The Abulon Dance

by Caro Soles

  Beny pulled one of the big chairs over beside him and climbed into it, resting the sherry on the wide arm. He could feel the tension in Thar-von’s body across the space that separated them. “The fact that you’re my friend makes this even more difficult,” he said. “I know how Serpians regard personal questions but I have to ask, Von.”

  “Wait.” Thar-von clasped his hands together, his fingers interlocking. “It will be less painful for both of us if I tell you. This is, of course, privileged information.”

  “Of course.” Beny sprung the privacy lock on the door and settled down to listen. Past experience had taught him that it didn’t have to be much to qualify as ‘privileged information’ to a Serpian, but just the same it was serious to his friend.

  Thar-von bent his head and began to talk. “I noticed her the first day we arrived, sitting in the Banquet Hall with the other women. She is more…beautiful…then any lady I have ever seen. Everywhere I went, she was there. At first it wasn’t so bad. Then, when the Company came, you spent all your spare time with Eulio and…. I keep thinking about her. I can’t sleep because of her. I feel as if she knows this, watching me with the wonderful, dark pools of her eyes. And then, her brother introduced me to her at the reception. I made a fool of myself.” Beny took a sip of his sherry. “Go on.”

  “She makes me feel weak with longing,” Thar-von said quietly. “She is intelligent and charming. She asks a lot of interested questions about us. And the sound of her voice—” He broke off abruptly. “Forgive me. You do not want to hear this.”

  “Von, my dear friend, I think you are in love.”

  “No!” Thar-von shot out of his chair and strode across to the recessed shelf where Beny kept the sherry and the siva. He poured himself a tall glass of the orange liquor. “No,” he said more calmly. “It cannot be.”

  “Why do you say you made a fool of yourself?”

  “I touched her.”

  Beny tried to interpret what this could possibly mean to a Serpian. “You kissed her?” he ventured.

  “I wanted to, very much. I touched her hand, but then her brother came back. That’s when I gave her the figurine.”

  “Where did you meet this brother of hers?”

  “He spoke to me one day in the Public Gardens when I was walking to the theater. He’s some kind of a soldier and he drops into the office now and then just to talk. He seems to like me.” Thar-von threw himself back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I wish I hadn’t lost my head with Xunanda.”

  “You didn’t do anything too drastic, Von.”

  “I gave her the figurine. That means a lot to us. I was trying to show her how I felt even though I couldn’t express it physically. Obviously she didn’t care about it or me. She must have given it to a friend.”

  “Von, you yourself pointed out just a few minutes ago that you are not the only Serpian on the planet. How can you be sure the one Triani saw in that bar was yours?”

  NINE

  “I’m Triani from the Merculian National Dance Company.” He flashed his knowing smile at the bony woman who stood at the door in the bright sunlight, squinting down at him.

  “Oh,” she said doubtfully. “You want something?”

  “Naturally, sweetie. I didn’t come all the way over here and climb up all those steps for the good of my health.” He glanced back at the four flights of stone steps that had led him to what he had assumed was the main door of the house.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I want to see Quana. Is she in?”

  The woman looked at him uncertainly. “Well… I don’t know. I guess you’d better come inside.” She stepped back reluctantly and Triani sauntered past.

  “You’re all heart, sweetie,” he remarked, looking about him.

  “Wait here.” She went off down the dim hall and opened a door into sunlight. “It’s one of those weird Merculian fellows,” he heard her say. There was the sound of running bare feet. “Cham!” The girl’s dark eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She stopped dead in front of Triani.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” He noticed she was wearing the pendant Cham had made for her. “He’s not the only weird Merculian around.”

  “You’re Triani.” She held out her hand, palm up, in greeting.

  He bowed, turned the hand over and raised it to his lips. He didn’t let go. “Why are you afraid of me? I wouldn’t harm the proverbial fly.”

  “I’m not!” she said indignantly and pulled her hand away.

  Triani grinned. “So. Cham didn’t tell you Merculians are touch telepaths.” He wondered how much else he hadn’t told her.

  “Is that true?”

  “I don’t lie, sweetie.”

  “Why did you want to see me?” She led the way to a group of uncomfortable carved wooden chairs and sat down, leaning slightly forward, her back very straight.

  “May I close the door?”

  “No. It is not allowed.”

  Triani shrugged. “I caught sight of you in the doorway of the bar yesterday morning just before I blacked out. It was you who told Benvolini I was in jail, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily.

  “Oh, cut the crap, sweetie! Of course it was you. I only wish you had been quicker about it. I’ve kept you out of it, by the way.”

  “Why?” she asked, surprised.

  Triani looked at her steadily. “Cham was very anxious that your name not be mentioned. He thinks of you as a friend, Quana, even though you cut him dead in the middle of a public street in front of me.”

  She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just that…sometimes I’m a coward. Where is he now? Wouldn’t he come with you?”

  “I was hoping you could help me find him.” Triani was walking around the small room looking at the charcoal murals, examining the carved wooden animals placed at intervals along the waist-high shelf. A shadow fell across his face.

  “Quana-la, you did not tell me you had a visitor.” There was a hint of reproach in the clear, rich voice.

  The girl jumped to her feet, flustered. “I’m sorry, mother. This is…Triani. He’s with the Merculian National Dance Company.”

  “Well, how nice,” said the woman, smiling graciously. Triani bowed low over her hand. Then he gazed up at her calm, dignified face. He could feel her strong disapproval, but there was no hint of it in her manner. Bitch, he thought, and gave her a dazzling smile. “I am delighted to meet you, madame. I only hope I have not offended in any way by coming here without an invitation.”

  “Not at all. It is not usual, but you are a stranger here and you are welcome in our home.” She sat down and folded her hands. “I was not aware that you were acquainted with my daughter.”

  Triani smiled and waited for Quana to be seated, a custom he had noted somewhere in his travels. Then he sat down opposite her mother, one long hand over the other on his knee. “Actually, it is Chamion who knows your daughter, madame.”

  “Ah, yes. He is that sweet-looking boy with the long blond hair.”

  Triani nodded gravely, wondering how Cham would appreciate the description. “He wanted you to have tickets for opening night tonight but was unable to deliver them himself.” He handed over the sphere of round tickets he had managed to pry out of Nevon.

  “That was thoughtful of him. One hears such strange stories about theatrical people.”

  “There is a great deal of malicious gossip in the galaxy,” remarked Triani thoughtfully.

  “You are a close friend of this Chamion?”

  “Much more than that, madame.” He was aware of the girl’s sudden tension and smiled. “I look after Chamion, you see.”

  “Ah. Just as I thought. So he is like a son to you.” Triani raised a hand to the gold medallion he always wore around his neck. “I have a child of my own who is three years old. Would you like to see him?” He held out what looked like a flat piece of rigid plastic and squeezed the sides
lightly. With a faint click it opened up into a clear cube, lit from within to show the figure of a tiny child in brief red shorts. His little feet bare, hands clasped behind him, he was smiling out at them impishly, a tangle of black curls down his back. Triani touched a green button at the side of the cube and the figure sprang to life, bowing low from the waist and laughing as he almost lost his balance. The child’s laughter held the sound of a tinkling music box as he stood erect again, his cheeks bright with color, his black eyes sparkling with fun. He threw back his curls with a toss of the head. “My name is Giazin Triani Orlato,” he announced in a lisping treble, “and I’m going to be a great dancer just like my daddy when I grow up.” He arched his back, raised his little arms and skipped around in a circle. With a final unsteady bow, the image vanished.

  “That’s wonderful! And he’s so cute!” Quana was still gazing at the cube in fascination. “Cham told me something about him.”

  “He looks just like you,” said her mother politely.

  “So everyone says.” Triani was looking fixedly at the tiny figure that had reappeared. “But he won’t have a childhood anything like mine. Not if I can help it.” He collapsed the cube with a snap and returned it to his pocket.

  “Is your wife here with you?” asked Quana’s mother.

  Triani blinked, going over the question in his mind before answering. “The child’s maternal parent and I are no longer together,” he said at last and folded his hands.

  The next hour went by with excruciating slowness as they sat together sipping sweet flower tea, nibbling sugared fruit slices and making polite conversation. Triani was unfailingly charming and attentive. He found it exhausting to nod and smile as he held back his frustration at not being able to talk openly to Quana as he wished. He told them entertaining tales about Giazin’s childish exploits and much edited versions of his own adventures with Cham. Finally, in spite of his ambiguous sexuality, his flashy rings and exaggerated gestures, he won the approval of Quana’s mother. She left them alone while she went to see to the ordering of the evening meal.

  Triani went limp. “Shit!”

  Quana collapsed in her chair laughing and pressing her hands to her mouth to stifle the noise. “You’re a marvelous actor!” she sputtered.

  “Thanks, sweetie, but I can’t take much more of that. Is she coming back?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Quana, did you notice anything at all while you were at the door of that bar?”

  She frowned at the floor, thinking. “I came back to look for Cham. You know, to say I’m sorry. By the time I got there, two men were hitting you and I didn’t see Cham anywhere. The men you were fighting with were Hunters.”

  “That means trained killers, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I never thought of it like that before, but I guess it does. Did they take Cham? Why? What does it mean?”

  “Search me, sweetie. How do you know they were hunters?”

  “Because the top joint of the fourth finger of the left hand was missing.”

  “I’ve noticed that before here. Who do they work for? The Chief?”

  “Some of them do. Once they’re trained, anyone could hire them, I guess.”

  Triani studied his rings for a moment in silence. “They kept looking at Cham…wanting to touch him. Do you think they might be perverts?”

  She blushed and turned her head away. “I never heard any stories like that. They’re just Hunters. Soldiers.” She hesitated before going on. “I think one of them may be my uncle.”

  “What?”

  “Hush! I’m not sure. I didn’t get a good look at him and I haven’t seen my uncle for three years. That’s when he ran off to join the rebels in the hills. He’s a lot younger than my father. We don’t mention his name in this house any more. He’s dead to us, now.”

  “Which one was he?”

  “He wore a blue earring and what looked like a glass figure on a chain around his neck.”

  “You mentioned something about rebels in the hills. Do you mean there’s a revolution going on here?”

  “Not really. It’s just a few people who aren’t happy with things the way they are. There’s always someone like that around.”

  “Not kidnaping peaceful alien visitors off the street, there isn’t. No one told us anything about this.”

  “It’s not of major concern. I don’t even know if that was my uncle, Triani.”

  “Well, thanks for telling Benvolini about me being in jail, even if it did take you awhile.”

  “But I did it at once. When they arrested you I was afraid they might not tell your people right away, especially if politics was involved, or they thought it was. And I was worried about Cham. So I went directly to the Festival Office and talked to that blue man who was there. He said he was in charge of the staff. I told him everything and he said he’d take care of it.”

  “And this was right afterwards?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, well. Do tell. Look, I’d better go before your mother gets back. Just one more thing. What’s your uncle’s name?”

  She hesitated for the first time, twisting the thin material of her sarong between her fingers.

  “Quana, sweetie, I’ve got to find Cham. He might be able to help.”

  “His name’s Akan, but I don’t know how you can find him.”

  “Thanks. I’ll find him. You know something,” he went on with a grin. “Your hair really turns me on.”

  She looked at him, alarmed and stepped back a pace. “Ah… Thank you for coming.”

  He laughed and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine. The narrow, steep street below was crowded with android servants carrying baskets balanced on their shiny heads. It was a strangely silent crowd. No one laughed or talked or even exchanged glances. Triani paused.

  “Quana, if you find out anything…anything at all that might help, please let me know, okay?”

  She nodded. Triani leapt down the long series of steps, his black curls bouncing, his red sash streaming out behind him. When he reached the bottom, he looked up and waved.

  * * *

  Early that evening, Triani slammed through the stage door and strode rapidly down the narrow corridor towards his dressing room. Fabrin, the stage manager, jumped out of the way as he went by. As usual, Triani was very early. He undressed, showered, and got into his tights. He laid out his make-up with his customary almost fanatical neatness. He spent some time checking through boxes of shoes and tried out several pairs, looking for just the right feel of pliancy and suppleness. Using all of his considerable will power, he kept his mind rigidly to schedule, surrounding himself with the myriad small rituals of his art. He went through the long series of warm-up exercises he always used before a performance. Finally he sat down at his dressing table to make up. That was when his control broke. His eye fell on a card, tucked into the side of the mirror with all the notes and interstellar telegrams of good wishes for opening night. It was the rough drawing of a three eyed dog with a wide, leering grin on its face. Its head rested on a bed. Written in Cham’s large, ornate writing was the caption; “Can any solo be this good?”

  Triani pushed the card into a drawer, jumped to his feet and flung open the door of his dressing room. He grabbed a young member of the chorus who was just arriving.

  “Find Nevon and tell him I want him,” Triani hissed, holding the young dancer’s arm so tightly he winced with pain. “Now, asshole!” He released him, slammed the door and began to pace as he fought back the waves of loss and guilt and worry.

  When the director arrived, his broad face creased with anxiety, Triani took a handful of his brown tunic and backed him up against the wall. “No one in that shitty damn audience knows a thing about Cham! They should be told! This was supposed to be his opening night, too. And they refuse even to look for him!”

  “I know, dear. I know.” Nevon laid his capable hands on Triani’s shoulders. “I’m going to tell them myself before the curtai
n goes up. The company is offering a reward.”

  “Thanks to you, no doubt.”

  “Everyone is contributing.”

  For just a moment, Triani rested his forehead against Nevon’s substantial shoulder. “He trusted me, Nev. He was afraid and I said I’d look after him.”

  “Stop blaming yourself, darling. You didn’t let him down.” Triani turned away abruptly and sat down to finish his make-up. Nevon watched him for a moment.

  “You were always so damned independent,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll make the announcement now.”

  During the performance, Triani could shut out everything. Once the curtain came down, the pain was back. He was surprised to find how far Cham had crawled inside his private, secret space. Cham’s almost ethereal beauty haunted him. The uncertainty gnawed at him constantly; not knowing what had happened, imagining what might have happened….

  After the show, Triani spent a long time getting out of his make-up and changing into his street clothes. He sat at his dressing table, staring into the mirror, seeing Cham smiling up at him as he had so often, the big, gold-flecked grey eyes so trusting and full of love. He sighed wearily. The great dog lay at his feet, the third eye covered with a thick coat of metallic paint. Triani was glad to have the wide collar to hang on to as he stepped out into the night. There wasn’t far to go but it was dark, the shifting shadows making the way unfamiliar. The Merculians usually went home in a group, carrying torches and making a party of the whole experience. Tonight Triani did not feel like a party. “I bring disaster to anyone I let get close to me.” He thought bleakly of the pretty, vivacious Savane with whom he had had a short but stormy relationship, ending with the birth of his beloved child. The baby Triani had wanted ruined Savane’s career and all the money Triani sent could not compensate for being relegated to the ranks of a second-rate company in the provinces. And then there was Lucius. Triani swallowed hard and blinked back the unaccustomed tears angrily. And now the pattern was repeating itself all over again with Cham, gentle, loving, trusting—“Shit! What’s wrong with me? It’s my fault! It’s always my fault!”