Thomas Perry - Vanishing Act

"Fish Dance," said Basil. "Come on. I’ll show you."

He waited for the column of dancers to pass, then stepped into its wake, dancing backward, and pulled Felker with him.

Felker’s eye caught a movement to the side, and he turned to face Basil. As he did, Jane stepped between them and began to dance with Basil. Two young women Jane had been talking to across the room stepped in together and began to dance with Felker.

"Two partners, John," said Basil. "Only honored guests get two."

Felker grinned and gave a little bow to his two dancing partners. They were both dressed in Indian skirts, with elaborate embroidery at the hem and up the front to look like flowers. They had deerskin leggings with a slit in the front to show the beadwork on their moccasins, and they wore long silver earrings that glinted against their long black hair. All of their movements were precisely simultaneous. When they turned to dance forward, they spun like a pair of matched horses and took him by surprise so he had to glance over his shoulder to be sure he could change direction without stumbling.

The two singers in the middle picked up the pace gradually, and their volume went up with it. In the noise of the feet of so many dancers and the song of the two men, it was possible to forget that this was a world that was gone. The two young women were unmistakably a kind of offering to a warrior who had come in from some battle, and they were still that. They weren’t some pale echo of an old tradition because here they still were, no less real than they had ever been. They were more than a ceremonial welcome, more than a symbol of abundance: They were the antidote to death. Their ornaments said so. It was written in all the colorful flowers embroidered on the clothes of these women from a nation that was always at war.

The dance ended and the two women shook his hand. One of them said, "I’m Emma. You’re catching on very well."

Felker said, "Thank you. I appreciate your giving me a chance to learn." In his peripheral vision he was watching as the other girl whispered something to Jane, who made a wry face and pinched her so she had to retreat, laughing.

The music started again, and Jane stepped in front of Felker and began to dance. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I’ve been in tighter spots than this," he said. He glanced around. "Hey, my interpreter’s gone. What’s this one called?"

She said, "It’s called Shaking the Bush."

The people regrouped as the clear, melodious voices of the singers cut through their murmuring. Emma stood before a young man who looked like an Indian warrior in a movie, and Felker recognized him as one of the war dancers. The warrior and Felker were shoulder to shoulder, dancing with Emma and Jane. All over the room these double pairs formed, the women choosing their partners and then all four dancing to the sound of the drums and rattles.

In the heat and the noise, Felker’s mind began to lose the simple habit of insisting that it see only what was in front of his eyes. He looked across at Jane in her blue jeans and white blouse, and Emma in her costume of an ancient Seneca woman, and the two images began to merge and then to trade places. There was no difference at all. They could have been sisters—for all he knew, were sisters in the strange, ornate family system they had—or even the same girl seen at different times or in different aspects, like a ghost. Emma was smiling, but Jane was staring straight into his eyes, as though she was reading something there.

He studied her closely and then said, "Why is it called Shaking the Bush?"

"It just is."

He leaned closer and realized that her eyes were glistening, welling up. "What’s the matter?"

"Nothing," she said, and quickly looked away. After a second she brushed her sleeve across her eyes and looked straight into his gaze again, unflinching.

After a time the music stopped. The man who had been singing stood up and gave a loud and apparently serious harangue in Seneca. Women went to the end of the room and collected covered dishes and put jackets on sleepy children. Young couples drifted out into the darkness with their arms around each other.

Felker and Jane walked in silence across the dark field. The night was still and cold now, and their breath puffed little clouds of steam into it. Jane said, "Well, what did you think?"

"I think the world got screwed up when we stopped living in villages. Having tribes, I guess. There were tribes in Scotland, where my family came from. They painted themselves blue and went out to throw stones at the Romans."

"Maybe we can find a village for you," she said. "One with a lot of nice stones."

He blew out a breath sadly. "You know, I actually forgot for a couple of hours."

She held his arm. "Good," she said. "That’s the way it has to be." She looked up at him critically as they walked. "You know, I think you’re going to be all right. Once we get you settled, you might actually be better off than you ever were."

"I don’t know," he said.

"Happier, I mean." She squinted at him critically. "You’re no accountant."

They walked up the steps to the front porch of the house and entered. She had not locked the door. She walked in without turning on the lights, and he didn’t either. He went into his room, took off his shoes, and sat on the bed. He took a deep breath and blew it out in a sigh before he became aware that she was in the room with him.

She stood beside the bed, the moonlight through the curtain illuminating her as she unbuttoned her blouse. The light shone through it as she pulled it out of the top of her jeans and slipped it off her shoulders.

"I know your dream," he said quietly.

"Do you?" she said.

"You dreamed we were going to be lovers."

She stepped out of her jeans, then her panties, and began to unbutton his shirt carefully, one button after another, with a slow inevitability. When she reached his waist, she unbuckled his belt and waited for him to stand. Her hands were slow and soft and soothing as she stripped the last of his clothes off him, and then she ducked into his arms and her hair draped on his chest, still cold from the night air outside.

15

Felker awoke to the sound of a bird making its first quiet call, somewhere far off. He was alone in the bed, and there was no sound inside the house. He rolled to the side of the bed to look down at the floor and saw that her clothes weren’t there.

He listened again, then sat up, swung his legs to the floor, and walked to the closet, where he had hung his backpack. It was still there, and the money was still inside. He found his clothes on the chair, where he would have put them. He was fighting the possibility that it hadn’t happened. He went to the window and looked out into the gray light, but there were only the empty fields and a few acres of woods about a quarter mile off. He looked down at the bed, but her side showed no sign that anyone had slept on it. He bent down and put his face into the pillow. He could smell Jane’s hair, a very light scent of flowers, but sweat too, a sweet, musky smell that made her real again and brought back the feel of her in the dark.

"What are you doing?" It was her voice.

He turned and straightened. "I was trying to identify the perfume."

"I’ll have to ask Jimmy. It’s his shampoo."

Felker shrugged. "There’s more to Jimmy than meets the eye." He looked around him. "I guess there would have to be."

He followed her into the kitchen. She was wearing a man’s red plaid wool shirt that hung down over her jeans, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. "Where have you been?"

"I went out to get some eggs for breakfast," she said. She pointed to a basket on the counter beside the door.

"You walked to the store already? What’s open at this hour?"