The Temple Dancer (6 page)

"Geraldo ... He's family too, isn't he? And Victorio, your brother,
don't forget him."

He stared at her for a long time before he finally answered. "My brotherin-law, yes." His hand moved from hers. "Yes. I only meant..."

"Yes, Uncle?"

He sighed and closed his eyes, and for a frightened moment Lucinda
thought that he had died. Then he mumbled, "I thought you'd understand."

"I do," she answered.

Carlos waved his hand. "Go now. Carry my good wishes to Victorio.
Enjoy your journey."

"Thank you, Tio Carlos." She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"One thing," he gasped as she was about to leave. "Da Gama. Be careful. Don't trust him."

Lucinda started when she heard these words. She yearned to hear more,
but she could see that her uncle was weak, too weak to talk, and if the truth
were told, she was anxious to start her adventure. "Yes, Uncle," she said
brightly. "I'll be fine."

Outside she shook Geraldo's shoulder. "Get up. We're leaving."

"Will he be all right?" Geraldo said, his face grave.

"It will take more than flux to kill Tio Carlos," she said. But Geraldo's
face seemed full of worry, not relief.

When a Goan said, "We'll leave at dawn," everyone understood it was a figure of speech. By the time goodbyes had been said and trunks unlocked
once more to be stuffed with an assemblage of forgotten items, dawn had
long passed. The Muslim horsemen had unfurled their prayer rugs toward
a west-facing wall. Then the trunks had been loaded and tied onto the bullock carts, then untied and unloaded, and loaded once more, and now the
sun was high and the animals thirsty and impatient.

She was so used to Goa and its cascade of unexpected delays that
Lucinda couldn't understand Captain Pathan's increasing frustration. Pathan
sent servants for water for the animals, but the Goans, used to a siesta, moved
so slowly he at last sent his own men.

Then the elephant defecated in the street, and there was no one to clean
it up, for Dasana's servants had by that time wisely disappeared to shady
corners, and, after the insult of carrying water, the Muslim guards ignored
their captain's soft request and he had not the heart to make it a command.
Eventually some nobodies came and carried off the mess in wide baskets
that they balanced on their heads, but the stink lingered.

Da Gama, who might have helped, for some reason sat in the shadow of
a doorway, letting Pathan fend for himself. "He's had more luck so far than
I would've, Lucy," he explained when Lucinda questioned him. He seemed
amused by it all. Lucinda wondered if he'd been drinking.

As for Geraldo, after his sleepless night, he had given orders not to be
disturbed until all was set, and napped in his room with the drapes closed.

As noontime came, instead of being on her way, Lucinda found herself
arranging lunch for the travelers. Fortunately she stopped the servants before the platters of cold meats left the house, sending them back to the kitchen
where she had the ham and beef placed on separate plates, for the Hindi
Christians despite their conversion would not eat cow, and the Muslims
would not eat pig. The Portuguese, of course, ate anything.

By the time the golden bell of Santa Catarina struck two, it seemed that all was prepared. She sent Helene to be sure everyone was gathered up
for travel, and then Lucinda took a moment for herself and hurried back
to her uncle's room. Before she turned the corner she heard shouting.

She nearly ran into Geraldo being shoved by Tio Carlos's angry valet.
Despite Geraldo's size and strength, he seemed no match for the toothless
valet's righteous anger. "Adolfo," Lucinda said. "Explain this!"

"He was trying to sneak into the master's bedroom, senhorita," Adolfo
said, giving Geraldo's chest another angry push.

Geraldo, to Lucinda's surprise looked shocked, guilty even, not angry
or amused as she would have expected. "I only wanted to say goodbye," he
said, holding out his hands to her helplessly. "Who knows when I'll see Tio
Carlos again?"

"He was up to no good," the valet insisted. "Look what I found on the
floor by his feet!" Adolfo cried, opening his fist below Geraldo's nose, and
then showing it to Lucinda: a tiny silver box.

"My arsenico!" Lucinda said.

"Poison!" Adolfo cried, waving the box. "Villainy!"

"So now you accuse Senhorita Dasana?" Geraldo said, snatching the
box from the valet's palm. "You say my cousin poisoned our uncle?"

Adolfo's mouth formed into a wide, toothless O. "That's not what I
meant! "

"Come with me, Lucy," Geraldo said, taking her arm firmly and guiding her away. Over his shoulder he called, "I will send a very stern letter to
my uncle about this insult to his niece."

"Come back," Adolfo wailed, waving an empty fist.

"How old is that fool?" Geraldo said, his dark eyes burning.

"He must be sixty, maybe seventy years old."

"Well," Geraldo said with a sigh as if to calm himself. "Maybe that explains it."

"He's been with Tio Carlos for ages. Don't be too harsh with him."

"You're right, as usual, Lucy. I'll let it go this time." When he smiled, his
teeth gleamed in the sunlight like pearls. "Forgive my temper. I care about
you too much, I suppose." He pressed her arm gently, and handed her the
box of arsenico. "This is yours, I think. I'll meet you downstairs."

As he strode off to his room, Lucinda tried to settle the jumble of her
thoughts. And while an older or a wiser woman might have wondered
about Geraldo and his sneaking, or the mysterious appearance of her silver box at Geraldo's feet, Lucinda's mind still reeled from the way he said he
cared about her. The way he called her Lucy echoed in her ears just as a
golden bell will vibrate softly for hours.

At last all was ready. Lucinda was giving one last goodbye to Carvallo and
his wife when she heard Helene screaming in Hindi near one of the bullock
carts. A crowd formed, blocking her view, but she heard women's voices
calling each other terrible names. Da Gama waved for her to come over.

There stood Helene, hands on hips and feet planted firmly on the
ground, pointing and shouting at someone Lucinda could not well see.
"She's your servant, Lucy," Da Gama said, urging her forward.

Lucy finally saw that the other figure, though it spoke with a woman's
voice, was not a woman as she had supposed, not unless it was a woman
dressed as a man, and a short and fat one at that.

"What's wrong, Helene?" she demanded in Portuguese.

Helene's face was twisted in anger and disgust. "First that jackal dog
tells me I must ride like a sack of flour in a bullock cart!" she snapped back
in coarse Hindi, pointing angrily at Captain Pathan, who stared skyward
and said nothing. "Then they tell me I must ride with this hijra! I am not to
be insulted so! Let her walk!"

"Please, Aya, please calm down," said Lucinda in Portuguese, walking
toward her.

Helene pulled away. "Nahin!" she answered angrily. "I'll not travel
with a hijra!" With that she crossed her arms and sat on the ground.

The other-man or woman, whichever it was-looked over to Lucinda
with a round face full of hurt and sadness. "It is my cruel fate to be treated
so, madam," the piping voice said-a voice, Lucinda thought, more like a
child's than a woman's.

Of course, then she realized. In Hindi, hijra was a word said in answer;
it meant "neither this nor that." Now as she looked at the strange figure
standing sadly near her maid, it dawned on her. "Hijra, " she murmured.

"A mukhunni, madam, if you please," the figure said in offended
Hindi, lifting his head high. "That is the proper term. I was a eunuch of the first rank in the seraglio of the sultan of Bijapur. And I am a he, obviously,
not a she!" Helene rolled her eyes.

Not knowing what else to do, Lucinda made a small curtsy, which the
eunuch answered by lifting his hands to his forehead. "Excuse my bad manners," she said, knowing from Helene's teaching that apologies were always
the best place to start a conversation in Hindi. "You are the first ... er ..."

"Mukhunni, madam," the eunuch answered, lifting his head high and
exposing a tiny neck. "It means `short-tusked' and is the proper greeting
for one deformed as I."

While he stared at her, Lucinda became aware that the circle that had
formed to watch the argument had now begun to critique her. She could
hear the whispers.

Her maid, seated grumpily on the ground. A eunuch dressed in silks,
waiting proudly as if daring her to speak. The Muslim captain staring at her
with disdain. The chuckling eyes of Da Gama. The whispers of the circle.

Would no one help her?

And just then she felt a firm hand grip her arm gently, and heard a
whisper. "I'm here with you."

It was Geraldo.

Geraldo snapped his fingers at Helene. She looked up, offended.
"Stand up, now, woman, and get into the cart as you're told," he said in
perfect Hindi.

Helene's eyes grew wide. "Not with that hijra. I will not."

"You'll do what your mistress commands," Geraldo said. His voice,
though soft, hinted at harsh action.

Now all eyes turned to Lucinda, who whispered to Geraldo, "But,
cousin, why is that eunuch here?"

"He's here to look after the ... the cargo," Geraldo whispered back.

Of course, Lucinda would later regret that she'd never inquired about
the caravan's cargo. But on hearing Geraldo's reply, the answer to the problem burst into her head. "Very well then. If you will not ride together, then
one of you must travel with the cargo."

At this Helene's eyes grew wide, but the eunuch, to Lucinda's amazement, burst into a wide, relieved smile. "Oh thank you, madam, thank
you," he squeaked. He hurried off, but then returned and haltingly pressed
Lucinda's hand between his chubby palms. "I never expected such courtesy from a farang. Forgive me." With that he puffed toward the elephant. Lucinda stared at her hand.

"As for you," Lucinda said to Helene, squeezing her face into a frown,
"how dare you make such a scene in front of everyone? To refuse to ride with
someone-why? Because he is a little different? Christian charity teaches us
to love others, not condemn them." She might have said this in Portuguese,
but instead she spoke plain Hindi, determined to embarrass Helene for her
defiance. Helene glared back furious. Lucinda eyed her coldly. "We are none
of us free of fault, Helene. But I won't stand for insolence. You will remain
here, Helene."

"But my little bebe! How..."

"No more! You've heard me. Get your baggage from the cart and go
inside!"

Lucinda waited. She expected an immediate apology, but none came. A
moment passed, and then another, but still Helene was silent. In fact, while
they waited for her maid's luggage to be removed, Lucinda noticed a coy,
triumphant look in Helene's dark eyes.

Now what have I done, Lucinda wondered. What do I do without her?

Before she could change her mind, however, Captain Pathan urged
everyone to take their places. He turned his horse toward Lucinda. "You
ride up there in the howdah, madam," he said in Hindi, nodding toward a
silver ornamented ladder leaning against the elephant's side. She looked
back desperately at Helene, but Pathan stepped between them. He said to
her softly, "That was justly done and wisely, madam. To show respect for
our fellows, even those who differ from us, that is the Prophet's teaching.
You make me ashamed, madam."

"You? Ashamed? What of?" she answered in surprise.

His voice seemed strained. "Here I am in the land of Christians, I who
should show the tolerance enjoined by the Prophet. But I berate, I criticize,
I condemn. Because you are a little different from me. Because you worship the Lord one way and I, another."

They had reached the ladder, and Pathan slipped smoothly from his
horse, taking her arm to help her up. Her heavy skirts, flounced with
padded hoops to emphasize her tiny waist, bunched over her little shoes,
and she was glad of his touch, reassuring but firm.