Being a Green Mother (10 page)

Orb fit right in with the show. This was partly because of her recent experience with the Gypsies; she had learned to adapt to other ways with grace, and this group was Gypsylike in a fashion, though a purely commercial venture. She knew it was principally her music that won the others over.

The master introduced her to those others. “This is Orb from Ireland,” he said. “She will travel with us, and she will be the main attraction and have the best wagon. Listen to her.”

The others stared stonily at her, angry that an outsider should so abruptly find favor. Then Orb put her fingers to her harp and sang. The music and the magic reached out and embraced them, and they melted, as the master had known they would.

She completed her song. “How many rupees do you figure she’ll bring in?” the master asked.

Orb saw them nod. The mermaid in her tank of water, the harpy on her perch, the exotic snake dancer, the illusionist magician, the assistants and handymen and animal trainers—all of them recognized that her act would make money for them all, and that was the point of this show. Anything could be forgiven if it profited the group.

Still, Orb intended to get to know each of them personally and to avoid assuming any airs. She was not in it for the money, and she needed to foster no private resentments.

The show moved out of Calcutta. The wagons were hauled by elephants, who were guided by mahouts. At first Orb sat in front, fascinated by this mode of travel, but soon lost interest. Most of what there was to see was the enormous rump of the elephant. So she rode inside her wagon, which was like a cramped house, with chairs, a bed, and a hotplate to cook on, and tried to read a book. But the road was bumpy, and she had read the book before, so she could not escape boredom that way. She craved human company.

She jumped down from the slow-moving wagon and waited for the following vehicle to pass. This happened to be the one containing the mermaid’s tank. “May I join you?” Orb called.

A hand appeared, beckoning her. Orb jumped onto the wagon and got next to the huge tank. The mermaid lifted her head from the water, and the water in her lungs spewed out as she cleared them for air. This was startling, but Orb realized it was natural; the creature had to adapt to the element she was in at the moment.

“I realize you don’t talk,” Orb said. “But you do understand, don’t you? I am lonely, and I would appreciate company, if you don’t mind.”

The creature gazed at her. Her head was that of a human woman a bit beyond the flush of youth, and her hair was greenish and somewhat straggly when out of the water, but her breasts were quite well formed. The scales commenced at about the level of the waist, and thickened below, providing a completely decent covering for her nether portion. Her tail was strong and healthy, and it swept slowly through the water, keeping her aloft. There were gill slits along her neck where it merged with her torso, and some farther down along her sides; water still flowed from these.

“Forgive me if I am being impolite,” Orb said. “I have never met a mermaid before. The closest I have come was in childhood, with river sprites. But they were human in form—I mean they had legs.”

The mermaid only looked at her. “A curse on me!” Orb muttered in Calo. “I’m only affronting her!”

The mermaid smiled. “You speak the tongue!” she exclaimed in the same language.

Orb gaped. “I thought you didn’t—”

“I speak—when I choose,” the mermaid said. “But few are worth speaking to.”

“But how—I thought you were a creature of the sea!”

“But my father was a man,” the mermaid said. “He annoyed a magician by luring away his wife. Gypsies are like that. So the magician put him under a curse that made human women resemble fish in his eyes, and vice versa. Thus he found romantic solace thereafter only in the water. My mother was unable to care for me, because I can’t endure the pressure of the deeps, so my father cared for me as well as he could on land. Finally he sold me to this show, and I have been earning back my stake. It is not a bad life; I meet interesting creatures.” Her gills, finally clear of the draining water, closed up, becoming unobtrusive lines; the portion of her above the water now looked completely human.

Orb recovered her composure. “But you are being touted as—forgive me—as a freak. A creature who kisses men for a fee.”

“I like kissing men,” the mermaid said. “And more, on occasion. They are so warm, so dry, so lusty.”

“More?” Orb hoped she misunderstood.

“My scales are only external; I am mammalian inside. I can be with a man if he likes it in the water. The mahouts know.”

She had not misunderstood. “But—why?”

“Why not? I get bored and lonely, too.”

Orb nodded, her tolerance advancing another stage. How bored would she herself get, if confined to a tank of water all her life? The company of anyone, on any basis, might become increasingly attractive.

“I—would you like me to read to you? Or do you already read?”

“Men have not shown interest in teaching me to read,” the mermaid said. She gave her torso a little shake, suggesting the aspect of her in which men showed interest.

“I—I could teach you, if you would like—but my books are in English—”

“I know a little English,” the mermaid said. “I don’t speak it because they say my pronunciation is fishy.”

“Someone is teasing you!” Orb snapped. “That’s cruel.”

The mermaid shrugged. “The freaks learn to accept such things.”

“You’re not a freak, you’re a person!” Orb cried.

The mermaid smiled. “Don’t tell anyone; I would lose my livelihood.”

Another notion occurred. “The harpy—is she—?”

“Much the same,” the mermaid agreed. “If she stopped cursing people, they would not pay to see her.”

“I mean—an enchantment?”

“I think so. It is a favored vengeance of magicians. They are not concerned about the offspring. A crossbreed could get bitter, if she pondered overlong on the matter.”

“I should imagine so! But I wonder—would the harpy also like to learn to read? There is a whole world of entertainment and education in books. No need to—to be with men unless—unless a person really wanted to.”

“Ask her. Perhaps we could have a class.”

Orb made her way to the harpy’s wagon. “What do you want, you simpering slut?” the harpy screeched.

“I—the mermaid—we thought that if you cared to learn to read in English, I could teach you—”

The creature considered. “You’re not putting me on?”

“No. It just seemed—I mean, I get bored myself, with all this travel, and—”

“When’s it start?”

“Why, anytime. Now, if—”

“Well, come on, woman!” The harpy opened her cage by shoving at the gate with a claw, jumped out, spread her wings, and flapped heavily out of the wagon.

Orb followed. Soon they were at the mermaid’s tank, and Orb had her book. The lesson began.

Word spread, and next day a mahout joined the class. Before long there were half a dozen members. They met for an hour every morning and another every afternoon, while traveling. Progress was slow, but they had time.

Thus it was that the months passed as they crossed the great continent of India. Orb once again had found herself in a role she had never anticipated, but again it made sense, for she liked helping people. She hardly noticed the kingdoms they toured; one was much like another, the crowds as gawky in each, the thrown coins the only recompense for
the performances. No one seemed to know anything tangible of the Llano, but this life seemed worthwhile for itself.

A man came to Orb’s wagon one evening after a performance. He was not impressive. He was short, and his face was swathed in bandages so that only his eyes, nose, and mouth showed. He wore a dirty gray shawl. She took him for a laborer, for he wore the mark of the Sudra caste, the servant class, though his color and mien could have suggested a higher classification.

Orb suffered a feeling of
déjà vu
, but could not place it. There was something about this person.

“Yes?” she inquired. She wasn’t afraid; few spectators intended mischief, and the members of the troupe kept alert for each other; if the man threatened her, there would quickly be several workers and perhaps a mahout with his elephant on the spot. What was it about him that nagged her?

The man opened his mouth, but did not speak. Instead he gestured, as if helpless.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I can see that you have been injured, but I do not speak the local dialect. Do you know English?”

The man tried again. His mouth worked, and finally the sounds came out. “Ah-ah-ah-I do,” he said.

She glanced sharply at him, tilting her head. “You are shy?” she inquired, her sympathy manifesting. “There is no need to be. What is it that you wish?”

The man struggled again to speak. “N-n-n-not sh-sh-shy,” he said. “I st-st-stu-stu-stutter.”

A stutterer! She should have realized. Now her sympathy took over entirely. “Come inside.”

They sat facing each other. The man did not speak, and she realized that she had to carry it. “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.”

He struggled, and she had the wit not to interrupt him or try to complete words for him, though his effort of communication was laborious and almost painful. What he wanted, it turned out, was help to leave the kingdom. He was not, he claimed, a criminal; he merely needed anonymity.

What should she do? The man seemed sincere, but of course a criminal would do his best to deceive a potential helper. Then she remembered one of the special qualities of her harp. It could not be stolen from her, because it would not suffer the touch of a dishonest person, and a thief would be dishonest. If this man could touch it, then she could believe him.

She explained this. Without hesitation the man reached out and touched the harp with his finger. There was no reaction.

Orb smiled with relief. “Now let us be introduced,” she said. “I am Orb Kaftan, and as you may have heard, I sing.”

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

“Oh—you mean you are a political refugee?”

“Ap-ap-ap-approx-i-i-mately,” he said. His stuttering had been alleviating slightly as he relaxed, but that word was difficult.

An indirect answer. But the harp had vindicated him, so she accepted it. “May I see your face?”

He unwound the bandage. His face was clear and handsome, almost aristocratic, in the fashion of the people of India. Again Orb experienced that feeling of familiarity, as if she had known him before. She had not, of course. “But I must not show it openly,” he said.

Orb considered. The show was chronically in need of animal tenders and menials. If he were willing to—

He was. She fetched him a clown mask so that he would not have to wear the bandages, explaining that most of the entertainers were also workers, every person earning his keep, so it would not seem unusual for a clown to be seen cleaning an animal cage. In fact, those who cleaned out the dragon manure generally did wear clown suits, because the dragon was less surly when entertained. The master was glad to have another hand, since the pay for this level was only board and room—a bowl to share the main pot at meals, and a spot on a wagon. Thus the stranger joined the troupe, and Orb was pleased that she had been able to help another person.

A few days later, he came to her again: he thought he could
perform. “My mouth may be handicapped, but not my body,” he explained haltingly.

She took him to the tour master, who was large and fat and no-nonsense. “Strut your stuff,” the master said. “I have no time to waste on would-be stars.”

The clown amazed Orb by doing a front flip, a back flip, and standing on his hands. He was an acrobat!

At the master’s behest, he repeated the performance on top of the horizontal branch of a tree.

“What else?” the master asked, affecting to be unimpressed. That was significant; usually the affectation was unnecessary.

The clown juggled five sharp knives.

“What else?”

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 known before.”

Orb was as impressed as the tour master. Who was this man, who had accepted such lowly status, yet had such talents? She went about her business as usual, but now she was aware of Mym, her fellow performer.

When they came to the huge city of Ahmadabad, Orb decided to go shopping. The tour master insisted that she have protection. Thus Mym, wearing an artificial beard and a nondescript tunic, accompanied her.

She was delighted with the wares, proceeding from stall to stall. Such fine material! Such lovely trinkets! But all too soon Mym caught her arm, signaling that they should depart. Reluctantly she concluded her purchase and started back with him.

He seemed nervous. He guided her into an alley. Then she realized what had been bothering him, as five brutish men closed in on them. Thuggees—the local cutthroats!

“Hide!” Mym told her beside some old wooden crates.
She hastened to obey, knowing that she could do nothing to help. He took a board and faced the ugly men. It seemed a pitiful weapon against a single man, let alone five. Orb was very much afraid that the two of them were in for a robbery and beating and perhaps worse.

Her amulet! Could it protect them both? No, it could not protect even one in a case like this, because while she nullified one thug by touching him, the others could strike with their swords.

She heard the men exclaiming, laughing at Mym. Oh, if only she could
do
something! Perhaps if she sang!