Being a Green Mother

  "Now I am not sure just where we are," she said. "But it would be foolhardy to try to return to our taxi, even if it weren't for the river, and I rather suspect that the nearby town would not be safe for us either. I think we would do best to go in an unexpected direction."

  "Like what?"

  "Like Clover Mountain. It must be near here. To find the fish."

  "I'm game," he said.

  "Why don't I continue carrying your guitar on the carpet, leaving you free to walk?" she suggested.

  He was glad to agree; he did not want to get on the carpet again. He dusted himself off, and she floated up to about head height. "The mountain, slowly," she said to the carpet, speaking aloud for the guitarist's benefit.

  The carpet quivered, reorienting. Then it set off roughly north. Orb was relieved that this was not toward the river.

  "It knows?" the guitarist asked. "Just like that?"

  "It can follow simple directives, yes," she said. "I don't know where the Clover Mountain is, but it can zero in on any identified location. It's very handy that way."

  "Magic is nice," he agreed.

  She floated at a walking pace, and he walked. The terrain was uneven but not rugged, now that they were away from the river. They made decent progress and in an hour reached the foot of the mountain. It was now late afternoon; there would be time to verify whether the fish was here. Orb really did not know what to expect.

  "I suppose I should just call him," she said. "Then, if he appears, I'll have to, er, dance."

  "What's so bad about dancing?"

  "It is a rather special sort of dance." She nerved herself, then put her hands to her mouth and called "Jonah!"

  There was a vibration in the mountain. For a moment Orb was afraid that a tremor or earthquake was starting. Then something brownish and monstrous swam out of the slope and into the air.

  The two of them stared. It was a giant fish—swimming through rock and air as if both were water. The Gypsy woman had spoken truly!

  The fish slowly circled in the air, then came to hover before Orb. It waited.

  Orb was suddenly abashed. "I never really thought—what can I do now?"

  "Dance," the guitarist said, his voice rough.

  She looked at him—and was surprised. He looked haggard. "What happened to you? If I had realized the walk was so hard on you—"

  " 'Snot that. I'm outta condition, but—" he shrugged.

  She caught on. "The H! You're suffering withdrawal!"

  "You got it, sister."

  "You look awful!"

  "I feel awful. But there's no way to do it but to do it. You better get dancing before that fish gets mad."

  "Oh. Yes. But—"

  "You need music," he said. "And you can't play your harp, 'cause you're dancing. That's where I come in." He was taking out his guitar.

  He started to play, but his hands were trembling so badly that the notes were horrors of discordance. He concentrated, but still could not do it. His face was ashen.

  "How can you be so far gone, so quickly?" Orb asked, appalled.

  "S-spelled H is fast," he said, his teeth chattering.

  It sounded like a stutter, and that did something to Orb. She had loved a stutterer! "Take it!" she cried, flinging the packet at him. Her endurance had been less than his, and she hadn't even been the one experiencing it!

  He pounced on it. "Geez, I tried, I tried!" he muttered. "But H just don't let go!" He took a pinch of the powder in the packet and brought it to his nose and sniffed.

  The effect was remarkable. In a few seconds his countenance cleared, and his breathing subsided. He took up the guitar and strummed, and the chord was perfect. "What song?"

  "Any song," Orb said. "What I'm about to do is almost as hard for me as staying off the H was for you."

  "Yeah." He played, and the sound was good, though not with the magic Orb had.

  Yet she needed magic! She knew that she had to do a dance that would convince the big fish she was a Gypsy, and her natural resistance to the appalling suggestiveness of the dance would destroy the effect, for true Gypsies were uninhibited about sexual matters. Magic could enable her to do it.

  "Magic!" she said urgently to the guitarist.

  He shook his head. "I told you, I'm nothing by myself. When you're singing and playing, it comes, but—"

  "Let it come!" she hissed, taking hold of his shoulder and shaking it.

  Suddenly there was magic in his playing. Her touch had done it. The notes of the guitar made the very ground resonate, and the grass of the slope and the leaves of the nearby trees swayed to the beat. The monstrous body of the fish quivered, responding to it.

  She removed her hand. There seemed almost to be a band of electricity connecting them, and the magic continued. Only one guitar was playing, physically, but it seemed like a thousand. "Geez," the guitarist murmured under his breath.

  The fish still hovered, watching. Orb arranged her clothing, hitching up her skirt and tightening her blouse, making her body more salacious than she cared to. But this was the way of the tanana, and she had to do it.

  Then she went into the dance, treating the fish as a partner, imagining it to be a dark Gypsy man who matched her moves with his own. She expected to be stiff, for she was tired and this was a dance she had never expected to do before any audience whatever, but the rhythm of it caught her up, and she found herself performing. She was a Gypsy lass, dancing to provoke a man to passion!

  She thrust out her hip, turned, and shot a sidelong glance at him, inhaled, whirled, and moved her hips again. Body and glance, leap and pose, breast and buttock and whirling hair—the tanana was taking her where it would, inciting the erotic response. She had never before felt so completely wanton, not even when in the act of love itself; the suggestion was more potent than the reality. She became shameless, inviting, lascivious, assuming poses that would have completely alienated her if performed by another. It was the tanana! At last, exhausted and exhilarated, she finished. She had done her best and her worst; let the fish make of it what it might. The guitarist let the last note fade, his eyes locked on Orb, his jaw slack; he seemed mesmerized.

  "And we want to find the Llano," she gasped as she stopped.

  The fish considered. Then it descended slowly to the level of the ground, and slightly below it, so that its mouth was flush with the earth. Its body overlapped without seeming resistance; there seemed to be no reality of soil for it, just the psychic water in which it swam.

  It opened its mouth. Its throat was a vast long cave, dry and bright.

  "We're supposed—to go in?" Orb asked, amazed. "To be swallowed by the fish?"

  Jonah merely waited. "Better do it," the guitarist said. "The thing could snap us up quickly enough any time it wanted to." He seemed much less affected by this than by the spectacle of the dance.

  They entered the monstrous mouth, carrying their instruments and the carpet. They walked down the cave.

  Deep within, it opened into a lighted chamber. There were projections that resembled chairs and tables and even couches.

  The guitarist plumped down in one. "Home, James!" he said.

  The fish moved. Orb hastily took a seat by the wall. The scales here were translucent; she could see out.

  The landscape outside was moving. Rather, Jonah was moving, swimming through air, smoothly traversing the route.

  "We're flying," Orb said. "Doesn't that bother you?"

  "We're swimming," the guitarist said. "That doesn't bother me. I feel safe, here."

  Surprisingly quickly, they arrived at the city. Orb peered out, looking at the people, but the people seemed to be unaware of the huge fish. As with Mortis the horse, it was in effect invisible to ordinary folk.

  Jonah nudged up to Luna's estate and stopped. The two griffins flew up, squawking alarm. The fish ignored them; to it they were like flies, beneath notice.

  Orb walked up the hallway that was the throat. The mouth opened, and she stood looking down on the ground
s. "It's all right!" she called.

  The griffins recognized her, doing twin double-takes, then settled down.

  The guitarist approached, took one look out the mouth, and backed away. "Maybe you can have it go down," he said.

  "Oh. Yes," Orb agreed. She had been so intrigued by the situation that she hadn't thought of the obvious. "Down, Jonah, if you please."

  The fish slowly sank, coming to rest in alignment with the lawn. They stopped out as Luna appeared.

  "Well," Luna said. "You seem to have found your transportation."

  "We seem to," Orb agreed. "Jonah, this is Luna; Luna, meet Jonah."

  "So pleased to make your acquaintance," Luna said formally. The fish made the slightest wiggle of a fin; perhaps that was acknowledgement.

  "The Gypsies told us about him," Orb explained. "He is looking for the Llano, too."

  "Yes. I did some spot research when I realized how you were approaching. But you know this fish is not completely reliable."

  "But not dangerous?"

  "Not to you or those you accept. It's just that this is not a servant, but rather an ally, and sometimes your interests may not coincide. I wasn't able to ascertain more than that."

  "Sometimes I wish our futures weren't clouded," Orb muttered. "Then we could read them for ourselves and avoid a lot of mischief."

  "It is a necessary protection, I'm sure," Luna said. "My father seldom made errors in judgment about magical matters." She contemplated the huge fish a moment more. "Well, let's get your things moved in."

  "Just like that?" Orb inquired, raising an eyebrow.

  "Mrs. Glotch has bookings piling up; I told her to start scheduling them, because you have solved the problem of transportation."

  "You have confidence in us, Moth!" Orb said, smiling.

  "Of course I do, Eyeball!" Luna agreed. Then they exchanged a sisterly hug.

  They moved Orb's things in. The big fish turned out to have a number of compartments separated by bony walls that served nicely as private rooms, and there was a lavatory region in the tail that had running water and a facility for the disposal of wastes. It seemed that somewhere along the way, someone had gone to some trouble to outfit Jonah for human comfort.

  "But how does he eat?" Orb asked.

  "It seems he doesn't need to eat. He is magically suspended, until he obtains his release and can die."

  "Does that mean we had better not be inside him when we find the Llano?"

  Luna laughed. "Perhaps so! But first find your song."

  The boys moved in that evening, the fish moored beside their apartment complex. No outsiders seemed to notice the oddity of the procedure. They simply carried their bags and equipment into the mouth and returned for more, as if loading a moving van. They left it to Mrs. Glotch to settle their accounts with the renter; they were checking out.

  Orb, fatigued, slept early. Her bed consisted of a section of her chamber floor that was marvelously soft and comfortable and tended to shape itself somewhat to her contours without being obsequious about it. There were some definite advantages to traveling in a living creature!

  She woke in the night, hearing voices. Still dazed, she lay still and listened. The voices seemed to be close, yet there was no one in her room. Soon she realized that the bony structure of the fish was transmitting them, so that she could clearly hear what was said elsewhere. Yet that had not been the case before; the noise of the boys and Lou-Mae setting up their rooms had been blessedly muted.

  "You flew!" the organist's voice demanded incredulously. "On her carpet?"

  "I was scared stiff," the guitarist responded. "But like I said, those townsmen were after us, thinking we were the Gypsies, and the river—"

  "But that carpet only holds one!"

  "She sort of put me in front, and she got on behind, and put her arms around me, and her legs around me—"

  "Man!" the drummer exclaimed. "You were between her legs?"

  "I guess. I was so scared, I never noticed. That river—"

  "Let's get this straight," the drummer said. "You were hunched up like this, and she was behind you like this, on that li'l carpet? Her boobs pressed up against your back, and her thighs—"

  "Damn it, don't make it like that! She saved my stupid life! I was so far out of it, all I saw was that damn river, till she put her hands on my eyes and sort of calmed me down."

  "Damn, if it'd been me—"

  "Yeah?" the guitarist asked challengingly. "And what of your black chick?"

  "Listen, man, don't call her no—"

  "Well, don't make like there's any dirt between me and Orb!" the guitarist retorted. "She don't give a shit for me, she just wanted to save my worthless life and maybe get me off the H. And you know, I was off it maybe three hours, 'cause I was just starting to feel the pang when I gave her the stuff, and it was a good hour after that. But I couldn't do it; I couldn't get the shakes outta my hands, and I had to play. 'Cause she had to dance, and..."

  "She danced?"

  "And how! I never saw the like! Seems she had to prove she was a Gypsy, for the fish, and this Gypsy dance—whew! I never saw a porno tape better'n that! The way she threw that stuff around, I like to've busted a string!"

  "Her?" the drummer said derisively. "She'd spook if she even knew how her skirt hikes up when she's on the harp, showing her gams. She thinks sex appeal's a crime!"

  "Just don't forget," the organist said, "we need her. Without her, we're nothing. Forget her skirt!"

  "You forget her skirt!" the drummer retorted. "I sit right opposite her when we practice. She's got the best damn legs—"

  "She's got the best damn everything," the organist said. "Think I'm blind? I'm half behind her, and sometimes I see down her blouse, and you think I don't drool? But it's ten times all the luck we ever deserved that she joined us, and we don't none of us want to do anything at all to sour her. Keep your hot eyes on your music."

  "Yeh," the drummer agreed. "But my point is, we know she'd never do that kind of dance. She's got the body for it, no doubt at all, but not the mind."

  "But she did it," the guitarist insisted. "I tell you, I was on a new sniff, so maybe you think I saw more'n there was, but—"

  "On a sniff? H don't pack much punch that way!"

  "You think I was going to shoot up in front of her? It got the edge off, anyway, so I could feel my strings and play. I tell you, she may be dowdy with us, but when she lets go with it, hang on to the moon! I've seen some real hot dances, but that one she did—if they could bottle that stuff, man of a hundred and ten could have the potency of—"

  "So our beautiful prude ain't so prudish somewhere else," the drummer said thoughtfully. "I wonder why she wants the Llano? I mean, we need it to get off the H, but she's already got everythin' any man or woman'd want. What's she need it for?"

  "Just be glad she does want it," the organist said. "She's one good woman, and we're sludge. Just let her be."

  "One good woman," the guitarist echoed. "I'd be dead now if she weren't."

  "So are we going to get this room shaped up, or not?" the drummer demanded.

  The last comment was fading, and thereafter there was nothing. Orb could hear the bustle of their labors when she concentrated, but their voices no longer come through to her.

  She lay awake, wondering about that. What a coincidence that the reception had been so good, just when they were talking about her! The sound of their voices had awakened her; perhaps they had been talking for some time before she listened. Yet it had faded when their subject changed.

  Coincidence? She wished she had the little snake ring again, to squeeze yes or no to that question. She was in another magical creature, and maybe... There was a quiet knock at her portal. "You up, Orb?"

  "Awake, anyway," Orb said. "Come in, Lou-Mae."

  "I hate to bother you," the girl said. "But something funny happened, and—"

  "You heard voices?"

  "How'd you know? I was lying there, drifting off, and then clear as da
y I heard the words 'black chick.' I knew it was me, and them talking about me. But all they said was—"

  "Not to call you that," Orb finished.

  "You heard, too? After that I listened, but I couldn't hear anything. But it—I mean, if I wasn't dreaming—"

  "I think we have just learned another property of the big fish," Orb said. "When anybody talks about anybody, the other person hears. They mentioned you in the course of a conversation about me. So I heard somewhat more than you did."

  "Then I'm not crazy!" Lou-Mae said, relieved.

  "And neither am I. But it occurs to me that we had best be quite careful what we say about others, while we are here."

  Lou-Mae smiled knowingly. "Meanwhile, we sure can listen!"

  Orb returned the smile. She liked Lou-Mae. "But tell me—is it true that my skirt shows too much leg when I play the harp?"

  The girl considered. "I never thought about it, but you know, when you set cross-legged, I guess it could. You mean they were peeking?"

  "Just noticing. I'd better change to slacks."

  "Then they'd know you had caught on."

  "Um. But if I don't—"

  Lou-Mae brightened. "I'll give you a pair of slacks! Then you'll have to wear them, so's not to hurt my feelings, at least for practice."

  "I would certainly not want to hurt your feelings, Lou-Mae," Orb said gravely.

  "I wonder how long it'll be before they catch on?"

  "That may depend on us," Orb said. Then they were silent, lest even that reference reach the appropriate ears and give it away.

  Lou-Mae returned to her chamber. Orb lay awake for a time, pondering this and that. She had mixed feelings about the boys' assessment of her. Any woman, she realized, liked being considered beautiful, but not crudely. They saw "boobs" and "gams" while she would have preferred some more esthetic and less specific image. Still...

  Meanwhile, she had learned something new about Jonah. She liked the big fish very well and was liking him better as she got to know his qualities.

  In the morning the girls were up first, while the boys slept late. "You know, if we don't watch it, we're liable to wind up as cooks and housekeepers," Lou-Mae remarked. "Who's going to do the cooking?"