corrected himself with a nod to Slipper, "I'll be back soon. I need my ... my medicine." He staggered toward the tent.

  "Medicine?" Da Gama muttered to himself. "Is he sick?"

  "Dravanas, Deoga," Slipper said smugly. "Didn't you know? Can't you tell?"

  After a tiresome day's travel out of Bijapur, the caravan had set up for the night in a wide pasture outside Sunag, about a third of the way to Belgaum. The night sky glittered with a million stars. Bats danced in circles through the sparks and smoke rising from the campfire.

  Da Gama gave Slipper a hard look. "Dravanas? Whatever do you mean?"

  Slipper smiled. "Really you are so ill-informed in some ways, Deoga. You should be more attentive to me, my dear friend. Just think of all you'd learn." Da Gama turned away so he would not see Slipper's insinuating look. "Dravanas, if you want to know, are medicines of desire. The brothers have master hakims trained in the Kamashastras. Why do you think Mouse had that haratala?"

  "You don't mean arsenico?" The word burst out without Da Gama's meaning of it. "Why would Victorio ...?"

  "You needn't believe me. Here comes Victorio to rejoin us. Let's ask him."

  Slipper seemed quite amused by Da Gama's horror at the suggestion.

  But Victorio minded not at all. Though tears ran from his blinking eyes, though he winced as if his belly griped, still he laughed as he answered. "Of course I'm taking dravanas. Whatever would you expect? I go to meet my bride. What would she say if my fonte didn't show an interest, eh?" He grunted, and winked a wet eye, and moved his arms suggestively. "She'll be satisfied, believe me."

  Da Gama tried not to look. Slipper and Victorio noticed this and laughed at him together.

  After a while, they grew quiet, and stared into the fire, each thinking his own thoughts. At length, Victorio cleared his throat. "Da Gama, that boy, our cousin ... what's his name?"

  "Geraldo..." Da Gama answered, though he saw that Victorio remembered it, and simply didn't want to say.

  "Yes, whatever his name is.... Would you say that he's attractive?"

  "Ask him, why don't you?" Da Gama nodded to Slipper, who turned away as if blushing.

  "He's a nice-looking man, senhor. But I don't approve of his personality. He has a violent nature that he keeps hidden. I think he is dangerous.

  "But good-looking, you say," Victorio repeated sadly. Slipper's head wobbled indecisively, as though reluctant to go this far. "Would Lucy notice him, do you think?"

  Slipper's discomfort disappeared. "Oh, sir, I don't think he's her type; no, not at all. She is so gentle-not a violent or wicked bone in that fair body." Victorio flashed his eyebrows at Da Gama at these words, cautioning him to say nothing. "That Geraldo is not a gentleman, sir. He is a villain! And he owes me money." Slipper finished by giving a big, bewildering wink to Da Gama.

  "What! Owes you money? I say, that does sound wicked!" Victorio chuckled and wiped his eyes with his cuff. "But you're sure? My dear fiancee, Lucy, is so innocent ... What if ..."

  "You misjudge her, senhor. She has the taste and refinement found in all members of your family, save that one man only, that miserable villain who proves the rule. Besides, senhor, what woman would not prefer a man like you? With your experience? And with your wealth? She's loved you all her life, and now you'll be her bridegroom. She must be delirious with joy! You'll have an heir in no time!"

  Victorio shifted uncomfortably. "You're right, Senhor Gelding, of course. It's just that Geraldo is a distant heir to the Dasana fortune ..

  "Not so distant," Da Gama broke in. Victorio frowned at him. "You haven't noticed? A lot of the Dasanas are dead, sir. In fact, there's Lucy, and there's you. You two are all that's left. After you two comes Geraldo. He's that close!"

  Again Victorio blinked his watery red eyes. "Now you sport with me," he scolded.

  But Da Gama, with careful seriousness, counted out the names on his fingers. This cousin, dead. That uncle, dead. His brother, dead. And on, and on.

  Victorio's face grew more and more concerned. "I hadn't realized. He could end up with everything. I shall have to be more polite to the boy next time. He stands to inherit everything, it seems, unless I have an heir."

  "What about your partner?" Da Gama said.

  "Partners come and go, sir," Victorio replied. "Only family is eter
nal."

  Slipper had listened to this conversation, growing more and more frustrated. "All you farangs talk about is relatives," he complained at last.

  "Family is everything, senhor," Victorio replied, nodding for Da Gama to agree.

  "Please excuse my rudeness, Senhor Eunuch. Genealogy is a study of mine," Da Gama said.

  "Yes, Senhor Gelding, here he speaks the truth. Da Gama has the most annoying ability to remember everybody's family tree. Get him started and he talks of nothing else. He's like a tax collector's book-every little item noted and recalled in triplicate. He's quite astonishing that way. It's why everyone despises him." Vittorio smiled to show he meant no harm.

  Da Gama smiled. "I'm sure it's the same everywhere. I'm sure the nobles of Bijapur. ..."

  "Oh the nobles ... who cares a fig for them? The brothers give genealogy no thought."

  "Don't you wonder about your parents?" asked Da Gama earnestly. "Your brothers and sisters, whether you have them? You may not have children, but you might have nephews, nieces. . .

  Slipper put up his hand in an imperious gesture. "Families betray, Deoga. Families are poison. The first thing the brothers learn is to forget. We have no parents, not really. Our parents died, or sold us, or were slaves themselves. And the brothers have no offspring. So we only have each other, and that not for very long. The brothers are like flowers; some bloom, some wither while we watch, others live on in memory, for a while at least. At last all will be forgotten, as I will be forgotten. For this I thank Allah who made me."

  Slipper looked at Da Gama seriously. "Things are best that way, Deoga. Forgetting, not remembering. You farangs become encumbered with your past. The past drives you mad. It keeps you from acting sensibly."

  When the others went to their tents to sleep, Da Gama spent a long time gazing at the fire. After making sure that no one watched him, he reached beneath his pillow and took out a letter, and two similar cloth sacks. He smoothed the letter on the ground to catch the fire's light, and read it once again.