Being a Green Mother (20 page)

“I suppose a person or creature has to be able to appreciate music in order to have any interest in the Llano,” Orb said. That seemed to sum it up.

– 9 –

They arrived at the site of their first regular booking. The hall had a fair audience, but was not filled. It seemed that the news of their talent had not filtered all the way down to the larger paying public. Still, it was the largest audience they had faced, and Orb was sure they had drawn a better crowd than ordinarily attended.

Many of the people seemed bored or cynical, as if refusing to believe that this out-of-town group could be worthwhile. Perhaps some were critics expecting to give indifferent ratings.

Orb smiled privately. She expected that to change.

The performance started—and indeed it changed. The numbers ranged across the musical horizon, but all were imbued with the magic, and the magic held the audience rapt. The truth was that even poor music would have sufficed with the magic, and good music would not have without it. But the music was good and getting better as they refined it.

They gave a second performance the following evening. This one was a sell-out.

So it went, as they settled into the routine of the tour. Half a dozen cities into it, the Livin’ Sludge had become the hottest group on the circuit. Mrs. Glotch reported that at the
rate they were going, every member of the group would be wealthy by the time the tour concluded.

Recording companies approached them for albums. They discussed it and decided not to record, because they weren’t sure the magic would come through. Indeed, that seemed to be the case, because an illicit recording was made of one of their performances, and later reports were that it was deemed a fake because it lacked the impact of the live act.

They traveled the eastern part of the nation, then the southern, and then the southwestern. They had little need of maps, because Jonah simply swam to each city requested. Nevertheless, Jezebel liked to know where she was, so she obtained a map.

“Say!” she exclaimed. “Here’s Llano!”

Orb almost dropped her harp. “What?”

“Right here,” the woman said, showing the map.

Suddenly everyone was there. They found a region, and a river, and even a town by that name. “Do you think that’s where—?” Jezebel asked.

“I wonder,” Orb said. “It never occurred to me that it would be on a map! I suppose it could be coincidence.”

“Not much coincidence in this world,” Jezebel said. “Not when you fathom how things operate.”

“We’ve got a gig near there,” the drummer said eagerly. “Geez, if we could find that song, and if it works …” He looked at Lou-Mae.

The others nodded. They all knew that that romance had become more serious with every performance of “Danny Boy,” and that only the black girl’s adamancy about H prevented it from going further. She would not commit herself to a drug addict; that was absolute. This only increased the drummer’s desire to get off it, but he could not.

They had their performance in the nearby city, then directed Jonah to swim to the Llano. He set forth, and they slept.

In the morning they found the fish hovering over a broad, flat, treeless plain.

“Did he get lost?” the drummer asked. “Not a town or river in sight!”

“Cursed immortal creatures don’t get lost,” Jezebel said. “I know.”

The drummer shrugged. By this time everyone knew Jezebel’s
nature, and that she was as totally uninterested in obliging any of their big notions as was Orb. The boys regarded it as a phenomenal loss, though it didn’t seem to bother them by day. By night, however, their frustrated conversations were a source of continuing amusement to all three women. It seemed to be the consensus that never in history had three such attractive and virile young men been so intimately housed with three such beautiful women with so little significant action. What a ghastly loss! Lou-Mae was shocked by some of their notions, Orb was disgusted, and Jezebel bored. But not one of them ever hinted to the boys about this aspect of Jonah’s nature; it was too much fun to listen. In fact, they discovered that they could talk freely to each other, from their individual chambers, simply by doing it; it seemed that by Jonah’s definition, talking to a person was the same as talking about a person. It was convenient.

They rechecked the map, and found that Jonah had brought them to the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain, instead of to the county, town, or river.

“But maybe he’s right,” the guitarist said. “Maybe this is the real place.”

“I don’t know,” Lou-Mae said, teasing him. “See how all the little counties are real squares, here, straight up and down. But down next to the County of Llano they’re all jumbled, as if God just took them and shoved them over to make room for Llano.”

He contemplated the map. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m not sure that human boundaries have any meaning for this,” Orb said, though she, too, was struck by the manner that a large section of the counties had been skewed, as if riding a tectonic plate that had rotated forty-five degrees.
Could
that relate?

They decided to accept Jonah’s verdict: that the plain was the correct Llano. The fish descended, and they disembarked.

Orb walked out on the plain, seeking the song. She did not know what she was looking for, but she hoped that if she made herself receptive it would come to her. If this truly was the place for it. She had been disappointed in India; the source of the Gypsies had not been the source of the Llano.

The Gypsies. It made no obvious sense, but maybe—

She looked around. The others were far removed, looking in their own fashions. No one would see.

She began to dance the
tanana
, hoping that it would somehow attract the song to it. She moved her body in the ways that were calculated to inflame men’s minds, and assumed the poses that no decent girl should know. She was dancing for neither man nor fish, but for the song. Would it work?

She got into it, the spirit of the dance hauling her body and mind into it, making her wanton. Then it seemed that a melody began to come, very faint but evocative. Its theme was lovely, prettier than any mortal tune, but underneath was a richness and power that was to any ordinary song what the ocean was to a lake. The essence of it reached into the very heart of her, reshaping that heart to its own likeness, changing her being in an ineffable manner. Ah, the song, the song …!

Then it faded, and she found herself exhausted, standing alone. Had she tuned in on the Llano? Had she imagined it? She could not be sure of its source, but there was something; she felt it within her, like the onset of a pregnancy.

A pregnancy. What had happened to her baby, Orlene? Would she ever know?

Disheartened, she walked back to the floating fish. She was not sure whether she had accomplished anything.

The tour continued. They played to larger and larger halls, always filled to capacity. It seemed that the whole world now knew of the Livin’ Sludge; news items manufactured from nothing appeared daily in the media. But they were bound to their quest, telling no one else about it. The Llano—where was it?

Orb’s power of music was growing; there was no longer any doubt. She could tell this not so much by the way the Sludge performances mesmerized ever-larger audiences, but by the way the other members of the group performed. She no longer had to sing or play; she merely had to be there. That had not been the case at the outset of the tour. Now Lou-Mae could sing alone, and the magic reached out; the drummer could play a solo, and the magic was there. But the others informed her that when they practiced while she was out of the fish, it didn’t work. They could play well enough, but there was no magic; they all felt the difference.
“When you’re with us, it’s in three-dee color,” the drummer explained. “Otherwise, two-dee black/white. Without you, we’re just another nobody group.”

“Well, we
are
a group,” she responded, trying not to feel flattered, knowing that her talent was from no virtue of hers; she owed it to heredity. “We will always perform together.”

But she spoke prematurely. They were looping north, now, and it was winter; storms and snow interrupted communications and transportation. A few days before Christmas the weather was so threatening at the city of their engagement that they decided to set up at the hall early. Jonah nudged up to the building, and they unloaded the instruments. They no longer needed the mikes and amplifiers and speakers, because the magic reached the members of the audience more effectively. That was another evidence of Orb’s increased power. The drummer and Lou-Mae and the organist remained there to warm up, while Orb and Jezebel elected to fit in some Christmas shopping. The guitarist hesitated, then decided to return to the fish with them. Orb knew why; away from Jonah, he was subject to the call of the H and he preferred to avoid that.

They boarded the fish, and Jonah swam up over the city. They went downtown, where Orb and Jezebel got off. The wind cut cruelly along the streets, driving them quickly into the stores. That was all right; shopping was what they had come for. Orb intended to get token gifts for all the members of the group, and Jezebel was interested in new books for her library.

They forgot the time and were late finishing. Dusk was closing when they stood on the street with their arms full of packages, and Orb mentally called Jonah.

Normally the fish arrived promptly, but this time he didn’t. They waited somewhat impatiently, the wind seeming to become more cutting. Orb’s cloak automatically thickened, keeping her warm, and Jezebel was immune to temperature, but they didn’t like getting their hair mussed. Finally they backed into an alcove for shelter—and found themselves in the company of several shivering musicians of another kind. They were of the Salvation Army, and it was evident that their effort to raise funds had been practically blotted out by the weather.

Orb set down her armful and reached into her purse—only
to discover that she had spent all her available cash. She looked at Jezebel, who shook her head in negation. “They wouldn’t care for demon-offering,” she muttered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Orb said. “Isn’t it the spirit that counts?”

Jezebel shrugged and brought out a golden coin. She tossed it in the kettle—and the moment it touched, it burst into flame, taking with it whatever paper money had already been there. “Damned money!” the succubus exclaimed, meaning it literally. “Now look what I’ve done!”

Appalled, Orb looked at the musicians. How could she apologize for this? She knew that Jezebel had not intended evil, but the evil attached to her without her choice.

“I—I’ll try to make it up to you,” Orb said. She borrowed a book from the hands of the nearest musician, and opened it, and began to sing:

She did not have her harp with her, knowing that it was quite safe in Jonah. But the magic was present, and the melody rang out across the street. Jezebel shrank away, but the others joined in. The magic spread out to touch them, too, the effect amplifying.

People hurrying by paused to listen. Others emerged from the stores. By the time the song was finished, there was a crowd—and offerings were pouring into the kettle, far more than enough to make up for what had been lost.

Then Orb saw Jonah nudging in. She hurried to pick up her packages. “Bless you, soldiers!” she cried. “Come on, Jez!”

Jonah opened his mouth and they stepped in. No one seemed to notice. The crowd was beginning to dissipate, but money was still coming into the kettle. The musicians seemed bewildered, but pleased.

They had boarded just in time, for now the sun was setting, and Jezebel became her nocturnal self. “I was afraid I’d get caught out there too late!” she said. “But you know, Orb, if you don’t have the Llano, you surely have something like it. What you did was what the Llano does.”

Orb paused, surprised. “I never saw it that way,” she said. “But I suppose—”

“We got to get moving!” the guitarist said, hurrying up the throat. “It’s almost time for the show!”

“I know!” Orb exclaimed, sweeping on toward her chamber. “We forgot the time, then Jonah delayed. Where were you going, so far away?”

“Nowhere,” he protested. “Jonah was just sitting there waiting; it only took him a minute, once he started moving. You mean you called him before?”

“Certainly I called him!” Orb snapped as she picked up her harp. “A good ten minutes before he came!”

“Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

“He must have, because he did come—eventually.”

Jonah was swimming down again. Orb and the guitarist stood just inside the piscine lips, ready to jump out the moment the mouth opened. “I’ll have cocoa waiting for you,” Jezebel said, standing behind them. They had discovered by experimentation that no drug, alcohol included, had any effect within the fish, so the boys had gravitated to the more wholesome snacks that the girls preferred. Even the caffeine in coffee was nulled. Clean living was the order of the day and night, in Jonah.