Being a Green Mother

by Piers Anthony

  "I look, but I see nothing. There is interference."

  Csihari looked at Orb. "This is something you know of?"

  "My half brother is a magician. He protects my future. I think I am not meant to marry, yet."

  "It must be so," the seer said. "Only the hand of the most potent of magicians could balk my vision. I think he means to see that nothing turns aside this woman's quest."

  Csihari sighed. "I should have known that this was too good a prospect to be true. It seems I cannot marry you, fair maiden."

  "I feared that this would be the case," Orb confessed. The musician was being so polite about it that she was almost sorry that the marriage had fallen through.

  "Go to Macedonia," Csihari said. "This I believe is the source of the Gypsies of Europe. Perhaps you will have your answer there."

  In Macedonia she found more Gypsies than anywhere else; it seemed that every second person in the nation had some Gypsy blood. The Calo they spoke was, by all accounts, the purest version of the Gypsy language extant. The Gypsies had, she was informed, been brought to this region by Alexander the Great, for he had recognized their competence in metalworking and desired to enhance the battle prowess of his army by that knowledge. The Gypsies had not come as slaves, but as honored guests, and they had been well treated, and the abilities they taught Alexander's people had contributed substantially to Macedonia's surge toward greatness.

  Then Rome had risen, and the Macedonian empire had crumbled. Gypsies had been hauled away to teach the Romans. The golden age had passed. Gypsies spread out, hiding in the mountains, fleeing to other lands, clutching their freedom. But most remained to serve the new masters. This was, after all, their home.

  But was it their source? Orb doubted it and in time she learned more of the story. Where had Alexander found the Gypsies? Not in Egypt, despite the derivation of their popular name from that land; they were not truly E-Gypt-sies. No, he had brought them from beyond the Persian empire, from the land of Hind. That was their most ancient home.

  And Hind, Orb knew, was India, or part of it. That was where she had to go.

  She took another scientific airplane, her route proceeding from Macedonia, across Anatolia and to the coast of Asia Minor for a change of planes. The next was routed across Arabia and on to the Kingdoms of India. Orb relaxed, knowing it was a long flight; she might as well sleep.

  But fickle Fate interfered. Men appeared on the plane, bearing weapons. One spoke in a language she did not understand, and several other passengers reacted with horror. Then another man spoke in English: "This is a hijacking. We are going to Persia."

  "But Persia is at war!" another passenger protested. "We'll be shot down!"

  "No," the hijacker replied. "They know we're coming. This plane is now the property of Persia. Now we are going to record your names and nations, so that we can obtain ransoms for you. Anyone who does not cooperate will be conscripted into the Persian army."

  "But my family is poor!" a third passenger cried. "We can not afford ransom!"

  The hijacker smiled grimly. "Then welcome to the Persian army! I'm sure you'll like it on the front line."

  Orb quailed. This was no good for any of them! The war between Persia and Babylon had been dragging on with internecine vigor, and both sides were desperate but refused to make peace. Neither honored international conventions with anything much beyond lip service. Now it seemed they were recruiting personnel and money by sending agents out to steal entire airplanes.

  The listing proceeded, as each passenger in turn gave his or her name and nation, knowing no way to resist. The plane flew east toward Persia.

  But the hijackers had miscalculated, or perhaps the pilot had deceived them. Another airplane appeared, bearing the markings of Babylon. Orders were barked on the radio, obviously directions to land in Babylon or be shot down.

  "We'll die first!" the hijackers exclaimed defiantly.

  There was a warning shot, of the Babylonian type. It put a hole in the left wing. The plane began to wobble.

  Orb knew they would all die if someone didn't do something immediately—and there seemed to be no one who could. Except herself, by default. She was no hero, but she valued her life. She wished she had avoided science and stayed with her tried and true magic carpet. She had the carpet with her, of course—but in the baggage compartment.

  "Go up and tell the pilot to resume course when I distract the hijackers," she said to the woman beside her.

  "But they will kill you—and me!"

  "Perhaps not." Then Orb took out her harp and began to play.

  "Hey!" the English-speaking hyacker said, swinging his gun about. But he paused as Orb began to sing.

  She spread her magic out, pacifying all those in the airplane. She nudged her seat companion, who stirred herself and made her way up toward the cockpit. She continued playing and singing, knowing that the moment she stopped, the hijackers would resume their mischief.

  But the Babylonian plane wasn't affected by her singing. Another shot was fired, putting another hole in the wing.

  Orb broke off her singing for a moment. "Tell them we're landing!" she called, then resumed her song before the hijackers could revert.

  "That's no good!" the pilot called back. "Babylonia is just as bad as Persia!"

  "Then lock on the radio!" Orb cried. "I'll sing to them, too!"

  In that time, one of the hijackers lifted his gun and aimed it. But before he fired, Orb's song resumed, and he remained as he was, listening, the gun pointing but not firing.

  Now she concentrated on the occupants of the Babylonian plane. Could she move them, too, by her singing? The radio would carry her voice there, but they were not before her; she could not see them, and they could not see her. How much of the magic effect was from proximity? She didn't know. But she concentrated her mind on that other plane, singing to its operators, hoping that the magic would carry.

  Her own airplane shifted course. At first her heart leaped; she feared it was going down because of the damage to the wing. Then she realized that the pilot was doing it, turning away from the direction dictated by the hijackers. It was also away from the Babylonian airport. If her music was not pacifying the other plane...

  No third shot came. The airplane proceeded south to an emergency landing in Arabia. Orb was able at last to rest. Fortunately the authorities were embarrassed by the lapse in airplane security and did not publicize the event, so Orb was not besieged by reporters. In due course another passenger airplane arrived, and they were carried on to India, albeit somewhat delayed.

  There she had another disappointment. India was huge and fragmented into many kingdoms, each with its own language or dialect, none of which she understood. There seemed to be no Gypsies here. She understood they had come from northern India, perhaps being the inhabitants before conquest imposed the caste system and made them pariahs, made them flee for their freedom. It was said that their language was very similar to Sanskrit. Perhaps there had been many waves of Gypsies as new oppressions occurred in India. But until they departed, they were not Gypsies; they were natives. The source might be here, but not the song.

  Well, she would look through all of India, if she had to, until she found some clue. She would simply tour each kingdom, asking the natives. Somewhere, someone would know something about the Llano. She had to believe that.

  She started in Calcutta. She knew better than to travel alone through such a vast and varied land, so she joined a road show that was passing through. She had only to audition for the master of the show, and he hired her on the spot for a fee she knew was too low. But her purpose was not money, but company, and the show promised to wend its way through much of India in the coming year. She was satisfied. Her quest continued.

  Chapter 5 - MYM

  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 Gypsy like 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 deja 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?
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br />   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-shshy," 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.