Chapter 8 Dance

In the early morning, Jade left the opera café and walked to the stable with an easy stride. The sounds that drifted into that chilly, narrow street had a distant quality, as if they too were barely awake. There was a sense of expectation in the air—a purpose to be fulfilled.

Entering the stable, she slipped from stall to stall, and looked in on her new charges that were waiting for breakfast. Each horse greeted her with intense interest, followed by disappointment when she came without food. She was searching for a horse that would enjoy some exercise. After checking several stalls, she chose a thin, roan mare whose eyes remained on hers even when the customary feed didn't appear.

After putting on the bridle, she checked the mare's hooves for stones. Her hooves had been recently cleaned, and neatly trimmed. She'd noticed the same with the rest of the horses. They're being well cared for. Rascon is taking the time to do basic maintenance.

While grooming the mare, she studied her reactions, and assessed the horse's temperament. Of course, without knowing her habits, there was no way to know exactly how the mare would behave once she was out of her stall. She might startle easily or suddenly get it into her mind to take off with her new rider.

The crisp morning air was exhilarating and both horse and rider responded. Once they were on the bridle path, the roan settled into a fast trot and Jade let her set the pace. Soon they were next to the large cedars and approaching the first turn. When they were past the trees, Jade could see a lone rider ahead about a quarter of a mile away. She guessed it was a man because of his size. He was riding a large, dark horse. As they drew near, she noticed that the horse was straining at the bit while the man held him back with a heavy hand. The horse repeatedly jerked his head and fought the rider. Suddenly, the man pulled the horse back into an abrupt stop, and then spun the quivering animal around. Now they were facing Jade, and she recognized him. It was Rascon.

His jaw was clenched and his brow furrowed. When he saw her, he scowled darkly, and scrupulously avoided her eyes as he passed by.

She ignored him as well, and finished the exercise session with the mare.

Later, she stood in the mare's stall and stroked her while the horses around them whinnied loudly as Rascon tossed hay to them.

Over the next two hours Jade groomed horses, and checked their health and temperament while Rascon moved about the stable and worked on various projects. She stayed in the stalls and avoided him. When he finally left the stable, she looked in on the dark horse that he had ridden that morning.

The moment she stepped into his stall, the stallion walked up to her, and vigorously pushed his head into her chest. Then he danced around a bit as if anticipating something. Judging him to be somewhat high strung, she spoke with a calm voice, and lightly touched him. After ten minutes, he settled down, and responded to her. If Rascon hadn't exercised him that morning, she would have taken him out. She wanted to know how he would behave under a gentler hand.

When it was time for dinner, she didn't bother to change her clothes. As she entered the café, her breeches and knee length tunic caused a few eyes to roll, but she didn't care. After a quick meal, she left for her room.

While soaking in the warm tub of water which had been delivered to her room, she tried to ignore the restlessness that clung to her mind. The tension was building again.

The music was back in her head. It had started as a faint melody when she awoke that morning, and had gained momentum as the day advanced. At that moment, it was a rhythmic throbbing in her chest and stomach. It was distracting, calling to her, stealing her attention.

Tomorrow, Pierre would be in Paris. She had planned to meet him briefly in the market at the noon hour, and invite him to dinner. If the music dominated her, it would be difficult to hear his voice. She needed to take care of it.

She decided to go for a walk.

Roaming the streets, she finally arrived at the river. It was a few nights before the full moon, and bright light shone on the water below. How beautiful, she thought as a moment of stillness filled her. A few couples were strolling along the right bank and talking with each other quietly as they took in the view. Lovers, she mused. As Jade watched them, she admired the comfort they took from each other's presence.

Then she set about her task. Walking briskly along the bank, she tried to free herself from the music. Some times, that's all that was needed to make it stop.

An hour, she sat on a bench, and stared at the river with frustration. Not tonight. It would take something more.

Walking back to the opera house, she considered the many empty rooms of that large building. Surely, one of them would guarantee privacy. She needed privacy.

After a determined search, she finally ended up in the auditorium. The stage! Why not here? It was quiet enough. All she needed was a little light. But first…

Jade returned to her room, and got her riding breeches, several spare candles and candleholders that she had collected for such an occasion. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was nine thirty. She would wait until ten, and pray that it was late enough for people to have retired for the night.

When she arrived at the auditorium, she soaked in the darkness and silence. She lit a candle, walked the length of the great stage, and she set four candles at its edge. Stepping to the center of the stage, she gauged the distance it would take to travel to the end. She didn't want to get carried away and land in the orchestra pit. Then she removed her dress and put on the breeches. Fortunately, after the day's work, they had stretched enough for her to use them tonight. Donning her tunic, she was ready.

Silently, she stepped out of the darkness, and prepared to dance.

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At eight o'clock that night, he finished his work. He had spent the entire day bent over paper, vigorously drawing architectural plans. There had been a brief break for lunch, and then he had begun again

Now it was time to relax.

Drawing a bath in the sunken, marble tub, he slowly slipped into it. Stretching out his cramped limbs, he absorbed the delicious heat. It was never really warm down here in his underground cave. He could heat his house if he chose to, but he often forgot about it, and simply lived with the natural environment. After a day such as today when he worked long hours over his desk, he was more susceptible to the cold. A warm bath was therapeutic as well as a pleasure.

Lounging, he lazily rubbed the soap along his body. He was thinking about his music and how long it had been since he had seriously composed. He really hadn't done anything worthwhile since…

With that thought, his muscles suddenly tensed. Sighing, he exited the bath, and abandoned both its soothing warmth and the thoughts it allowed in.

He dressed in front of a mirror, and examined the fit of his new suit. As usual, he looked flawless. Not that anyone but himself would notice it. However, it was important that his dress be impeccable. It wouldn't do to fall into slovenly habits.

It was nearly the end of summer, and it would be pleasant to take a leisurely stroll. In a week it would be autumn, and the nights would soon grow colder.

Once in the opera house, he traveled past the dressing rooms and moved toward the grand foyer. The lure of the night air was upon him, and for once he was eager to feel its light touch on his face. In the last few months, his spirits had been steadily rising as his interest in the simple things of life returned.

Arriving at the foyer, he headed towards the great doors that lead to the street. Then, something called to him from the auditorium. Not a sound, just an impulse: a strange, little tension in his mind. Turning back, he crept up the stairs, and entered the dark room.

It was very still, without a sign of life. For a moment he wondered what had called to him. Then he sat in one of the velvet chairs and waited.

It was only a minute before she entered. Lighting a single candle, she cautiously walked onto the stage as her eyes searched the darkness. Walking along its outer edge, she placed several candles there. Then she paced the stage as if measuring its distance. Finally, she stepped back into the shadows where she changed her clothes.

She emerged wearing leather breeches and a tunic that fell to her knees. Her feet were bare.

When she closed her eyes, he leaned forward slightly with expectation.

This time, there was no preliminary twirling and falling. Instead, when her eyes opened she began her dance with a series of leaps. It started with a complete spinning turn, then a leap, and then another turn followed by a leap. In that way, she moved across the stage. Her leaps grew stronger and higher as she gracefully arched her back with arms curved over her head, and her chin tipped to the ceiling. The strength of her legs was staggering. When she was suspended in the air, she looked more like a deer than a human. And yet in the midst of that athletic prowess, there was an absolute grace, a pronounced rhythm. He followed it by tapping his finger on the seat in front of him, and realized that she wasn't following a simple, single beat. The music in her mind was complex.

Then the dance changed. The hard driving rhythm softened, and slowed. She continued to move across the stage but her steps were light and playful with her arms waving smoothly and sensually to the rhythm. Tossing her head, she looked seductively over her shoulder as she smiled knowingly at an unseen audience. It was the same type of dance that he had seen many times before as a child in the gypsy camps when the women entertained their men. But, she had perfected it. Eliminated the distractions and boiled it down to a pure, simple expression. Watching her, he could see and smell the campfires again, and the swarthy men looking with admiration and lust at their women.

One last time, the rhythm again changed, and slowed to an almost imperceptible beat. She knelt on the floor, moving shoulders, arms, and body, as she wrapped herself with the airs around her. It was soothing, and light. So light, as she stroked the air with fingertips, beckoning it to join her in living form. She called to the spirits, asking them to step out from the shadows, and show their lonely faces to this queen of dance.

Her dancing finished, she bowed her head, and after a minute rose. Gathering up her pile of clothes, she moved to the edge of the stage, and extinguished each candle. Then she left him in the darkness.

He sat there in silence, thinking about what he had just seen and experienced.

Once again, he was physically affected by her performance. It's as if her act of dancing captured and revealed feelings that he had forgotten long ago, but which had remained resting in his body. When she did her high leaps and spins, he remembered his trips through the forest where he had startled deer. He relived the thrill he of them bounding away: unbridled power, consummate grace. During that part, his heart had beaten faster, and he had felt light headed. As she danced the second movement, he saw the beautiful, dark eyes of the gypsies—intense and alluring, possessing those who they sought to conquer. As an adolescent, how many times had he felt a hot sensation in his groin as he watched their playful, sexual games? He felt it again tonight.

The last movement was cleansing and evocative, as if she were appeasing the spirits of the past and the present. Peace remained in its aftermath.

He got up and walked to the foyer. Pushing through the doors, he traveled towards the river. A thought had entered his mind, and it had begun to burn.

Quickly he made his way to the river. There, he stood at its edge and gazed at the moonlight glimmering upon the water. The playful light shimmered, and broke as it rode the ripples. It seemed to open up possibilities in his mind.

Sitting on a bench near the river, he spent the hour watching the moon cross the sky. His hood covered his mask and hid him from the occasional pedestrian, while he remained there, deep in thought.

There was no delicate diva to sing his music. However, there was this amazing talent resting in his opera house, under the ignorant noses of the residents.

What would it be like if she were to dance to my music?

It's really too good to resist, he mused. After all, didn't fate call him to the auditorium to witness the spectacle of her hidden performance? Wasn't there a piece of destiny to all this?

She danced alone, seeking privacy for her performances. Would she dance for an audience of one if the right music were played?

Leaving the river, he quickly returned to the opera house. A melody was forming in his mind. It was the sort of music that one might sing to a wild doe in order to tame her. Or would a tune to charm a young lioness be a better choice?

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Jade went to her room, and removed the breeches. After laying them carefully across the chair, she slipped into her bedclothes. Brushing her hair out before the great mirror, she paused, and looked at herself long and hard.

How long will this go on?

For as long as she could remember, the music had been in her mind. A melody would play for days or weeks until it was replaced with another. An eternal concert. When she was tiny, it had been wondrous. She had assumed that everyone else heard it as well.

Even now, the melody was often peaceful and joyful. It was a familiar yet enchanting accompaniment that like a dear friend never left her side.

The day she told her mother about the music was one of the worst days of her life. The fear and sadness in her mother's eyes had been horrible. After that, things had changed between them. An emotional gap grew between Jade and the woman that she adored as fear of Jade's madness entrenched itself in the woman's mind. And that was only the beginning of the pain.

At some time in her youth, she had learned that if she danced to the tune long enough, she could silence it, at least for a while. It became necessary to do so when the melody was raucous or too intense. As she grew older, her dancing became more subtle and complicated, and placed more physical demands upon her.

She never resented the act. On the contrary, there was an indescribable thrill to letting the music take possession of her body, of her whole self, while it was released.

It was the hiding that troubled her, the need for secrecy and the constant risk of discovery with its consequences. For instance, tonight in the auditorium, what if she had been seen? She could be easily fired for her eccentricity and the mistrust it generated. Then there was the issue of madness. She had been threatened with that before. It was one of the reasons she had chosen to come to Paris, to avoid provincial superstitions and rigid beliefs, and their harsh punishments.

And lastly, there was the issue of control. If a person accidentally discovered her dancing, and was not disturbed by her compulsive and eccentric behavior, it was because he wished to profit from it. She had met a few who had tried to take advantage of her, and own her. It had made her feel hopelessly freakish. It had violated her independence and self-control to be regarded as a type of performance monkey, a servant to another's will.

She laid the brush aside and turned out the light. Crawling under the covers, she stared into the darkness.

If only there was a place where I could go to be alone at such times. If I had a safe place to dance out my music, I could then live a normal life.

Jade rolled onto her side, and felt sleep's gentle relief approach her tired mind. Tomorrow she would see Pierre. In some ways, he was like Jean-Luc. Gentle Jean-Luc, who never judged, who only loved…