Wildwood Dancing

Cezar had tightened his watchfulness, and it became near-impossible for any of us to slip away for a solitary walk. I spent a lot of time in the tower room, a favorite haunt for me and Gogu. Piscul Dracului was full of nooks and crannies. I liked the notion that however long we lived here, there would always be new ones to discover. This particular tower had seven arched windows with views out over snowy wood-land, and the ceiling was blue, with stars on it. A long time ago I had brought an old fur rug up here and a pile of threadbare cushions.

I was lying on my back on the rug, looking up at the painted stars and doing my best not to think of our problems. Gogu was perched on my midriff, unusually still.

“We’re not going to talk about anything bad today, Gogu,”

I told him. “We’re going to discuss only things we like. You start.”

It was your idea. You start.

“Paddling in the stream in springtime,” I said. “Making pancakes. The smell of a wood fire. The sound of a waterfall.”

Gogu made no response.

“Come on,” I said, a little disheartened. “You must be able to think of one good thing.”

Sleeping on our pillow, side by side.

“Mmm-hm.” His choice surprised me. “If I go a long way back, my memory’s full of good things. We used to fill up the day with adventures. Skating in winter—not on the Deadwash, of course—and swimming in summer, though we weren’t actually supposed to, not when we were playing with Costi 253

and Cezar. Aunt Bogdana had the idea that it wasn’t appropriate for boys and girls to strip off their clothes and swim together, even though we were only little.”

She thought you’d catch cold.

“How could you know that? I bet you weren’t even born then.”

No response.

“Actually,” I told him, “you’re probably right. Aunt Bogdana adored Costi. I suppose I was lucky she let him out to play at all.”

Green.

“What?”

Nice things. Green is nice. Your green gown with the deep pocket.

I smiled and stroked his back with my finger. “Gogu,” I asked him, “do you think I’ve been unfair to Cezar? He was all right as a little boy. But he’s grown up so obnoxious and so sure of himself and . . . well, I am actually quite scared of him. He’s so much bigger and stronger than any of us, and people don’t stand up to him when they should.”

A pause, then: I thought we were only talking about things we like.

Your brown hair, so soft—lovely to hide in.

“Hmm,” I murmured, surprised again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this description, which would have been apt for a favorite bit of undergrowth. “Father coming home. That’ll be the best thing of all. Father coming home fit and well—and soon. ”

True love.

I lifted my head off the musty cushion and stared at him.

“True love is looking less and less likely, if it’s my future you’re 254

talking about,” I said. “Or do you mean Tati and Sorrow? That’s not a good thing—it’s a disaster waiting to happen. We weren’t meant to be talking about that.”

True love is the best thing. It’s the thing that makes troubles go away.

“Even for frogs?” I couldn’t help asking.

Gogu’s eyes closed to slits, and he went silent on me.

“Gogu, I was joking,” I said, sitting up and, in the process, dislodging him onto the fur rug. “I know you’re not an ordinary frog. It’s just that . . .”

He hopped off the rug and concealed himself somewhere on the elaborate mosaic floor, which was patterned with tiny dragons. In the muted blues and greens and grays of the tiling, I could see nothing of him.

“Gogu,” I said, “come out, please. There’s enough trouble right now without you and me getting cross with each other. If I upset you, I’m sorry.”

Not a twitch.

“Gogu,” I said, kneeling on the tiles and waiting for him to move so I could pounce, “if you would tell me what you are and where you come from, it might make things between us far easier. You’ve never said. You’ve never given me even the tiniest clue. We’re supposed to trust each other better than anyone, aren’t we? Surely it would be easy enough just to say. I always tell you the truth.” I realized that this was no longer accurate: I had not told him much at all about my visit to Tadeusz’s dark revels. I had not told him about the young man in the mirror, or about what Anastasia had said to me. He’d been too upset and too angry with me to hear it. As for what he 255

really was, I had long ago given up trying to guess. To me he was simply Gogu, and perfect just as he was. It was a shame he was increasingly unhappy with that. “If you don’t like it when I treat you as a frog,” I went on, “maybe you should be honest with me and tell me exactly what you are.”

He made no appearance. His mind remained shut tight against me. Gogu was expert at camouflage. It took a hammering at the door to startle him into moving; I picked him up, my heart thumping, and went to open it. Paula was standing outside, her expression anxious.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “I know you probably came up here to be by yourself. But Florica’s crying. I