"The kind that grab girls,” she said, still really not believing it.
"Did your father or your mother ever let you be alone among men?"
She shot a resentful glance at him, and dropped the subject.
The wagons were arranged in a rough circle. Each one was massive and covered, with room for traveling supplies, trading goods, and several people tucked in around the edges.
They went to the clearing in the center. The wagon master glanced at the string. “Third wagon. Report to dance at the beginning of each stop, beginning tonight.” He indicated the direction.
They walked to the indicated wagon. Rather, Beat walked and Eke skipped. She had a lot of energy. “He sure read a lot in that string,” Eke remarked.
"The color and the knotting spells it out. They know what they're doing."
A fat old woman poked her head out of the third wagon as they approached. Beat held up the string for her to view. She nodded “Here you are.” She showed them a crevice between bags of potatoes. “Put your stuff here; I'll guard it.” She squinted knowingly at Eke. “Go do your dance."
They did so, and returned to the center. People were milling around, taking care of assorted details. There seemed to be no real organization, other than a table being set up for a caravan meal. So they set up to one side, and Beat sat carefully on the ground and began beating his drum, while Eke danced.
In a moment several people were watching, the men intent, the women curious. Soon all of them ceased their labors and looked, as Beat got into the cadence and Eke extended herself with increasingly fancy footwork. Each time they tried it, they were better; it was surprising. They did the set piece, then improvised, and it all worked well.
"Enough,” the caravan cook called. “I can't serve while watching you, and I can't not watch you."
Others laughed. It was clear that the girl did have something; everyone who saw her dance stayed to watch.
The foreman stopped by. “She's a live one,” he murmured. “But it's not all her; there is magic in your rhythm."
"Not a lot,” Beat said ruefully. “I am way past my prime."
"Perhaps.” The man moved on.
They had a decent meal, then went to the latrine area, where Beat waited for Eke, then required her to wait for him. Neither would he let her run around on her own. She chafed openly at this restriction, but obeyed to a degree. She tended to run ahead of him, or to the side, not quite daring him to rebuke her in public. She was so full of energy it was a wary delight to see her; how was he ever going to get this pretty innocent safely to her mother?
Then as they were walking back to the wagon, Eke skipped too closely by a working area, and a man grabbed at the girl. She screamed piercingly.
The foreman appeared, peering across the inner circle. “Take him out,” he snapped.
Two burly wagoneers converged on the grabbing man. He tried to dodge them, but they caught him by arms and legs and hauled him roughly away.
Beat turned to catch the eye of the foreman across the way, nodding. The foreman returned the nod.
Eke was shaking. “He grabbed me!” she exclaimed.
Beat suppressed his sympathy; this was a useful lesson. “Fortunately you were protected. Be alert henceforth."
"I will.” Now she walked much closer to him.
Beat did not say so, but he was pretty sure the foreman had set up the grab, not to harass the girl but to make the point to her. He knew the danger as well as Beat did, for one as pretty as this. Unspoken was the man's assessment of Beat: unable to rescue the child, should the worst happen.
The fat woman frowned at Eke as they arrived at the wagon. “Don't you go near those men,” she said. “Stay close to your grandpa."
"I will,” Eke agreed fervently.
The woman allowed half a smile to form. “That's good, dear."
Their crevice was barely big enough for one, let alone two, and quite inappropriate for a man and girl. But now Eke was staying too close to him, nervous about any other contact, and he had no choice. She snuggled into to him, half curved within his embrace. She was his granddaughter, for the nonce; it was legitimate to hold her.
"I'm sorry I didn't stay close,” she murmured. “I thought you were just being mean."
"Never that,” he replied, and stroked her fine hair.
She was soon asleep. He lingered for a time, feeling oddly invigorated. It was not that he had any untoward thoughts about the girl in his embrace, but that somehow he felt younger and stronger than he had in years, better able to protect her. She was very much the child or grandchild he had wanted, even in her willfulness. A healthy girl, eager to explore life, too trusting of others, but delightful in that innocence. He wished he could keep her, but of course that was thrice impossible: this was no fault, their families were going different ways, and he was too old. He expected to die in the next year or two. This unexpected charge to deliver the girl seemed to have invigorated him, but he would surely pay for that in due course, as he suffered the letdown when their journey was done. Yet how nice it was at this moment, to have this passing relationship.
He woke startled: she was kissing him. “Wake, Grandpa; we'll miss breakfast!"
"Don't do that,” he protested, stirring.
"But I'm hungry!"
"I mean the kissing. It's not—"
"You're my Grandpa, and I love you. You take care of me. I had to kiss you."
And it was no fault. “Not on the mouth,” he said, relenting.
"Awwww. Do you want me to tickle you instead?"
"Negation! I'm too old for that. If I laughed too heartily I might fall apart."
"No you won't. You're strong, to take care of me."
"Honey, I'm not strong at all. I'm feeble. But I am trying to take care of you as I should."
"I'm glad.” She wriggled enthusiastically, working her way out of their necessarily squeezed embrace.
He followed. “I seem stronger than I was,” he said, surprised.
"Its the healing."
"The what?"
"I'm a healer, like Mom. My touch helps, when I want it to, and I touched you all night."
So it wasn't his imagination. “A healer! Why didn't you say so?"
"You didn't ask."
"But that takes life energy from the healer. I shouldn't take yours."
"It's okay, Grandpa. I've got energy to spare. Anyway, it was slow, while I slept, so I recharged at the same rate. I'm okay and you're better."
Beat shook his head as he climbed out and joined her on the ground. “I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not making you take care of me. I want to deliver you to your mother in the best condition."
She pouted cutely. “Isn't no fault two way? Why can't I help you, if I can?"
She was right again. “Appreciation, Granddaughter."
"Accepted!” She flung her arms about him and kissed him on the cheek. And he felt the power of her healing, in her arms and especially in her kiss, like a warm glow that spread from the points of contact. She really was making him feel younger and stronger. He had not realized that healing could work like this; he had thought of it as applying to injuries or extreme fatigue.
"And next time you're hungry between meals,” he told her, “take from the bag the cook gave us."
"I already ate the pie. I left the bag of salad for you. And the jug of ale."
"Thank you, Granddaughter,” he said wryly.
They took their equipment and went to the morning mess. “Make it brief,” the cook called, smiling.
They made it brief. Beat drummed with vigor, and Eke danced with similar vigor, and in a moment the folk of the caravan emerged from their wagons and came to watch. The sound had alerted them, and the dance held them. Now Beat realized that this had helped him the day before; it was not so much his getting back into the old routines, as the near presence of the girl with her healing power, enabling him. She had been contributing more than he had thought.
They stopped, a
nd the cook gave them good plates. “Going far?” a drover inquired.
"To Music Village,” Eke responded brightly.
"Then we'll have a nice trip, that far. You're good."
"It's Grandpa's drumming. He makes me move better."
Beat thought to protest, but did not want to second guess her in public. She was doing more for his ability than he was for hers.
After the meal it was time to get moving. The people quickly went to their wagons, and the horses stepped out.
"I appreciate your support,” Beat said as they sat wedged at the front of the potato bags. “But there is no need to give me more credit than is due."
"But it's true, Grandpa! You've got the touch. My feet move better. I never was that good before, even with my good shoes."
"I've got the touch because you have the feet,” he said. “You enable me to do it better than I have since I retired."
She leaned over and kissed him again, and he felt the flow of healing energy. “We're a team,” she said. “We relate."
"We relate,” he agreed. The relationship of a drummer and a dancer was said to be as close in its fashion as siblings or partners in marriage. There was truth there. But it was amazing to have it manifest in such divergent people.
The wagons moved to the staging area in the fringe of the first Chroma zone, Yellow. “Oooo!” Eke cried appreciatively as the fires leaped up around them, without burning. The flame men came, and lifted the wagons on great balls of flame. “Oooo!” the girl repeated, this time nervous as she saw the ground drop below, grabbing onto Beat for comfort.
"It is controlled magic,” he reassured her. “The firemen know what they are doing. The caravan master has a deal with them for safe passage."
"And we have a deal to ride along,” she agreed.
"Yes, that's why we must perform. No one travels free."
"If I weren't with you, I'd be really scared,” she confided, shivering despite the apparent heat.
"No need, no need,” he said comfortingly. “I have traveled across Chroma many times. It is fine, unless there's an eruption."
"I hope there isn't."
There wasn't, but in the next Chroma zone, a Green one, there was. The big green volcano let fly a huge green ball that floated ominously toward them. The other wagons of the caravan quickly descended. But the Green drover on their own wagon seemed oblivious to the danger. The other travelers on the wagon, long bored with such flights, were asleep.
"Get this wagon down!” Beat yelled. The drover didn't respond; he was snoozing too. So Beat fetched a potato and threw it. It bounced off the drover's shoulder, waking him. Then the drover quickly signaled the huge plant that was swinging them along with its tentacles, and the wagon descended to the ground just in time to let the green ball pass overhead.
"You saved us!” Eke cried.
"I just happened to be paying attention, thanks to you."
When they reached the next staging area, the foreman approached. “You owe us a potato."
"Apology."
The man clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Too bad you didn't hit that Green dunce on the head. He was sleeping on duty. We could have lost the wagon."
After that, the fat woman approached. “We heard what you did. Why don't you let the girl sit with me, next lift? My daughter would like to thank you.” She indicated a voluptuous young woman.
"No need,” Beat said, pleasantly embarrassed.
"You saved us all,” the young woman said. “We agreed that I should be the one.” She turned back the lapel of her jacket to show a healthy breast.
"No need,” Beat repeated, blushing. “I'm an old man."
"Maybe tonight,” the woman said, not pushing it at the moment.
When they were alone again, Eke had a question. “How come she didn't thank you, when she said she was going to?"
"She had something else in mind."
"What else?"
"I don't think it is appropriate to—"
"Oh, come on, Grandpa! How can I learn anything if you don't tell me?"
So he had to explain. “You know that all I did was throw a potato to wake the drover. But they feel grateful, so want to reward me with a—a service. The woman proposes to come to me for—” He stalled out.
"For sex!” she exclaimed. “That's how women reward men!"
"Affirmation,” he agreed weakly.
"I guess you do deserve it. I'll go sit with Fatty."
"Negation!"
She eyed him cannily. “The name or the act?"
"Both."
"Neither. I won't call her that, and you can have the woman. I know it's fun; Mom and Dad do it all the time, especially when they've been apart too long. I'll be safe enough with the old woman."
This continued awkward. “Perhaps you will be. But would I be safe with that young woman?"
"She sure doesn't mean you any harm, Grandpa."
"Folk my age can't necessarily do what younger folk do. I don't want to embarrass myself."
She was perplexed. “Is there something else I don't know? Why would you be embarrassed if she's willing?"
Beat reminded himself that the girl had not had any close acquaintance with a man his age. “Older men can lose their capacity to do certain things. They don't like making that obvious."
She pondered only a moment. “I bet I can heal you so you can. Let me charge you up.” She put her hands on his shoulders, and he felt the power starting.
"Negation!” he said. “This is not appropriate."
"Awwww.” But she desisted. “So I don't have to go anywhere?"
"Affirmation."
"I'm glad."
"The old woman doesn't mean you any harm,” he teased her.
"Oh, I know. But I like being with you. That plush woman would have kept you the whole night."
"Trying to do what a young man would do in one minute,” he said ruefully.
She laughed. “Maybe an hour, for you. She looks pretty juicy."
"This is not appropriate—"
"Oh, come on, Grandpa! I know what it is. Mom travels no fault all the time with her drummer. He's married too, and older than she is, but she's so luscious she makes him young."
"And what does your dad think of that?"
"He travels no fault too, with his assistant. But he doesn't love her; it's just sex. He loves Mom. She's beautiful."
As if that was all there was to it. But it was clear that her parents had made a necessary adjustment for their enforced separation, and that the girl understood and accepted it. He had perhaps been unduly cautious about her innocence.
In the evening the voluptuous young woman reappeared. She was wearing a blouse that must have been fashioned in the Translucent Chroma zone. “Are you ready to be thanked?"
"I appreciate your appreciation,” Beat began carefully. “But as I said before, there is no requirement."
"Confusion,” the woman said. She was surely not accustomed to being turned down, with excellent reason.
"Grandpa means he can't get it up any more,” Eke said helpfully.
Ouch! Beat was too busy flushing to think of anything to say.
The woman took it in stride. “Shall we see about that?” She stroked her tight skirt suggestively.
"Grandpa doesn't want you to see it not get up. That would embarrass him."
The woman seemed to bite her tongue. “We would not want to embarrass him,” she agreed, turning away. She probably needed to get far enough distant so that she could safely let out her stifled laughter.
Eke faced him. “See? You didn't have to embarrass yourself."
Indeed. She had done it for him.
The journey continued. When they had a break, while the caravan handled its business, they ran through the various routines, which they now had down pat. “I wish I could do the finale,” Eke said.
"I'm sure you could, if you practiced it."
"No, it's beyond me. It's just too complicated."
"Let's s
ee about that. You know the step?"
"Sure, Mom always finished a show with it. But she says it took her years to get it."
"Maybe so. But you have real potential. I think you could do it, with the right cadence."
"You do?” she asked excitedly. “Show me!"
"Here's the beat.” He started the intricate cadence.
"But that's too slow!"
"It starts slow. Do it slow."
She did the step. “It's fast that gets me."
"Follow as I pick it up.” He drummed a bit faster.
She followed. But as he picked it up farther, she lost it. “Expletive!"
Beat ignored the crude expression. “You're thinking of your feet. You need to do it automatically. Focus on me while you dance."
"I can't."
"You can. Meet my gaze.” He started slow again.
She fixed her eyes on his and resumed the step. She stumbled, cursed, and tried again. “This is weird. My feet are disconnected."
"They are supposed to be. Don't think of your body at all; just match the cadence. Once you get it, you've got it."
She tried again, and failed, but he wouldn't let her quit. “I know you can do it, honey. Once you get the trick of it. It will fall into place."
"Naaa.” But she tried again, and again.
Then, abruptly, it connected. Her gaze remained fixed on him, and her feet caught the cadence. He speeded it, but only somewhat. “You've got it. That's enough for today."
"But I want to go fast!"
"If you try, you'll lose it. Get it perfect slow, then we'll work up."
"Awwww.” But she let it go. Then, as she stopped dancing, she grimaced. “My legs hurt!"
"Apology. I worked you too hard. You were so close, I wanted you to get it."
"And I got it,” she agreed, pleased. “You made me get it."
"Now relax. Tomorrow we'll try it again. Stage by stage we'll get you there."
"Stage by stage,” she agreed, and hugged him. “How come you know how?"
"My third son is a dancer. I went through it with him."
"I thought he was a drummer."
"That's my fourth son."
She shrugged. “Okay."
They continued to practice on successive days. Slowly they got up to speed, until Eke was able to do the finale before an appreciative audience. She still was not at competitive level, but she would get there as she matured.