fed each other morsels of fruit until the night grew up to hide them, and silence fell.
For a second time, lamplight flared in the dark; again the solitary figure reached for Lover, and again set out to search; and this time, too, the five guards were waiting. But unlike the first harassment, Beloved did not slip away. In utter, appalled silence the audience gaped as the khaki-clad figures brutally tossed the slim blue one back and forth between themselves, accompanied by the oboe, the sitar, and the panicky heartbeat drum of the tabla. The harsh whispers of the narrators and the inarticulate cries of Sione punctuated the texture of sound:
The guards found me
the narrators sang.
Over and over the last four lines were chanted, faster and faster. The guards sprouted gray and black and khaki veils, and Beloved sank down beneath a swirl of obscuring darkness; one slim blue arm emerged in protest from the huddle, and was overcome. One by one the guards detached themselves and stormed offstage, boots beating on the floorboards, leaving behind them a half-nude figure, heaped up beneath a drift of drab cloth.
After a while, a stir came from the wings, and in washed a flock of five giggling girls wearing the brightest of colors who emerged startlingly, almost painfully from the dark. The abused figure pushed laboriously upright, and made an effort to rearrange hair, pull together clothing, and pluck away the gray and khaki shrouds. The girls came up, laughing and teasing, to inquire where Lover had gone; Beloved asked them, in a hoarse, faltering voice, if they would help look for Lover. Completely oblivious of their friend’s suffering, the five colorful figures danced and primped and gossiped about Lover’s charms, speculating teasingly about where Lover might have gone, and with whom. Desperately, Beloved reached up to seize an apricot-colored skirt, and cried out:
(Beloved’s voice drifted off, and the five girls paused, paying attention at last and waiting for their companion to continue. Finally, the distraught figure in blue climbed slowly upright, swayed, straightened, and continued.)
With that phrase, in swept Lover, as heedless of Beloved’s distress as the girls had been, and flung strong arms around half-bare shoulders. Beloved cried out, in pain or in pleasure, but then to cover it up, began again to praise Lover, to flirt and act the coy and lighthearted one. All the while the oboe continued to sound its plaintive note, while the audience wondered when Lover would wake up to the realization that something was desperately wrong, would find out what had taken place and rise up in fury to take revenge on the guards.
Night fell again on the embracing couple, with no moment of revelation. The third lighting of lamps came, and a figure lying alone on the stage. This time, however, it was not the slim figure of Beloved who woke alone, but the strong one, Lover, waking alone in the warm and flickering light. But before Lover could do more than sit up and glance about, rubbing a sleepy eye in puzzlement, Beloved erupted back onto the stage, whirling like a dervish, like a small blue tornado, leaping and shouting over the quick beat of the music and holding up some object before her in triumph and adoration. Only when the dance brought Beloved to the very front of the stage, dropping down on both knees to face them, did the audience see clearly the object being held up: a dagger, gleaming silver and stained with blood. Beloved lifted it high, shouting in exultation, paused a moment with it in both hands, then drove the shining knife into the boards of the stage before whirling around again to face the still-seated Lover.
You are beautiful
said Lover, sounding a bit dubious.
(Lover whispered, drawing back from Beloved, as the realization struck)
Torn between these sudden, conflicting visions of Beloved, Lover shifted away while at the same time holding one hand outstretched.
Beloved rose and walked slowly over to Lover, leaving the bloody knife quivering in the stage, and then solved Lover’s dilemma by dropping down, knee to knee, and bringing their mouths together in a kiss.
“Love is stronger than death,” chanted the voices as the light dimmed over the embracing couple. “Passion fiercer than hell, it starts flaming…”
The last thing to be seen on the stage as the light dimmed was the dagger, silver and red in the narrow spotlight.
“WHOA,” SAID KATE UNCERTAINLY when the clapping had eventually died and the curtain calls ended.
“My God,” exclaimed Roz. “That was superb. Dramatically and theologically, to say nothing of psychologically. And the virgin’s dance with the dagger! I wouldn’t have thought—”
“Not
Kate was completely lost. She could not begin to imagine what the pope could have to do with this particular version of the Song of Songs, but she could see that Roz was not about to pause and explain. She looked as exultant as the man/woman on stage had been, her eyes dark with several kinds of arousal, the enthusiasm coming off her in waves.
Kate knew her well enough to see that there would be no rational explanations until her passion had subsided—at which time there would probably be more rational explanation than Kate actually wanted. Still, Roz was a pleasure to watch, and her excitement was contagious.
Then the pager in Kate’s pocket began to throw itself about furiously, if silently. Lee heard her exclamation of disgust, turned to look at her, and diagnosed the problem in an instant.
“You’re being buzzed?”
In answer Kate fished the little thing out and shut it off. The number it displayed was that of Al and Jani, and she could only squeeze Lee’s hand in apology, turn her over to Jon yet again, and (because she was not on call and Lee had pointedly refused to bring her own cell phone) go searching for a pay phone. She stood in the lobby with one finger pushed against her free ear and the receiver jammed up to the other, half shouting to be heard above the departing audience.
“Is that Jules? Oh, Jani—hi. Al paged me. What? I can’t— He’s where? Hold on just a second.” She fished out a pen and a scrap of paper. “What was that address again? Okay. Right. But we’re not on call, did he tell you why they called us? It’s
Kate hung up and stood for a long moment with her hand still tight around the receiver, her eyes shut. Fury
