The Temple Dancer

by John Speed

  "We're bandits now, Deoga," Lucinda told him brightly, keeping her voice low. "I wear jamas now. I ride horses, and I shoot."

  "She's a dead shot with a short bow, Deoga," Pathan added with a note of pride.

  "See there?" she pointed to the arrows in Da Gama's pillow. "I could have grazed your ears if Munna'd let me." Her look at Pathan was full of affection.

  "No need for pride, Lucy," Pathan beamed.

  "Are you married?" Da Gama asked, and instantly regretted the stodginess of his question.

  Lucinda tossed her hair and laughed, and then grabbed her mouth for fear the Irishman would wake. "Married bandit style," she answered, and then reached to touch Da Gama's arm. "Did you worry about us, cousin?"

  "Yes, of course. Every day-every hour."

  "You are a good man to worry so, but there was no need. Munna is my husband, and lets no harm come near me. And anyway, now I can protect myself." She nodded to her short bow, and Da Gama saw that she held it firmly, and that her palms had gotten wider, and the fingers stronger, and her hands had the look of sureness that comes from practiced skill. She moved with a springing quickness. And her eyes, Da Gama noticed now, were no longer dreamy, but full of certainty and determination. Ruthless, Da Gama thought, then felt shocked that the word had come to mind.

  "We asked for this job, Deoga, so that we might see you, and ease whatever worries you might feel," Pathan said softly. "Also so you might not be troubled too much by our brother bandits, who do not share our history."

  "No, they would have taken everything," Lucinda said.

  There was a silence then. Slowly Da Gama began to work things out. When finally he saw how things stood, he felt as if he'd lived too long. Wearily he placed his purse into Lucinda's outstretched palm.

  Lucinda tucked her bow beneath her arm, and spilled Da Gama's gold into her hand. She put half into her pocket, and replaced the rest. "Remember the ties between the Three-Dot clan and Wall Khan, cousin," she said seriously. "This can be good or bad, but there is danger in forgetting. We will tell our brother bandits that we took all your gold. If you hide the part I've left you, no one will ever know."

  The Irishman grunted in his sleep but did not wake. Da Gama gave no sign of what he felt. Pathan lowered his head and murmured, "We must do our best with the portion given to us by the Lord, Deoga. Now we are bandits, we must be good ones."

  "The best," Lucinda agreed. Pathan moved into the shadows. "He's getting the ponies," she explained. She tiptoed to place a kiss on Da Gama's cheek. "I'm glad I saw you. Find peace. Joy hides in unexpected places. Be happy, as I am happy."

  Pathan rode up, towing Lucinda's pony. "Salaam aleichem, Deoga," he said. Da Gama bowed. Then Lucy bounded from Da Gama's side to the saddle in what seemed like a single jump. She grabbed the reins and wheeled the pony close to Da Gama. "Don't be sad, cousin. Our paths will cross again." With that she spurred her pony into the darkness, and behind her followed Pathan.

  "I do not think so," Da Gama murmured to the shadows.

  Beside the fire, the Irishman snored.

  On her last night in Bijapur, Maya sent an invitation to Geraldo.

  He went to the zenana dressed in fine farang clothes, tailored in dark velvets and dense satins, rich with golden braid. Wall Khan's servants bowed low when he approached. A eunuch led him through the vizier's palace, and through corridors lit by a hundred butter lamps in alcoves in the walls. He opened a set of carved doors, and bowed Geraldo through.

  A vast array of silver dishes spread on a muslin sheet in the middle of the carpet. Incense burned, and a dozen hanging lights flickered through pierced shades.

  In cushions by the feast sat Da Gama, dressed in a dark blue Jamas; to his right was Maya. She wore a sheer sari of soft silver that glittered in the lamplight. Her hair was covered, but not her face. Her gold-flecked eyes shimmered when she saw Geraldo enter.

  "Come and sit, Aldo," Da Gama said.

  They ate mostly in silence. There was too much to say, so they said little. Maya presided, offering the delicacies with a practiced grace. Geraldo stared at her lips, at her hands as they glided through the air. "You are more beautiful than ever," he whispered. Maya merely closed her eyes.

  "I had this made specially, in the manner of farangs," she said at one point.

  Geraldo tried the dish-mutton flavored with spices and much garlic. "It's like being in Goa," he told her, bowing his head. "You are too kind. Haven't you tried it, Da Gama?"

  "My digestion is not so good these days," Da Gama answered without looking up. "You finish it."

  Maids cleared the dishes and brought sharbats. Da Gama described tomorrow's journey for Maya. Elaborate preparations had been made; even a decoy caravan.

  "Do you fear danger, Deoga?" Maya said.

  "Always. You are more valuable than ever now. I've enlisted special guards."

  With the sharbats finished, Da Gama rose. "You young people have things to discuss, I'm sure. An old man has no place here." He bowed to Geraldo, and then Maya. "Besides, I need my rest. Ahead of us we have long journeys."

  "Make peace," Maya said to both of them.

  So Geraldo rose and embraced Da Gama. "Va com deus, senhor," he said as he leaned back.

  "E com voce," Da Gama answered. He walked out without looking back, quietly closing the door behind him.

  A feeling of anticipation filled Geraldo. His heart began to beat faster, and he felt heat rising to his face. He loosened the collar of his shirt. "So," he said to Maya.

  "So," Maya answered. He could not read her face. "Why do the gods allow wickedness, do you think?"

  "Surely you don't mean for us to discuss philosophy?" Geraldo laughed. Then he burped, and this made him laugh again. "Other subjects are more pleasant."

  "Answer me."

  Geraldo shrugged. The mutton sat like a lump in his belly, but he smiled in spite of the discomfort. "Perhaps the gods themselves are wicked. Perhaps there are no gods. Maybe we make our own fates. Maybe those who fear the gods are weak, and those who know the truth are strong."

  "Then are you strong, Geraldo?"

  Again he shrugged. Seeing her in the golden lamplight, her beauty even grander than he recalled, set his skin tingling.

  "You have killed and robbed. You've cheated your own family."

  Geraldo gave an uncomfortable laugh. "I've cheated death as well."

  "Yes." Maya moved her hands to the veil that covered her hair. "I wanted you to see this, you of all persons."

  She drew back the veil, and revealed a glittering web of gold and pearls and diamonds. Against her raven hair, the jewels sparkled like stars in a black sky. Geraldo gasped and stared. "This is what I am, Geraldo. This is what has become of the woman you abandoned. Men have fought and even died to have me."

  "You are magnificent," Geraldo choked out.

  "You could have had all this, except you wanted more." The golden highlights of her eyes now gleamed like fire. "This is what I wanted you to know. What you might have had, and what you have lost." Once more she veiled her head, and the light within the room appeared to dim. "You were a fool."

  Geraldo gulped. He had begun to sweat. "I've made up my mind to be a better man."

  "Do it quickly then. And when the tally of your life is reckoned, remember this moment."

  Then she stood, as if dismissing him. For a moment Geraldo felt disappointment, and then relief. He was not at his best. His belly rumbled. With some effort he got to his feet. Maybe he'd drunk too much wine; his head swam. Geraldo tried to smile. "Business sometimes takes me to the court of Murad. Perhaps I'll see you." He burped again and tasted bile.

  "I do not think so." Maya opened the door, and Geraldo, with as much dignity as he could manage, set his shoulders and walked through.

  "Good night," he whispered. "You've shown me your secrets. I will not betray you. I will be silent as the grave."

  "I depend on it," Maya answered. She looked into his eyes, and he saw a momentary flash of the gir
l that he remembered, of the first time he'd seen Maya's face-beautiful, distant, young, a little frightened. "Geraldo, do you pray?" she asked.

  "Sometimes."

  "Then pray now."

  The carved door closed before his eyes, and the sound echoed through the lamplit hall.

  Outside the doors of the vizier's palace, Da Gama acknowledged the servants' bows. He stopped for a moment, and sighed, then slowly made his way down the stairs to the torchlit courtyard. He'd just decided to dismiss his palki bearers and walk back home, when he saw a form emerge from the shadows.

  "Mouse," he said. "What are you doing here?"

  "I thought you might be lonely, Deoga." His dark eyes were wistful.

  "You are kind." Da Gama blinked. He hated tears.

  Mouse looked up at him. "Why must you be sad? Many people love you." He lifted his hand to Da Gama's head. "You are a good man. You must be happy."

  Da Gama sighed. "Let's go home," he told the palkiwallah.

  In the palki, Mouse laid his head against Da Gama's shoulder. As they rose into the air, Da Gama took the eunuch's gentle hand in his.