The Temple Dancer (12 page)

Two unexpected events occurred before they left. After making their
farewells, Maya and Lucinda climbed the silver ladder to the howdah. Slipper was nowhere to be seen.

As the mahout helped her mount, he gave Lucinda a big grin, showing
a single front tooth. "Have you seen the mukhunni? Do you know where
he is?" he then asked. Lucinda shook her head. Maya, already seated
among the cushions, seemed unconcerned.

The horseman had mounted, and all were forming; up to leave. Brother
Fernando and Silvia stood by to see them off. Lucinda had just started to
wonder if Slipper would be left behind when she saw him. He walked with
careful, uncertain steps, like a girl learning posture by balancing a pitcher
on her head. The stair to the courtyard in particular seemed difficult, and
he winced with every footstep. He looked neither left nor right, passing
Fernando and his wife without a glance.

Lucinda was surprised therefore when Slipper changed direction and
slowly spiraled back to face Brother Fernando. With awkward, painful dignity, Slipper bent his knees to the bare ground, and then got on all fours.
Lucinda thought he was going to vomit. But instead he slowly stretched
forward, until his face was in the dust. "I acted shamefully, sir," Slipper's
high voice came, muffled, but loud enough for all to hear. "You showed me
kindness and I repaid you with discourtesy. I beg you to pardon me."

Fernando, who had maintained until now a stolid countenance, seemed shocked. "Get up, get up!" He grabbed the eunuch's hand and tried to pull
him, but it was hopeless.

"Not until you forgive me; only then will I rise!" Slipper wailed. Good
Lord, he's crying, Lucinda thought.

"Yes, yes, I forgive!" Fernando said. "Now stand! Stand!" Then he
jumped back so suddenly, Lucinda wondered if Slipper had tried to kiss his
feet.

Maya gazed at the morning clouds, ignoring the scene.

Slipper struggled to his feet and brushed the dust from his clothes. He
seemed ready to prostate himself once more, but this time Fernando
shooed him away. With many low bows, Slipper took his leave.

"It was well done, sir," the mahout whispered as Slipper clambered into
the howdah.

"Oh, master, please make the elephant walk smooth today." He collapsed on a heap of cushions.

The other unexpected event happened as the gate to the courtyard was
opened.

A wolf was standing there.

At first Lucinda thought it was Fernando's big dog, but when the animal staggered through the gates, its eyes wild, foam falling from its jaws,
she realized it was a wolf, and a sick one.

One of Pathan's guards shot an arrow through its belly, but instead of
dying, the animal raced around the courtyard in a blind rage. The horses
skittered as the wolf snapped at their heels with its yellow teeth.

Maya slid next to Lucinda. "We are safe up here," the mahout said.
"My friend fears nothing. The wolf cannot hurt him." Even so he rubbed
behind the elephant's ear and whispered calming words.

The horses danced and bucked, kicking at the sick animal. "How do
the riders hold on? What if they fall?" Maya whispered.

Fernando hurried Silvia into the house.

After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the wolf fell to the
ground, exhausted. The horsemen rode up, arrows fixed in their bows,
backing away whenever the wolf spasmed. Da Gama aimed his pistolas at it,
but for some reason no one shot.

Then Pathan dismounted and fetched a pistola from Da Gama's saddlebag. The burak walked calmly to stand over the shivering wolf. He fired.
The wolf's head imploded and its body shuddered.

Pathan shouted that all was well. He had a couple of his guards carry
the carcass to the woods outside the gate.

Fernando's door opened, but he did not come out again. Instead he
pushed his small, lace-trimmed hand through the opening and waved his
kerchief in farewell.

Slipper snored through it all.

Soon the howdah resumed its relentless sway. Maya had taken up her usual
position, her palm-leaf book on her lap; Slipper snored curled up nearby, a
ball rolling in the cushions. Lucinda watched the house of the Analas disappear behind the trees that lined the road. Soon there was nothing to see,
only trees and more trees, and Lucinda shut the curtains and made herself
as comfortable as she could.

There was nothing to do except to sit. Lucinda wished that she had
brought some needlework, something. She glanced at Maya, and wondered
whether she should bring up the subject of arsenico, but the bayadere
seemed so totally absorbed in reading that Lucinda held her tongue.

Someone had placed a bowl of fruits in a corner of the howdah, but
they were unfamiliar. Lucinda finally chose one that looked something like
a custard apple, but when she cracked the papery skin with her thumb, the
insides were brown and she put it back without tasting it. She glanced
around, and found Maya looking at her.

"Must you stare?" Lucinda said.

"I have been thinking," Maya said. "Yesterday, we talked about being a
slave."

The memory of that conversation made Lucinda feel cold. "Let us
speak of something else," Lucinda said.

"Indulge me for a moment."

Lucinda closed her eyes, steeling herself for another insult. Maya seemed
to find it difficult to speak, and when she did at last her voice sounded distant
and sad. "I was rude. I hurt you under the guise of speaking truth. Maybe I
spoke cleverly, but I did not speak truthfully, for truth does not injure." Lucinda's face softened at the unexpected words. "A month ago I danced for the
gods; now I am a slave. My thoughts tangle like wet string. My mind is such
a tumult that I scarcely know what next I'll say."

Lucinda grew very still and considered Maya's vacant face. At last she
said, "I understand."

"Do you? Maybe you do. In any case, I of all persons should be capable of controlling my words."

"I forgive you," Lucinda answered.

Maya nodded, but when she looked up again, her face had an amused
superior look. "Christians like to forgive, I think. This is what your god
teaches you, yes?"

"It is a blessing to forgive. Don't Hindis forgive?"

"We apologize, of course, and accept apologies," Maya said. "Maybe
it's not the same as Christians. The Gita teaches only by placing all our actions, good and bad, at the feet of the Lord can we hope to escape the neverending web of pain we feel and cause." She looked expectantly, but Lucinda
did not know how to answer. "No, I see it is not the same," Maya said at
last, and without another word returned to her book.

Lucinda framed a half-dozen replies, but all were in Portuguese. Apparently courtesy and polite conversation counted for little to a whore. She
began to long for the prattle of Slipper, odd as the eunuch was. He at least
seemed to share some sense of etiquette. But at that moment the eunuch
stirred in his sleep and gave a long, trumpeting fart.

Maya rolled her eyes and threw open the curtain. "How typical of a hijra!"

"Well, he can't help it!" Lucinda's voice was harsh, and she realized
that she was still disturbed by Maya's halfhearted apology.

"What can't he help?" Maya seemed ready for an argument.

"He can't help being a eunuch."

The fat of Slipper's cheeks spilled toward his pillow, so his face looked
awkward and unbalanced. He breathed through his mouth like a child, and
a dab of drool glistened at his lips. Maya shook her head. "No, I suppose he
can't help that, can he?" She frowned and leaned back in her cushions.

What an impertinent woman, Lucinda thought. She ignores me for
hours, but expects me to drop everything and talk with her whenever she
wants. She opened her curtain.

The sky was clear blue, and the sun high and bright enough to cast
dark, clear shadows. Black monsoon clouds hung in the far distance; someplace, probably, the monsoon rains still fell, but here the season was ending.
Their road had been cut into the stone face of a long, eloping mountain. To
the left the hillside inclined toward a broad river valley. Sunlight sparkled
on the river's surface. Everywhere spread a carpet of vegetation in a thousand shades of green.

A moan interrupted her reverie. Lucinda turned to find Slipper sitting
up. He made a few feeble attempts to retie his turban. "I'm so thirsty," he
said to no one in particular.

The water pitcher was right beside Maya, but she did not move. Finally
Lucinda leaned over to fetch him a cup, which he drained in a gasping gulp.
He turned to Lucinda, but didn't thank her. "Can't you feel that the howdah
sways differently now?" he said. "The elephant strains with each step."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Oh yes," he answered brightly. "We've been going uphill for the better part of an hour."

"I thought you were supposed to be asleep," Maya said without looking up.

Slipper ignored her. He sat with his eyes closed, rubbing his temples.
"I should never drink, never. Oh, I am a fool."

"You very much impressed me, Slipper." The eunuch looked up at
Lucinda. "It took some courage to apologize as you did. I was touched."

"Oh, that," Slipper said, with a wave of his hand. "Mere playacting, I
assure you. As if I would ever apologize to such a one as that. Neither
Christian nor Hindi! He is the true hijra! And I should apologize to him?
Let him apologize to me!"

"But I heard you!" Lucinda protested.

"Captain Pathan suggested it. He said that my behavior had made Deoga lose face. He was right, of course. So I made the drama. Did you
like it?" He selected a piece of fruit-one of those same brown fruits that
Lucinda had refused-and sucked noisily on its soft flesh through a hole he
poked in its skin. He was starting to feel better, which meant, to Slipper,
that it was time once more for pleasant conversation. He was good at this.
In little time Lucinda had forgotten her irritation and had started chatting
amiably once more.

She became aware of that he was leading the conversation somewhere.
His direction was subtle but persistent. A dozen roundabout questions of
Lucinda's clothing; about her shoes of brocade silk; about the lace that
frilled her bodice.

Suddenly Lucinda understood. "You want to know about my corset,
don't you?"

"One has so little opportunity to explore the question," Slipper replied,
blushing.

"You needn't be embarrassed." She had learned that corsets were a
source of endless fascination to most Hindis, but she had expected it would
be Maya who asked her, not a man.

Lucinda explained the garment in some detail, to Slipper's obvious delight: how the linen tube laced front and back, ringed with channels round
its length. "Some have their stays sewn in permanently, but in the one I'm
wearing, the stays can be removed. Silvia and I removed half the stays this
morning, for we couldn't manage to tighten it like my maid, Helene."

"Are they really made of bone?" Slipper asked.

"A sort of bone, from a great fish common near my homeland."

"I am an educated man. I know about whales," Slipper said, looking
peeved.

"I am sure you do, senhor, but I regretfully forgot the Hindi word."
Lucinda was pleased to see that Slipper at last looked a little embarrassed.
"Some of the ladies of Goa use stays of twisted broomstraw, for they are
both cooler and cheaper, but Helene insists that I wear whalebone."

"But doesn't it hurt when you breathe?" Slipper asked.

"It's quite comfortable; in fact. I feel strange without it."

"It presses you tightly . . ." Slipper seemed about to say more, but then
delicacy overcame him. Lucinda lifted her arms to show the flatness of her
bosom and the narrowness of her waist, the smallness emphasized by the
fullness of her skirts.

"And your men? Is that the shape that they desire?" Slipper asked.

"I assume it must be. I doubt if anyone has ever asked them."

Slipper closed his eyes, as if trying to envision the garment Lucinda
described. "Someday you must let me undress you, madam," he said at
last.

This comment caused Lucinda to stop short. She'd gotten used to thinking of Slipper as a man-a strange man to be sure, beardless and ball-shaped,
with a voice like a boy's. It occurred to her that Slipper did not think of himself so. Why hadn't she recognized earlier how much he acted like a woman,
she thought. It's all so obvious: how he fusses over the curtains and the cushions, how he whines about the journey as though he were a hapless, helpless
victim, how he lives for conversation, or more to the point, for gossip. Now
his request to undress her-what man would say such a thing?