And suddenly she was into it; the music was inside her now and the stars were whirling overhead. It felt lovely, she had never known dancing could be like this… And the steps were suddenly easy, they came to her so naturally that she didn't even have to think about them, she could watch the trees surrounding her like guards, their arms entwined, all black and green in the starlight.
The spin, the spin…
And the night was heating up around her, and the grass was soft, and the tune he was playing was indescribably beautiful; she let it move her as it willed, stepping when it called for her to step, and spinning when it called for her to spin, and her body grew warm as she whirled round and round in her silky green dress with her flame-colored hair forming the center of a great green flower and her head spinning and her hands making the signs…
The special signs the hands made with the next spin, the step, the spin, the spin…
And her body was hot now, her feet were on fire, she paused to kick her shoes off beneath one of the trees and then whirled back into the circle, barefoot now, the music lifting her again, whirling her round and round until her head was spinning faster than the stars and the green dress was swirling round her legs and her necklace was twirling in the dark and her body was burning, burning… And she knew what to do; while Rosie played and didn't see, she spun behind a tree and slipped off her underwear, leaving it a little splotch of white on the dark grass, and then she spun back into the circle, Rosie would never know, she whirled and danced for him and felt the music lift her as before, the grass alive and hot beneath her feet, her dress swirling around her waist now, her legs and body bare against the night, the night air on her body as she spun.
The spin, the spin…
The trees danced round and round her and her body was on fire, and she knew she would have to dance faster till the burning went away, and dimly she knew, as she danced even faster, that her dancing was forming a pattern within the circle of trees, tracing a picture so monstrous and huge that no one in a million years could ever possibly imagine what it was… And the stars were a part of the dance now, whirling with her as she moved about the circle, and dark green things were stirring in the grass, rising from the earth and fluttering around her, tiny green butterflies with wings like leaves, or maybe they were leaves that moved like butterflies, creatures from a deck of magic cards, and even the trees were moving to the song, and things in the trees, the faces in the leaves and the branches and the air, and she danced and danced until she felt so hot that she thought she would burn up, and she knew she was the native girl who'd dance until she died, and her body was on fire, and the fire was all around her, and she collapsed in a heap in the middle of the circle just as the song ended.
She could hardly remember how she got home. She had dim memories of Rosie pulling her after him into a cab, and of riding up in the elevator with him, her feet still bare, the floor painful beneath them, painful and dirty and cold… And then he was gripping her hand tightly and saying goodbye at her door, just as if he were a proper young gentleman and she his date.
And the next thing she knew it was Sunday morning, she was still in her green dress, the cloth all damp and sticky now and wrinkled from the bed, and her hair was matted and greasy and there was a silly white piece of plastic around her neck.
She was stiff and aching all over, but her feet hurt the worst. They were raw and blistered, as if instead of dancing last night on some grass in the park, she had been walking through a desert.
It was then she realized she'd forgotten the shoes. She'd left them, and the panties too, somewhere beneath those trees. They were probably still there.
There was no way out of it. She would simply have to go back uptown and get them. After all, they were Rochelle's shoes, not hers; Rochelle had probably paid forty or fifty dollars for them, and she wouldn't want to come back and find them gone.
The park was filled with joggers and radios and dogs that day, and angry voices arguing in Spanish. Blacks in headbands and earrings were playing conga drums by the fountain which, last night, had echoed to Stravinsky. She noticed Utter everywhere; she didn't remember its being there last night, but perhaps it had been too dark to see.
It took her almost an hour to find the clearing where she'd danced, and by then her legs were aching so much she wished she'd never come.
The clearing, seen in daylight, was a terrible shock. She'd remembered it as being like something in a dream, a vivid dream of green leaves and cool air and music beneath the stars, but by day the place appeared completely different. The trees were burnt and blackened along the inside of the ring, and the grass where she'd been dancing was lifeless, charred quite black in spots. The very air that had smelled so sweet last night now reeked of burning. What a shame, she said to herself as she looked around, there's just no place for nature in a city like New York. She looked at the trunk of the nearest tree; it was completely scorched, right up to the leaves. These trees are all going to die, she realized. It's those awful Puerto Ricans with their campfires.
She walked around the ring of trees several times and combed the blackened earth, but she never found the panties or the shoes.
Book Seven: The Altar
22. OBJECT OF GAME.
… In each round the player acting as Dhol must attempt to gain power points in the prescribed manner. When sufficient points have been obtained, players may proceed to next round.
Play continues until Final Round, when, of course, the object changes and the rule no longer applies.
Instructions to the Dynnod
July Seventeenth
Had a bad night last night. Even though I was tired I had trouble getting to sleep because my goddamned nose was so clogged. And no sooner had I finally drifted off than I was awakened again by a noise.
It sounded like something in the woods just outside this room. Smaller than a man but, from the sound of it, on two legs… It was shuffling through the dead leaves, kicking them around as if it didn't care who heard it. There was the snapping of branches amp; every so often a silence amp; then a bump, as if it were hopping over fallen logs. I stood in the dark listening to it, then crept to the window amp; looked out. Thought I saw some bushes moving, back there in the undergrowth, but it may have been the wind.
The sound moved farther away. I could hear, very faintly, the sucking sounds of feet slogging through the mud. Whatever it was must have been walking directly out into the deepest part of the woods, where the ground gets soft amp; swampy.
I stood by the window for almost an hour, amp; finally all was quiet except for the usual frogs. Had no intention of going out there with my flashlight in search of the intruder – that's strictly B-movie stuff, I'm much too sensible for that – though I wondered if I should call Sarr. By this time, though, the noise had stopped amp; whatever it was had obviously moved on. Besides, I tend to think Sarr'd have been angry if I'd awakened him amp; Deborah just because some stray dog had wandered past the farm.
Went to the windows on the other side of the room amp; listened for a while. Out in the yard everything was peaceful. It was extremely dark, amp; I could barely make out the shapes of the smokehouse amp; the barn, but I could hear those pie-plate scarecrows off in the cornfield, clanking whenever the breeze stirred them.
I stood at the window a long time; my nose probably looked cross-hatched from pressing against the screen. Then I lay in bed but couldn't fall asleep. Just as I was getting relaxed the sounds started again, much farther off now: a faint, monotonous hooting which may have been an owl, though somehow it didn't sound like an owl, or any other kind of animal, for that matter. And then, as if in answer, came another sound – high-pitched wails amp; caterwauls, from deep within the woods. Can't say whether the noise was human or animal. There were no actual words, of that I'm certain, but nevertheless there was the impression of singing. In a crazy, tuneless kind of way the sound seemed to carry the same solemn rhythms as the Poroths' prayers earlier that night.