She read the meaning in his mind. “Yes, with your guidance. But I could not nurse it.”
“Most mothers bottle feed now, anyway.”
“I could do that.”
“Then I think I could stay here,” he decided. “Now, let’s see what we can do to attract tourists and garner worshipers. Though how to do that for a dead volcano, I don’t know.”
“The volcano is not dead. I am evidence that it lives, in its fashion. It is merely resting.”
“Quiescent,” Jarvis said. “It would help if it could become active again. That would bring tourists. Could you arrange that?”
“No. I am of the volcano, but I do not govern it. It sleeps and wakes on its own schedule.”
“Too bad. I think it needs to wake if it wants worshipers.”
“It might wake if worshipers came.”
Catch 22. “Isn’t it angry about being deserted, just because it’s sleeping?”
“I am angry about that, but I am not the volcano. I am only a bit of lava, just a flicker of a dream in its sleep. It will not wake.”
“Damn. We need more.” Jarvis thought about it. “What about you? Would you be willing to become a tourist attraction? The spirit of the volcano?”
“If you wish it, I will do it.”
“Let’s go to the village and talk to them. Can you go there with me?”
“Yes, I can go anywhere on the island, but not beyond, lest I lose my animation. But the villagers do not like me.”
“Maybe they will now. Let’s go see.” He paused. “But for this, I think you’ll need to wear something. A blouse, a skirt. Your body is beautiful, but folks have hang-ups.”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Here, maybe my shirt is long enough.” He took off his shirt and put it on her. The hem of it just about covered her bottom. “Oh, that’s sexy as hell as you move. But we can get you a dress on the ship.”
They passed through the village and found a shed for her to hide in. Then he went aboard the ship and managed to requisition a dress along with bra, panties, sandals, and a kerchief. He brought those to Lava, and she put them on. Now, she looked like an attractive tourist.
“Damn!” he said, gazing at her. “I wish we could—”
“My core remains too hot. I’m sorry. But tomorrow it should be cool enough.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, kissing her.
They went to the hotel manager, who pretty much ran the village. “What can I do for you, folks?”
“I’m Jarvis, from the tour ship. We spoke yesterday. This is Lava.”
The man gawped. “The ghost?”
“The spirit of the volcano,” Lava said, taking his hand to demonstrate her solidity. “I am as Jarvis sees me.”
“He’s got a good eye.”
“I am wondering whether Lava could become a tourist attraction and bring more business here,” Jarvis said. “She could do a hula dance.”
“Forget it. We’ve had dancers before. They entertain the guests, but they don’t attract tourists from far away. Anyway, it’s academic; things are about to change here.”
“Change?” Jarvis asked.
“A big banana company is about to buy this island. They’ll bulldoze the old cone and level it for a banana plantation. That’ll bring work for everyone here. Old lava makes good soil.”
“Bulldoze the cone! That’s degrading!”
“I do not understand,” Lava said.
“Read my mind.” Jarvis pictured a fleet of bulldozers slowly flattening the volcano’s cone.
She slipped to the floor in a dead swoon.
Jarvis tried to help her, but now, she was dead weight made of stone, too heavy to move—though still exceptionally human looking and pretty. They had to leave her there.
“Sorry about that,” the hotel manager said. “I guess that will be the end of her, too. I doubt she’ll be around without the volcano. Too bad. She’s really pretty, even as a statue.”
“Not if I can help it,” Jarvis said. “We’ve got to stop this outrage.”
“Look, we’re going broke here from lack of tourists. I’d love to have an active volcano to attract the tours. Let’s face it, that cone is dead or dying, and we have to make do without it. That banana plantation will do the job.”
Jarvis tuned him out. “Lava! Lava! I think I love you, no matter what you are. Listen to me.” He stroked her warming face with his fingers.
Her eyelids flickered. Her lips moved. “What you thought—it’s horrible! Butchering the volcano!”
“Listen to me,” Jarvis repeated. “I’ve got an idea. You connect to the volcano. Tell it about this. About the bulldozers coming.”
“It won’t like that,” she said, reanimating further. “It—it might be angry.”
“Tell it! Relay my thought. Tell it what’s coming.”
“I think I love you, too, Jarvis. I’d do anything for you. But this—if the volcano vents its fury—could kill you.”
“I’ll take that chance. Tell it!”
“You think that will stop the plantation?” the hotel manager asked. “Volcanoes don’t come to life for no reason.”
“Tell it,” Jarvis said once more.
She animated further and managed to sit up. “Then kiss me. Before I tell it. Before it’s too late.”
He got down on his knees and kissed her. There was a quality of desperation for them both. If this worked, it would banish the bananas, but maybe more than that. How much more? Only the future would tell, and it was one they couldn’t risk not exploring.
Lava closed her eyes, communicating.
There was a rumble.
“Uh-oh,” the manager said. “That’s an earthquake. We have to get out of the building!”
They got out fast. There was another rumble, stronger. The hotel started to collapse.
The three of them ran through the village as the third shake came. The villagers were screaming and fleeing their houses.
In moments, everyone gathered on the beach, as there was nowhere farther to flee. They stood and gazed back at the volcano. Now, smoke was rising from it. It was returning to its active state.
“Tell it that’s enough,” Jarvis yelled in Lava’s ear. “The dozers won’t come now.”
She concentrated. The quakes halted. The smoke dissipated. The threatening eruption stalled.
Jarvis faced the villagers. “The volcano is becoming active. We need to pacify it, so it won’t blow up the whole island. We need to resume worshiping it, or at least, giving it its due offerings each day. That’s the way it used to be.”
The villagers nodded. They knew about pacifying volcanoes. Their ancestors had done it for centuries.
“And the tourists will come,” the manager said, catching on. “Gobs of them. To see the show. Damn, I need to call the insurance folks. We need to get the hotel back up and bustling!”
“They’ll come,” Jarvis agreed. “With offerings. There’ll be a show of smoke and ash, maybe some flowing lava, but not a bad eruption. And everyone will talk about this volcano.”
“You knew,” Lava said, reading his mind, “that anger at the bulldozers would rouse it.”
“I hoped.” Then he kissed her. They had a good life forming.
Piers Anthony was born in Oxford, England, in 1934. His family was doing relief work in Spain during the Spanish Civil War, so Piers spent a year in Spain. The new fascist government expelled the family from Spain, and Piers had his 6th birthday on the ship to America.
He was not a great student, taking 3 years and 5 schools to make it through first grade because of his trouble learning to read. Yet in due course he became a writer, making his first story sale in 1962 and going on to have 21 novels on the New York Times bestseller list.
Today he lives with his wife on their tree farm in backwoods Florida. He is still writing stories and novels. To date he has had over 170 books published.