Read Online The Dancers of Noyo by Margaret St. Clair - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret St. Clair
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excited.
"I don't know. They jutht aren't here anymore ... I'd better go, Tham . If they find me here, they'll get mad."
"Wait. Why've they put me in jail? What do they mean when they talk about keeping me here until I'm in a better frame of mind?"
"I don't know." She turned her head away from the window. There was an evasive note in her voice.
"Yes you do! Why—"
"No I don't! I don't!" I heard the sound of her feet as she ran away.
I sighed. My arms were beginning to hurt. I didn't know which of the problems before me I ought to wor r y about—whether to concentrate on what had happened to the junior Gulchers, or on how I was to get loose, or on why the Gulchers were detaining me. Maybe the last item would be best—if I knew why they were keeping me, I might be able to persuade them to let me go.
Perhaps my increasing physical distress acted as a catalyst. Anyhow, when my guard came in about nine and looked at me questioningly, the answer came to me full - blown: the Gulchers were holding me until I had some more extra-lives.
Brotherly had left me on the highway, convinced that I had begun the cycle of confusion and extrapersonal crisis that constituted the Grail Journey. But when I had got to Russian Gulch, I hadn't acted crazy enough. They had sent for Brotherly. He had consulted with them, and advised them to hold me on some pretext until I was obviously living another identity. After that, I ought to be confused enough to be released safely. Probably hunger and physical suffering were supposed to hasten the experience.
OK, but how did somebody behave who was having an extra-life? I really didn't know. I hadn't been around to watch myself when I was being Alvin. I'd have to fake it.
I relaxed as much as I could in my bonds. I let my knees bend and my jaw drop. I made my eyes cross and my gaze blank. I drooled.
" What'sa matter?" the guard asked suspiciously. He came closer.
Was I doing it right? I opened my mouth to say something crazy, something like, "Green grows the gladstone ." Before I could get the first word out, I was no longer there to say anything. I had begun to be somebody else.
-
Chapter VI
The big problem, on the seashore, was to find a protected place for the candle to burn, for the flame would develop its characteristic visionary quiver only if it burned in still a ir . Jarred and buffeted by the wind it burned—paradoxically enough—with a long, steady flaring sodium flame.
Bonnet picked his way carefully over the driftwood, fearful of breaking an ankle. His bones were slushy and soft these days, like rotten ice. But he wanted to be by the water when he lighted the candle. It seemed to him it was the only possible place for him to be.
Up close under the bluff was a shallow cave, hollowed out by the waves of the highest tides. Picnickers had hauled up lengths of driftwood for fires. Bennet sat down with his back against the bluff. For a moment he was quiet, looking out over the always-renewed line of the waves and letting happiness settle around him like an ethereal cloak. But there was something wrong with his emotion, something flawed and imperfect. It wasn't intense enough, and there was fear under it. He wasn't getting the happiness that, as a dying man, he was entitled to.
He sighed. He would light the candle, stare into its fluting, spiraled, green-zoned flame, and hope. Something might happen within him. Or something might come out of the water to him.
"I don't know. They jutht aren't here anymore ... I'd better go, Tham . If they find me here, they'll get mad."
"Wait. Why've they put me in jail? What do they mean when they talk about keeping me here until I'm in a better frame of mind?"
"I don't know." She turned her head away from the window. There was an evasive note in her voice.
"Yes you do! Why—"
"No I don't! I don't!" I heard the sound of her feet as she ran away.
I sighed. My arms were beginning to hurt. I didn't know which of the problems before me I ought to wor r y about—whether to concentrate on what had happened to the junior Gulchers, or on how I was to get loose, or on why the Gulchers were detaining me. Maybe the last item would be best—if I knew why they were keeping me, I might be able to persuade them to let me go.
Perhaps my increasing physical distress acted as a catalyst. Anyhow, when my guard came in about nine and looked at me questioningly, the answer came to me full - blown: the Gulchers were holding me until I had some more extra-lives.
Brotherly had left me on the highway, convinced that I had begun the cycle of confusion and extrapersonal crisis that constituted the Grail Journey. But when I had got to Russian Gulch, I hadn't acted crazy enough. They had sent for Brotherly. He had consulted with them, and advised them to hold me on some pretext until I was obviously living another identity. After that, I ought to be confused enough to be released safely. Probably hunger and physical suffering were supposed to hasten the experience.
OK, but how did somebody behave who was having an extra-life? I really didn't know. I hadn't been around to watch myself when I was being Alvin. I'd have to fake it.
I relaxed as much as I could in my bonds. I let my knees bend and my jaw drop. I made my eyes cross and my gaze blank. I drooled.
" What'sa matter?" the guard asked suspiciously. He came closer.
Was I doing it right? I opened my mouth to say something crazy, something like, "Green grows the gladstone ." Before I could get the first word out, I was no longer there to say anything. I had begun to be somebody else.
-
Chapter VI
The big problem, on the seashore, was to find a protected place for the candle to burn, for the flame would develop its characteristic visionary quiver only if it burned in still a ir . Jarred and buffeted by the wind it burned—paradoxically enough—with a long, steady flaring sodium flame.
Bonnet picked his way carefully over the driftwood, fearful of breaking an ankle. His bones were slushy and soft these days, like rotten ice. But he wanted to be by the water when he lighted the candle. It seemed to him it was the only possible place for him to be.
Up close under the bluff was a shallow cave, hollowed out by the waves of the highest tides. Picnickers had hauled up lengths of driftwood for fires. Bennet sat down with his back against the bluff. For a moment he was quiet, looking out over the always-renewed line of the waves and letting happiness settle around him like an ethereal cloak. But there was something wrong with his emotion, something flawed and imperfect. It wasn't intense enough, and there was fear under it. He wasn't getting the happiness that, as a dying man, he was entitled to.
He sighed. He would light the candle, stare into its fluting, spiraled, green-zoned flame, and hope. Something might happen within him. Or something might come out of the water to him.
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