Being a Green Mother Page 4

  Orb thanked her and resumed her journey, after a parting almost as poignant as the one with Niobe. The flight was long, and night was coming, so she ate sparingly from her stores, then lay down on the carpet and slept while it continued its travel. Her cloak kept her warm, and she knew no one would bother a solitary flying carpet; they were, after all, common enough. This really solved the problem of nights, for she was as safe here as she could be anywhere at least when there was no storm.

  In the morning she found herself hovering over one of the enchanted forests of Cork: the trees that magic enabled this county to grow for their marvelous bark, providing employment and income for many residents. She circled until she spied a park that had good water and facilities; then she landed and refreshed herself. Her food was running low; she had money and would have to buy more soon, but right now she was too eager to locate the Gypsies.

  Back aloft, she searched for signs of their presence and soon spied a motley collection of tents. As she approached she saw the women with their pots, and the men with their horses and cattle, and the children playing, all of them wearing bright bits of color. These were they!

  She landed, rolled up her rug, and fitted it into her knapsack along with her harp. The combined load was fairly heavy, but she didn't want to leave anything of value untended in this vicinity. Her prior experience with the Gypsies had taught her this caution.

  As she wafted up, the Gypsy children flocked to her. "You want nice cloth?" one cried. "My mother has the best!"

  "You want fortune told?" another inquired. "My big sister knows all!"

  Then a Gypsy man strode toward her. His hair was midnight black and his eyes the same, making his dark skin seem light in comparison. With a wave of his arm he scattered the children. "Welcome, beautiful woman!" he exclaimed. "Come let me show you the wonders of perfect love!"

  "Just take me to your leader," Orb said, somewhat daunted by this approach.

  "I am the leader," he proclaimed, putting his arm around her. Because the knapsack was high on her back, his hand fell low. He squeezed.

  Orb leaped and whirled on him, her face flaming, and perhaps her bottom, too. "How dare you?" she demanded.

  The man laughed. "A woman of spirit!" he said. "What a joy to bed you!" His dark gaze seemed to transfix her, and somehow it seemed that the decision about her action had already been made.

  Orb put her left hand on the amulet hanging at her neck, drawing power from it. She knew the Gypsy couldn't hurt her. Not physically. But his lewd words and behavior appalled her. She just wanted to get away from him and get about her business.

  The man, pressing what he perceived to be his advantage, reached for her again. But this time the power of the amulet manifested, and as his hand touched her, his volition drained away. These amulets had protected Luna and Orb throughout, the only exception being when they had invaded the Hall of the Mountain King, whose power was supreme within his own demesnes. But she had no onus against the Mountain King; he was a good man, if man he was, and his magic harp had vastly enhanced her life.

  Why hadn't the amulet protected her from the man's familiarity before? Because she hadn't known it was coming, and he hadn't known it would offend her. Now she did know, and so did he, and the protective magic was operating. A matter of interpretation, perhaps, but it made all the difference.

  Now that she had him helpless, she had a better idea. "You're not the leader, are you?" she said.

  "No," he agreed. "I just told you that so you would like me."

  "Perhaps you can help me anyway," she continued. "I am looking for the Llano. What can you tell me?"

  "The Llano!" he exclaimed, and his hand fell away from her. At that point he recovered his volition. "What did you do to me, woman?"

  "I overwhelmed you with my personality," she said sweetly. "Are you going to answer my question?"

  He whistled. "Lady, I think I had better! But all I can tell you is that we don't know where to find the Llano. I don't think any of us can, here. I think you would have to ask at the source of the Gypsies."

  "And where is that?"

  He looked embarrassed. "We don't know that either. We think we came up out of Egypt, through Spain; that is how we derive our name, E-Gypt-sy. But that may be just a story."

  Orb considered. It struck her as an excellent story. "Why then I suppose I'll just have to go to Spain and inquire there," she said.

  The Gypsy fidgeted. "That may not be wise."

  "Why not?"

  "Look, lady—you can't just walk into a Gypsy camp and start asking questions. You'll wind up in somebody's tent, and—" He paused, evidently remembering her power of resistance. "Well, maybe not. But the Gypsies of Spain are more—well, they wouldn't let you get off as easily as I am, and your magic may not protect you there. We're just a primitive band, but there they know more of the old lore. You would run a risk."

  His words had the ring of sincerity. Orb leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I thank you. I shall take care." She turned away.

  "Wait, lady!" he protested.

  She turned back. "Haven't you had enough of me?"

  "I think I will never have enough of you, lady! But I recognize your power. Please, a boon—the others have seen me talking to you, and if you just go away they will know I failed with you. If you would stay a little longer, let me show you around, be your guide, they would think—"

  "Why should I care what they think?" she snapped. "You tried to—to handle me!"

  "I know, and I apologize. But this is the way of a man with a beautiful woman—the Gypsy way. I would have been the shame of my tribe if I didn't try! And now—my reputation—"

  Orb tried to remain objective, but the repeated compliments about her appearance were getting to her. Perhaps the Gypsy had a case. Her temper, quick to fray, was also quick to mend. "I have no intention of—"

  "I understand!" he said quickly. "Obviously a woman of your quality has no interest in riffraff like me! But if you could just appear to be—I would be so grateful, and if there is any favor I could do in return—"

  He wanted to avoid being shamed before his folk. She could appreciate that. She melted, some. "Well, I do need to obtain some food, to travel with—"

  "Yes, yes!" he agreed avidly. "I will guide you to the best we have! The best prices, no cheating! If only—" he made a partial gesture with his arm.

  Orb decided that she was in command of the situation, and the man might indeed be useful. "Yes, you may touch me but no squeezing. And nothing more—there is nothing beyond this."

  "Yes! But there will seem to be more."

  She nodded. The Gypsy put his arm about her waist, below the knapsack, and he did not even touch her rear, let alone squeeze. The other Gypsies glanced and nodded appreciatively; the man was scoring again.

  In due course Orb resumed her journey, stocked with excellent food. The man had been as good as his word and had indeed been useful. He had asked only that he be allowed to walk her through the forest, out of sight of the others, so that they would draw their conclusions. She did, and the Gypsies surely did, and that was all. "But if you ever do want a man for other purposes—" he said at the end.

  "I will know where to find you," she agreed. Indeed, he seemed not a bad sort, once reined, and she had learned or relearned—that the word of a Gypsy, once honestly given, was good.

  Still, as she left him, Orb suffered a tinge of regret, not for anything that might have passed between them, but because she felt she had lost a portion of her innocence.

  Orb took an airplane to Spain, heeding her mother's advice. Indeed, as she looked out the window and saw the mass of clouds below, she realized that it would have been foolish for her to attempt this trip on her carpet. Any trifling storm could have dumped her, and even the fog of harmless clouds could have caused her to get lost. Magic was grand, but science had its place, too; they were complementary mechanisms of accomplishment.

  The plane landed at Granada. Orb made discreet inquiries
and learned that the Gypsy quarter was the Albaicin, on the hill facing the Alhambra. This was in the larger region of Andalusia, familiar to her by reputation because Luna's father had imported special stones from here for his enchantments, called anadalusite. They changed color with the light, being green at times and orange at other times—and more than that, after enchantment. Thus she was glad to make the acquaintance of this country, on whatever pretext.

  "But don't go there alone," the travel agent warned her. "A tourist can get into trouble. Hire a guide who knows the language."

  "The language?"

  "The Gypsies speak their own language among themselves. They will cheat you, or worse, if you go alone."

  She thanked him. Then she went to a private place, changed the aspect of her cloak to male apparel, bound up her hair, and rubbed a little dirt into her cheeks and chin to simulate the first shadow of a beard. She intended to avoid the peril of being a lone woman by passing for a man. She unrolled her carpet, rode it to the Albaicin, and landed out of sight of the Gypsies. She rolled up her carpet and packed it away.

  She stepped out toward the Gypsy quarter. The hill was dotted with holes, and it was apparent that the Gypsies lived in these holes, for music emanated from them. That was one thing about these folk; wherever they were, there was music. No one who really liked music could be all bad!

  She started up the hill. Immediately an old woman approached her, carrying flowers, speaking in Spanish. Orb shook her head. "I do not speak that language," she said gruffly, walking on. She hoped she sounded like a man.

  The old woman faded back, and a young one appeared. "Ah, you are from England," she said.

  "Ireland," Orb replied shortly, keeping her voice gruff.

  "I would adore being your guide," the young Gypsy said, unconcerned by the distinction. "There is an ancient Moorish castle close by—"

  "I am looking for music," Orb said.

  "Music! Why it just happens that the finest Gitano guitarist is my best friend!"

  "Gitano?"

  She smiled. "This is our name for ourselves. A man is a Gitano, a woman Gitana. I will tell you all about it—"

  Orb concluded that this Gypsy woman did not have the information she desired. "No, thank you." She moved on.

  The young woman brought herself up straight, inhaling to make her breasts stand out. She caught Orb by the shoulders and turned her around so that she could stare into her face. "Senor, are you a hundred years old? Do you not see how I am longing for you? For years I have been waiting for a man like you! How can you deny me so cruelly!"

  Orb, caught completely off guard, burst out laughing. She had forgotten for the moment that she was masquerading as a man.

  The Gypsy girl, thinking she was being mocked, reacted with fury. A knife appeared in her hand.

  "No, wait!" Orb cried. "Can't you see that I am a woman, like yourself? I didn't want to come alone—"

  The Ghana's mood reversed as quickly again. Abruptly she was laughing, too. "Ah, now I understand! You fear the Gitanos!" The knife was gone.

  "I just want to locate the source of Gypsy music."

  "I can take you to an old woman who knows songs that have been long forgotten!"

  That sounded promising. "Very well."

  "For just a few pesetas..."

  Oh. Of course the girl wanted money. Orb didn't have the local currency, but tried a small Irish coin, and the girl accepted that. Then they were off to see the woman who knew the forgotten songs.

  But when Orb mentioned the Llano, the old woman shook her head. "If I knew that, I would be there myself!" she exclaimed. "Only at the source of the Gypsies can that information be found!"

  "But where is that?"

  "That, too, I can not tell you. We came from Egypt, but that may not be the source. Perhaps the Gypsies of the Pyrenees..."

  This was Basque country. The Pyrenees marched to the water of the Bay of Biscay, and the Basques were on either side of the border between Spain and Prance, speaking their own language. Orb made no progress here, speaking none of the three tongues. She knew the Gypsies were here, but they were hidden from her, keeping their nature secret.

  She refused to give up. She rented a room in a village house and went out daily to talk with the people, asking about the Gypsies. No one professed to know anything about them.

  Finally she became desperate. She went to the center of the village square, brought out her harp, and began to play. In a moment people appeared, listening, as she had known they would. No true Gypsy could remain aloof from magic music, and hers was special. Soon virtually all the village was present, the folk standing in a great circle around her.

  She stopped, put away her harp, and walked though the crowd, back to her room.

  It was not long before there was a knock on her door. Orb answered, hoping that her ploy had been successful.

  A dark urchin stood there, dressed in bright rags. "Nicolai bids you come," the child said.

  This smelled like victory. Orb did not question the message; she wrapped her cloak about her and stepped out.

  "With your music," the child added.

  Orb smiled. She fetched her harp, then accompanied the child out and down the street, to a hidden hovel fashioned from refuse. She was appalled to think that anyone should live in a place like this, but so it was.

  Inside was an old man. She knew immediately that he was a Gypsy; his whole appearance and manner spoke of it. He sat on a decrepit wooden chair and held an ancient fiddle.

  The man stared at her for a long moment. At last he spoke. "Teach my child your music," he said.

  Startled, Orb glanced around for the urchin, but the urchin was gone. "I can not do that," she protested. "I only want to know—"

  Nicolai stilled her with an impatient gesture. "Tinka!" he called.

  A buxom young woman appeared, her dark hair bound under a colorful kerchief. This was evidently his daughter.

  But there was something odd about the way Tinka looked about. Her gaze was random, her eyes not focusing. Orb realized that the girl was blind.

  Nicolai lifted his fiddle and played. The hut seemed suddenly to come alive, animated by his evocative music. It was as if the walls became transparent, and the world outside was tinged with gold. The instrument sang of wonders barely beyond vision.

  Abruptly he stopped. "But Tinka—see," he said. He reached out and took his daughter's left hand and brought it up. She looked away, but did not resist.

  Orb gasped. The hand was shorn of the ends of all its fingers. Only the first joints after the knuckles remained, and the thumb. The girl had suffered some terrible accident in childhood.

  "She cannot play," the man said gruffly. "She cannot dance." He glanced down at the girl's feet, and Orb saw that they were twisted. "Fifteen, and unmarried, and no children. Yet she is comely. Teach her your music."

  "But—" Orb did not know how to get hold of this situation. "I—what I do, it can't be taught—"

  "Take her hand," Nicolai said.

  Fighting against her own repulsion, Orb reached out and took Tinka's mutilated hand. As she touched it, she heard a faint sound, as of a distant orchestra.

  Tinka had the magic!

  "I can't teach her," Nicolai said. "My music is all in my fiddle. But you can."

  Sorrow, sympathy, and surmise played through Orb's emotion. "Perhaps I can," she agreed.

  "Take her," he said.

  Numbed by this prospect. Orb obeyed. She led the girl by the hand from the hut, and out to the street.

  People were all around, but they went about their business with studied unconcern. No one seemed to look directly at Orb as she led Tinka to her apartment, yet all were aware.

  Orb had sought the Llano. Instead she had found a student. Somehow she knew that this was her rite of passage. If she taught the girl, the Gypsies would cooperate.

  Tinka was shy, volunteering nothing, merely shrugging when Orb questioned her. Her clothing was ragged, her shoes falling apart. O
rb realized that it would be pointless to try to teach her anything in her present state. First she had to win the girl's confidence, and before that she had to get her presentable.

  "Come on, Tinka," she said briskly. "We're going shopping."

  The girl stared blankly past her.

  "For clothing, shoes, whatever," Orb said. "You're a pretty girl, if—"

  Tinka continued to look blank. Orb suddenly realized that she had not heard the girl speak. Was she dumb as well? No, for she had answered to her father's call, and a person who could hear, could speak. If she wanted to.

  All in good time, she decided. Surely the girl could sing, or her father would not have sought Orb's instruction for her.

  Yet why was she so unresponsive? "You do understand me, don't you?" Orb asked.

  Tinka shrugged. Now it was evident that she did not. She had responded only to the inflection of questioning.

  Orb sighed. "Well, come anyway," she said. She took the girl's hand and led her out. Tinka followed docilely.

  They went to a store that sold clothing. "I want this girl properly dressed," Orb told the proprietor. Because this store catered to the tourist trade, English was understood here. "Dress, shoes—and gloves, I think. With—you'll have to do something for the fingers. But not like a tourist—like a proper village girl, a pretty one. You'll have to choose the colors; she can't see. Can you handle it?"

  The man brought out his fat wife. They spoke in what Orb assumed was Basque. The wife took Tinka away. Orb began haggling about payment; she was learning how to manage, here. She had enough money to cover any reasonable contingency, but those who spent too freely were not held in high esteem. Even so, the storekeeper was asking too much; Orb's bargaining became serious.

  It took some time, but when the wife brought Tinka back she was stunning. She was clean, and her hair had been brushed out and fastened back with nylon combs, and she wore a bright print dress, white blouse, flowery shawl, and slippers that made her feet look almost normal. Sturdy gloves on her hands masked the missing fingers. She was, indeed, a pretty girl.