Dragonfly Song (26 page)

People pushing through the crowd,

fighting to touch them,

holding up children

to catch the dancers' god-luck;

so many hands,

so many arms.

Despite the guards,

they're separated,

swept up in the throng

charging the steps –

Aissa afraid she'll drown

in this sea of adoration;

her skin tender

from so much touching –

she wants to run,

to get away and breathe.

But a woman

holds a baby for her to kiss

and strokes her shoulder

till Aissa looks at her face –

a face worn with trouble,

bronzed from the sun,

much like

the faces around her

but a mole by her mouth

like a dot

that Aissa loves –

and she looks

into dark

remembered eyes.

‘Mama!' cries Aissa.

The woman pales,

shrinks back,

then clasps her tight,

the baby squirming between.

‘Aissa!' says Mama.

‘I always knew,' says Aissa,

‘you were alive,' says Mama.

‘And that I'd find you,' says Aissa,

hearing her own voice

with its crack of surprise

and the low-pitched music

of a strong young woman –

not the child's voice

that she hasn't heard

since Mama said,

‘Don't make a sound

till I come back.'

And now Mama is back.

Hugging and crying,

kohl mingling with bull's blood

to run black

down her face;

wailing so loudly

the guards come

to chase Mama away.

‘No!' says Aissa.

‘This is my mama.'

Even with

a bull dancer's power

a voice is useful.

Mama's words rushing

wanting to hear

all that's happened to Aissa

since she hid her

under that grey-green bush –

but it's too much to tell,

too much grief to bear,

Aissa doesn't want

Mama to hear it,

doesn't want to tell it

in her newfound voice

in the midst of the jostling,

buzzing crowd.

But Mama tells her,

between the sobs,

of being sold as a slave

by the raiders

but later bought

and married to a farmer –

she has a new family.

Grown-up Zufi

has worked for his freedom

as a sailor on a ship

trading over the seas.

But Mama has never

seen Tattie again

and mourns her still.

Mama's surprised husband

takes the squirming baby

while they hug:

his wife and a bull dancer

who was once her daughter.

All Aissa wants

is to be that daughter again,

to stay with Mama

now and forever,

close beside her as a baby
,

a child

safe at home.

But first

there will be a grand feast

with every good thing to eat

and meat from the bulls,

to honour the dancers,

and Aissa's heart cracks

because Mama

with her farmer's dress

and work-broken nails,

will not be allowed

at the party –

and what if

she never finds her again?

‘I'll come in the morning,' says Mama,

to take you home.'

Mia and Niko,

and last year's dancers,

as well as older ones

who no longer dance

but have saved their gold,

rich traders and artists,

owners of villas,

priests and priestesses,

the Bull King and the Mother –

all will be at the feast.

But first,

Aissa and Sunya

Kenzo and Luki,

must be bathed and perfumed,

wounds re-dressed,

hair and make-up redone;

Aissa wishes she could wear

her fine priestess dress

with everyone else

so beautifully clad,

but people want to see

dancers in their bull-leaping shorts

as if they might do

acrobatics again –

though they're so tired

they can hardly stand.

The great court too

has been cleansed,

swept,

washed;

the fences removed,

the blood smell purified

with the stink

of burning sulphur.

The halls around it,

with folding doors opened,

are set with chairs,

small tables

lamps and flowers,

while servants offer

cups of wine

mixed with honey and water,

platters of food:

poppy cakes and small fried fish,

octopus and oysters,

raisins and cheese,

fresh greens

and the roasted meats

of the bull,

which the dancers must eat

though it sticks

in Aissa's throat.

When they've eaten,

and washed their fingers

in silver bowls,

the Bull King speaks,

without his mask

but with all his power.

He calls the dancers

to his throne.

Aissa shrinks

at the people staring –

but,

‘We've faced bulls,' says Kenzo –

and instead of death

the crowd brings flowers,

gold and jewellery,

scented oils and perfumes

in crystal phials,

embroidered robes and woolly fleeces –

and offers:

‘A room in my home,'

‘A suite in my villa,'

because everyone wants

to share in their god-luck

if they go on dancing.

The other-year dancers

make no offers

but explain:

‘If you choose

to return to the ring

you can live in luxury

and save your gold –

you can have a house,

slaves of your own,

if you live and are lucky.'

But Luki stands tall

salutes the king and the Mother,

and says,

‘Great ones, rulers of the land,

we, the dancers,

were told

that to survive the year

would set us free

to return to our homes

and free our lands from tribute.

This is what I ask,

for myself and my friends.'

Smiling gravely, the Bull King nods.

‘That is the promise.

But you must decide –

do you return

to a poor life, a poor land,

or stay

with all that's offered

for a life of glory?

Your people have already

mourned you –

they'll never know

that you serve the gods here –

and the tribute we ask

is little enough

to protect your homelands

from wandering raiders.

So think and reflect

before you make up your minds.'

Luki salutes,

though his choice is made.

And, heads spinning

with fatigue and wine,

the thrill of fame,

confusion of promises

and broken faith –

the bull dancers leave the party,

led by servants

to the great guest chamber

in the palace.

For Aissa,

finding Mama and her voice

is the happiest

bewilderment of all.

It's hard to remember

that she can speak,

her voice so strange and new

she doesn't know

if it will come out loud or soft

or how it will shape

the sound of words

so it's still easier

to stay silent –

and besides,

she knows what she wants:

to live with Mama.

She doesn't want

to live with strangers;

doesn't need more gold –

there's enough in her hands

to buy a goat –

one like Spot Goat, maybe two,

and a dog like Brown Dog

who died with Dada –

to take as gifts

to Mama's small farm.

And no one can say

how much gold is enough

or how many seasons

a dancer needs to survive.

So she listens

as they sit together

in the great guest chamber,

with the finest linen

and the softest fleeces,

and Sunya says,

‘My family gave me to the palace

to pay their taxes –

I'll take bulls and glory

rather than go back to them.'

Kenzo's story is much the same –

an orphan

with nothing of his own:

‘What's there for me if I go back?

The honour of freeing my town

won't give me land.'

Luki doesn't care

that he won't own land,

knowing the farm will pass

to his sisters one day,

as long as he can live in the hills he loves.

‘We were sent by the gods

to free our island,' he says,

and waits for Aissa's sign.

Aissa thinking

that if Luki returns

the island is free –

there's no need for her

and no place either;

servant to the wise-women

is no longer enough

if she's despised by the people.

‘I'm staying here,' says Aissa.

‘With Mama.'

Mama comes in the morning.

Aissa's heart dances

with knowing that Mama's true and real

and they're together again.

A guard follows

because Aissa is free

but precious,

and Mama and Aissa

walk hand in hand

in fresh spring air

an hour down the road

to Mama's new home,

her new family.

The whole world rejoices

with bright spring flowers,

the scent of thyme,

swallows darting,

and the firstborn lambs

suckling in the fields –

as if the goddess herself

is singing for Aissa,

reunited

with her own dear mama.

She thinks the pain

of No-Name's life

will be washed away

as they patch lost years

with threads of love.

Aissa will care

for the baby sister

sleeping now on Mama's back.

She'll pick spring greens,

harvest autumn olives,

dig the soil

or tend the sheep;

do whatever

there is to be done –

asking only

to be a child again,

safe and loved.

So happy she can hardly hear

the words Mama says,

only the music

of her voice.