Read Online Tooner Schooner by Mary Lasswell - Free Book Online Page B

could stand their fumbling no longer. “Got her, Miss Tinkham?” Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Rasmussen had the interloper by the waist good and tight. The change of hold made the skirt and petticoat drop down. “One! Two!” Mrs. Feeley ripped off the big hat and the heavy black lace veil. The guests were reeling with laughter, holding on to each other for support. Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Rasmussen were speechless. “Gimme a beer,” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “I mighta knew it was Ol’-Timer.” Red turned the music on again and Captain Dowdy came up to dance with Mrs. Feeley.
    “We loaded that ’un, didn’t we?” He chuckled as he hopped from one foot to the other in a sort of nautical highland fling.
    “You scrimy B!” Mrs. Feeley giggled. “It was settlin’ down into somethin’ too much like respectability to be any fun.”
    “Mrs. Rasmussen never woulda said that. Serves me right for wastin’ my time on you,” he growled.
    “Me for a beer,” Mrs. Feeley said. “I can’t stand any more o’ that rout step. You better dance with Sunshine.”
    “Aw, her.”
    “An’ don’t miss!”
    “Maybe they laughed theirselfs out,” Mrs. Feeley said to Mrs. Rasmussen. Miss Tinkham and Red were coming out of Green Four with another stack of records. The dancing was slower and the music not so loud. Someone had doused a pair of baby-spotlights and reduced the glare. Overhead the moon glowed, big and velvety. The breeze from the bay was just right. “Da-dee-da-da- DAH ,” Mrs. Feeley hummed softly. The Royal Hawaiians were at it again. “Cuss Red an’ his speakers out much as you like, they sure pick that music up lovely.” Mrs. Rasmussen nodded and moved over for Darleen and Johnny to sit on the bench near them. Jasper and Oscar pulled another one up beside them.
    “Whassat?” Mrs. Feeley heard something odd.
    “Sounds like a drum.” The captain lit Velma’s little black cigar for her and sat down by Mrs. Rasmussen.
    “It ain’t comin’ outa the record player,” Oscar said. The drumming got more pronounced, still in perfect time to the music of “Lovely Hula Hands.”
    “What the hell’s that?” Mrs. Feeley whispered, and pointed to a bundle that seemed to slither out of the shadows of the breezeway onto the driveway. The baby-spot picked up the barely moving figure. Mrs. Rasmussen heard the captain draw in his breath sharply:
    “Sunshine dancin’ the siva.”
     

    She wore the trappings of the taupó, bare from waist to neck, except for the great shark’s-tooth necklace. The fine-mat was folded gracefully into a skirt a little above her knees. Around her ankles she had tied pliant leaves of dark red croton plant. The part of her body that was visible glistened with oil. The bright red hair of the ceremonial headdress hung down around her shoulders. Above it the spires of the headdress quivered.
    “This is the McCoy,” Velma whispered. “I’ve got a book about it.”
    Sunshine advanced slowly and gracefully, her body held supple but erect. The bends were as stately as in a classic ballet, the line absolutely plumb. She seemed to bend at the ankles as well as at the knees and the waist. Even when she almost swept the ground in front of her with her knees, folding at the hips, not bending forward, her back was held perfectly straight and her breast high. The movements of her hands, wrists and arms were fluid as the tide, graceful as birds in flight.
    “It ain’t no hula,” Mrs. Feeley said softly. “She don’t jiggle nor wiggle.”
    “This here’s almost a kind o’ sacred dance,” the captain said.
    “I swear she ain’t got a bone in her body,” Mrs. Feeley said. “It’s the most beautifullest sight I ever see.”
    The drums faded down and the music slowed to the finish, leaving Sunshine sitting on the ground, each foot resting on the opposite knee, as she completed the form of the dance with movements of the arms and hands so delicate that Captain Dowdy thought of a gull settling into