Being a Green Mother (12 page)

Orb gazed after him until no sight of her beloved remained. Then she swooned.

She woke in her wagon, with Pythea tending her. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Orb explained. “I am distraught, but it’s not like me to—”

The snake charmer put out a hand to restrain her. “Orb, it isn’t that. I know the signs.”

“What?”

“My dear, you are with child.”

Orb fainted again.

– 6 –

The members of the show rallied around her with the warmest support. Orb realized that for now her best course was to continue as she had been, doing her part of the show, concealing her condition from outsiders. It would be some time before her pregnancy became obvious. Perhaps Mym would return before then.

It was several days before she thought to open the bag the officer had given her. She was amazed; it was filled with the most precious of stones—emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and diamonds, all of large size and perfect nature. She took it to the tour master for an appraisal, and his eyes threatened to bulge from his head. “I would offer to buy them,” he said, “but there is not money enough in my lifetime to purchase the least of these. You are an excruciatingly rich woman, Orb.”

“But I have no need of wealth!” she said. “All I want is Mym!”

“I cast no aspersion on your desire. But if his love were for sale, this would cover it. They have not cheated you, materially.”

“Take the gems,” she said disconsolately. “I can not abide any price for my love.”

“Orb, I would gladly cheat a stranger, but never one of my own, and you are the best of mine. You have a baby to consider; save this wealth for that child, if for nothing else.”

He was making sense. “Then take one of these and sell it, and use the money for the benefit of the good people of this show,” she said.

“You really want to do this?”

“I do.”

He took a blue sapphire. “It will take a while to sell this, for it must be done privately, without attracting the attention of the thuggees to us. Hide the others; let no one know you possess them. I will report soon.”

The wagon was unconscionably lonely. She had become accustomed to sleeping in her lover’s arms; now she could not stand to be alone. But there was no one she could share with; Pythea had to sleep with her big snake, lest it stray, and the mermaid was confined to her tank.

Then she remembered her ring. It was supposed to answer questions. Did it work?

“Ring,” she said, addressing it. “Is it true that you can talk to me by squeezes?”

The ring squeezed her finger, once.

“Can you anticipate the future?”

The little snake squeezed three times.

“Sometimes you can?”

One squeeze.

She took the plunge. “When will Mym return to me?”

The ring squeezed her finger three times.

She said the word she dreaded. “Never?”

Three squeezes.

“Never as—as my lover or husband?”

One squeeze.

There it was; somehow she had known it would be so. Yet she tried again, unable to let go of her dream of joy so readily. “I’ll never touch him again?”

Two squeezes.

Foolish hope! “I
will
see him again?”

Squeeze.

“But not—as we were?”

Squeeze.

She had done it clumsily, but had learned all that she needed to know. Why torment herself with advance information
about how she would encounter Mym when he was Prince, with some lovely wealthy princess on his arm, hopelessly married? Even if he still loved Orb, he would not kiss her or even encourage her then; she knew him and his iron honor. Oh, surely he would not willingly marry elsewhere, but if it was necessary for the good of his kingdom he would do it, and then be true to it.

Her romance with Mym was through. Instead of hopelessly suffering, she should turn her face forward to the future. At least he wasn’t dead! And she did have something of him—his baby.

What was she going to do with a baby? Certainly she could not go home to have it; nothing like this had ever happened in her family. How could she take care of it and raise it? Her situation was impossible!

Well, not entirely. She had all the money she would ever need, in the form of the gems. She could buy herself some private house and hire a trustworthy servant for the shopping and all. She could get through, economically.

But socially—what of that? She had always been a creature of companionship, first with Luna, then with Tinka, then with Mym. Now she realized that part of what had made her restless at home was Luna’s absence; she needed someone compatible to be with, to share herself with. How well Mym had filled that need!

She felt her grief surging forward again and quelled it as well as she could. She would simply have to see about getting herself some company. Someone she liked. Maybe—

She paused in her thoughts, taking stock. She had liked Tinka, the blind Gypsy girl. Of course Tinka was married now, but Gypsy women went out as a matter of course to earn money in any way they could. Could she hire Tinka?

She held up the snake ring. “Could I?” she asked.

Squeeze.

She felt a wash of relief and gratitude. Now she had a notion where to go.

The sapphire brought an amount of money that surprised Orb; the tour master had done well in the sale. He issued a quite handsome bonus to all the members of the tour and had the wagons repaired, starting with the leaky roofs. Orb had asked him not to identify the source of the money, but
they knew anyway. When the time came for her to leave the show, they surprised her with a farewell party that was intended to be cheerful, but where much crying was accomplished instead. They did not know of her pregnancy; Pythea had kept her mouth shut, and so had the mermaid, whose eye for the signals was also keen. Were it not for the impossibility of birthing and caring for a baby on the road, Orb would have felt inclined to remain with the show.

So she left and took an airplane to the Pyrenees. There she garbed herself appropriately; the cloak Niobe had given her changed into whatever apparel she needed with so little thought that she tended to forget its nature. Then she unfurled her little carpet and set out in search of Tinka.

It did not take long, because the Gypsies of this region were more sedentary than most. Tinka was in a village near the one she had lived in before, hiring herself out as a singer for the tourists. It was sometime work, as the tourist season waxed and waned, and the girl’s opportunities were limited because of her blindness. Her ideal marriage was under a certain amount of strain because she had not conceived despite her husband’s best efforts.

Orb approached her at her home, where she cooked alone; her husband was out on a business trip whose nature was best not inquired into; it could involve smuggling. “Tinka,” Orb said in Calo. “Do you remember me?”

“Orb!” the girl cried, instantly recognizing the voice. She came to Orb and hugged her.

It was the simplest thing to arrange. Tinka was, she admitted privately, somewhat lonely, and would love to have regular work. Her husband would be pleased by the income. She advised Orb on the best house to rent and the best places to shop. It seemed only a moment before two weeks had passed, and Orb was comfortably situated with a full-time maid and companion. All she had to do now was get on with the baby.

But that took time; it could not be hurried. In the interim, she talked Calo with Tinka, and they sang. Orb had to confess, when Tinka inquired, that she had not made significant progress in finding the Llano, but had gotten the baby instead. “I would take the baby instead,” Tinka said wistfully.

That made Orb consider her future with the baby. What
was she to do with it? She had always known she could not keep it—but how could she let it go?

She asked the ring. “Should I give the baby to Tinka?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“Why not?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Is she likely to be a bad mother?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“A good mother?”

Squeeze.

“But not right for this?”

Squeeze.

“Then who
is
right?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Orb explained the situation to Tinka. “My magic charm tells me that you would be a good mother, but that I am not to give my baby to you. I don’t know to whom to give it.”

Tinka was disappointed, but accepted it. “There is still time for me to have my own baby,” she said.

“Indeed there is!” Orb agreed warmly. “You are three years younger than I am!”

They concentrated on music, for Tinka was still perfecting her talent, and her status as servant was only nominal; she was a friend. It was delight to sing together. Tinka also encouraged Orb to practice the
tanana
, though at first Orb felt deliciously wicked. Even when it was being done by two women, and one of them only pantomiming the glances, it was the most suggestive thing conceivable.

“But I can’t imagine when I would ever want to do this for a man,” Orb said. “It’s positively lascivious!”

“And think how much more so, if you sing your magic, too,” Tinka said.

Orb had to laugh, though her face was burning. “I would never be so wanton!”

“You must have been a little bit wanton, to get that baby,” Tinka remarked.

Orb remembered Mym and dissolved into tears.

“I’m sorry,” the Gypsy girl said immediately. “I did not mean—”

“He’s a prince,” Orb said, forcing herself to talk about it, to share the burden with one who would understand. “But he had to marry one of his own, and they took him away.
He never knew …” She patted her belly, which was filling out.

She shared the whole story with her friend, and it did help. Tinka agreed that there had been no alternative for Mym. “Just as there was none for us, when the conqueror came,” she said. “You are now an exile, like the Gypsies.”

Oddly enough, that made Orb feel better. The Gypsies understood about being excluded from society; they had been persecuted in many places, across many centuries.

The telling reminded her that the magic ring had informed her that she would see Mym again, though not as a lover. How could the ring know, if her future was opaque to divination?

She asked it, having learned how to evoke meaningful responses from it. “My future can not be read, can it? By any ordinary means?”

Squeeze.

“But you can read it?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“Then how do you know I will see Mym again?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Caught you in a contradiction, didn’t I!”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“You can’t read my future—”

Squeeze.

“But you just
read
my future!”

Squeeze, squeeze.

She was enjoying this, perversely. She knew the snake would come up with an explanation; she just had to ask the right questions. “
Not
my future?”

Squeeze.

“Whose future, then?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Mym’s?”

Squeeze.

There it was. The ring had looked into Mym’s future and seen him encountering her; therefore she encountered him, too. Probably the ring also knew in what connection they met, but Orb could find no way to evoke that information from it. She simply could not guess the correct questions.

Because it could look into Tinka’s future, and Tinka was with Orb, the ring could tell Orb her future needs. It was
evident that Orb was safe enough in this house and would birth a healthy baby; after that she would leave, and Tinka would care for the baby—

“What? You said she could not adopt—”

Squeeze.

“Oh. She is only caring for it, not adopting it.”

Squeeze.

“Why do I keep saying ‘it’? Is it a boy?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“A girl.”

Squeeze.

“I did suspect it would be one or the other. But I have no intention of just running off and leaving my baby behind! At least I’ll put it—
her
!—up for adoption myself.”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“Ring, you must be wrong! It just isn’t my way!”

But the ring was adamant. Orb would depart suddenly, and the baby would not see her again.

She dropped this line of investigation, as it did not appeal. She would find out in due course.

Orb tried to tune Mym out of her consciousness, to forget him, but the presence of his child within her made this impossible. Even in sleep she did not necessarily get relief, for Mym came into her dreams. There had been a time, before they realized that he could sing his words without stuttering, when he had teased her to marvelous effect. She had been singing, accompanying herself on her harp, practicing a new song, and he had begun to mimic her.

Now she saw him again, doing an impromptu but graceful dance—his stutter had not extended to his feet!—while he mouthed the words she sang. Soon he was properly into it, pausing dramatically in time to the song, emoting with rare conviction as the key passages occurred, his feet striking the floor as the harp’s notes sounded. Others came to watch, and Mym’s emulation was so perfect that it really did seem as though her voice were issuing from his throat. Orb herself began to suffer the illusion, feeling as though
she
were mouthing
him
. But soon laughter overcame her and burst out, ending the song—and so apt was he that he even emulated her laughter. That set off the entire audience. The tour master
wanted to make it part of the show, but Mym demurred; he did not want to be seen in public without his costume.