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The Dance
© 2009 by Walter D. Reimer May 1, 1935: “Friends-ours, emphasis applaud likewise cheer next contestant ours!” the master of ceremonies called out as strong paws beat a tattoo on log drums to gain the attention of the crowd. The Spontoonies at the traditional May Day gathering were in a festive mood. A few short weeks later the tourists would descend on the atoll, laden with money and misconceptions, and the Spontoonies used the holiday to steel themselves for the coming onslaught. The worker would be honored as well, in keeping with the traditions of communal solidarity that ran in many cases deeper than anarcho-syndicalist cant. Sometimes, though, the conversations among the spectators distracted from the dance competition. Gradually the crowd gave the otter their attention. “Applaud-thou for Kaipo’i-son-Arenui, to dance Hula-of-Fur-with-tools- and-two- left-paws,” the otter said, and stepped away as a lone fur stepped out onto the sands and the drums announced a satirical hula. The Clumsy Mechanic was a fairly new hula, full of complicated moves mimicking an assembly line that required the dancer to keep pace as the steps grew faster and increasingly intricate. The dancer, a young tod-fox only sixteen years old, kept to the pace set by the music without missing a step. His prowess caused many approving and admiring comments from the onlookers. His name in English meant Crest of a Rising Wave, and he had certain signs of outlander ancestry about him – he was taller than his peers (even discounting his high and unruly shock of brown headfur), thin and gangly, with bright brown eyes that guaranteed him a long and happy career of turning girls’ heads. His fur was a slightly rustier color than a fox’s apricot or reddish-orange and the texture of the fur was different. It hung long and lank from his arms, trimmed to look almost like the doeskin fringes on the clothing of those who lived in the northern villages on Main Island. The young man had gotten permission from his shop foreman and teacher to let it grow out for this competition. Ordinarily he kept it short, to keep it out of the machinery. His oiled chestfur gleamed with his clan and family sigils as well as those of his name. His mother, Iolani, watched proudly from the stands as the others applauded. Kaipo’i was a natural dancer, graceful and so tall. The vixen hadn’t failed to notice that he had a very outgoing personality and several of the village girls had already started eyeing him. Iolani sighed. He was so unlike his father . . . ***
April 20, 1918: My dearest Melissa, I miss you so much, and this heathen place wears on me. You should indeed count yourself lucky that I prevailed on you to stay home with the children, and free of these dreadful islands. It has been five years since the last pirate foray to these islands, and they are capable of taking care of themselves now, I guess. Doctor Schmidt left a short time ago, leaving me the only Methodist missionary here. There is a fellow here named Merino, from somewhere back East in America, but he’s Catholic, and the other two are both Presbyterians. There is always someone requiring my services as a doctor, although many still insist on talking to their local witch doctors, who are all women and go about scandalously unclad. You would have thought that the British would have inculcated in them a better sense of Christian values during their tenure. Oh well. I miss you terribly, dear Melissa, and I long to leave this place and come back to you. I remain, Your loving husband. The paw laid down the fountain pen and adjusted the flame on the small paraffin lamp to give a little brighter light to the room. The fox leaned back in the chair, stretching as he yawned widely before picking up a small rattan fan and fanning himself. Elias Whipworm, MD, suppressed the urge to curse and silently sent an entreaty to the Almighty for greater patience. Patience was something that came hard to him at times like these, and many times he had asked himself just what the Lord had been thinking when he was approached by the Bishop with this task. He had accepted freely, of course – they needed a mission doctor out here in the Spontoons. But what a benighted place! Heat, damp, mosquitoes, undressed natives underfoot – and to cap it all, he had arrived just before a series of pirate raids and outright battles. The Spontoons had been a British colony – why the Royal Navy hadn’t exerted itself to abate the nuisance, he couldn’t guess. Whipworm’s father had lost a paw at Vicksburg fighting for the Union. He would have known what to do with those miscreants. He glanced up at a soft knock on his door. “Come in,” he said, his voice dry and carrying a slightly morose tone (some had called him ‘Sulky’ at med school). It was his maid, a young vixen named Iolani. She had been recommended to him by Doctor Schmidt shortly before he’d left, and he’d been trying to teach her better English. Missionaries had already managed to get her into better clothes than the native grass skirts. “Yes, Iolani?” he asked. “Will you need anything tonight?” the vixen asked. She regarded the crossbred fox from a faraway place called ‘Weeskonseen.’ He sat dressed in outlander trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a fan in his paw. Despite his insistence on wearing outlander clothes she found she liked looking at him. He was . . . exotic. The man’s father was a fox, while his mother was an Irish setter; the mixture resulted in his fur being brown with a thin, straight texture that he kept trimmed close ever since the Gunboat Wars so blood would not mat it. His eyes were a soulful brown that she found oddly compelling despite his distant and even cold manner toward her fellow Spontoonies. Whipworm’s lips twitched in a smile. “No, thank you,” he said. Her accent was getting better, but her look at him was . . . impertinent, at best. His tone sharpened a bit. “Iolani, there is no call to look at me that way – I am not some sailor or equally common person. I am quite happily married. I’ve warned you before about this. You are a good maid, but if I have to dismiss you I shall. Now, was there anything else?” “Er, no, Doctor,” Iolani said hurriedly, and the eighteen-year-old vixen retreated from the room. Whipworm looked at the letter to his wife again, thinking of her and the children in San Francisco. He resolved to read some Scripture, then go to bed. ***
“Honor to you, Wise One,” Iolani said a few hours later, settling to her knees before the aged feline. Whipworm’s behavior had upset her, and she needed to talk to someone. About how she felt, and how she could get him to reciprocate. Her mother had given her a gentle swat on her rear and chided her about taking after a Euro doctor, especially one who regularly called the Spontoonies ‘heathens’ and displayed no joy whatever in the natural beauty around him. But Iolani had been insistent, so her mother had rolled her eyes at her oldest daughter and sent her to a Wise One for advice. The feline, graying fur marking her muzzle, had listened patiently as Iolani explained her problem. “Daughter, request-thou emphasis problem is,” she finally said. “Creature with stringy fur outlander medicine fur is, and soon to take homeward-path.” Iolani’s ears went up. She hadn’t known that. “Also emphasis negative medicine fur for thou love possess.” The younger woman nodded. “Honored Wise One, knowledge possess thou, yet emphasis possess I knowledge [Doctor Whipworm] first child-my father should be.” The feline glared at her, then slouched a bit as she thought, her eyes hooded. She sat so long and moved so little that Iolani at first thought she had fallen asleep (the Wise One was well on in years, and slept more often than not). The Wise One was not asleep. Instead she recalled how yearnings came to young women, and the intuition that many had that, no matter what the circumstances, the man they had fixed upon was the right one. Iolani had had several suitors, but none had caught her eye just yet. This one had. And the War had been only 5 years ago. Eventually the feline blinked, raised her head and gazed at Iolani. “Love-herb, additionally fire-herb bring. Bless them will I.” The vixen nodded hurriedly and scrambled to her feet to go find the required herbs. Before the Wise One changed her mind. “Wait thou ten sun-risings, Daughter.” With that piece of advice ringing in her ears (as a counterpoint to the boxing she’d also gotten) Iolani hugged the small packet of herbs to her as she left her village. She had a plan, based on the fact that the doctor would require her to clean and cook for him the next day as part of the terms of her employment. “Ten sun-risings, then use fire-herb, love-herb.” After traipsing through the jungle for nearly an hour in the darkness she had located the required plants and the Wise One had blessed them for her. But why, she thought as she waved at a passing canoe, why did she want her to wait ten days? After haggling with the canoe’s owner over the price to take her from Main Island over to Meeting Island, it hit her. Of course. In the Spontoonie reckoning, it would be Spring Festival time, sacred to fertility. In the Euro calendar, the first of May. ***
No matter what the weather, Whipworm insisted on eating dinner in his house’s dining room, and dressing for the occasion in his suit and tie. It was uncomfortable in the summer, but he wanted to draw a line between himself and those furs who’d gone what he considered ‘native’ and eschewed civilized attire. The flatware was clean and the tablecloth freshly laundered. That pleased him; Iolani had been doing a splendid job over the past two weeks. A word in season seemed to have forestalled any fantasies she may have been entertaining about him. She hadn’t even importuned him about attending that silly Spring Festival the next day. He shook his head at the native customs, then snorted a laugh. “What’s next?” He wondered aloud. “Dancing around a Maypole?” He looked up as a savory aroma filled the room, making his nostrils twitch as his maid walked into the room with a tray. “That smells quite good, Iolani,” he said. “What is it?” The vixen smiled at the tod-fox as she set the tray down and lifted the cover, intensifying the toothsome smell. “It is a fish stew, Doctor,” she said. “Three kinds fish – er, of fish – in an herb broth.” The stew was in a deep soup plate, with a plate of sliced bread accompanying it. “Well, it smells delightful,” he said as he picked up his spoon. She set the soup plate and the bread before him and watched as he stirred the stew, then sniffed at it before sampling it. “Delicious,” he said with a smile. “Thank you, Doctor,” Iolani said as she set the tray aside and turned to get a pitcher of iced tea and a glass. He couldn’t see the smile on her face as she heard him busily eating. She served him a glass of the beverage and went back to the kitchen to clean up. After a few minutes she heard the spoon clatter against the porcelain, followed by the sound of the chair scraping against the floorboards. With her back turned and her paws up to the elbows in soapy dishwater, she didn’t see the kitchen door swing open, but she heard it. Her nose wrinkled at the wave of musk that preceded him, and she privately blessed the Wise One for telling her to wait. His paws went around her waist, and she murred. ***
Some time later . . . Iolani stirred and awakened, and was suddenly aware that it was morning. The night had been sort of a blur of activity, but she was aware of two things. Doctor Whipworm’s wife was a very fortunate woman. And she was sure – without really knowing how – that she would be late at the next turn of the moon. The doctor was still asleep beside her, drooling slightly into his pillow as she eased out from under his paw. A moment to collect herself and she stood up on shaky feet. She started to gather up her clothes, paused, and opened a window to let the room air out. Gathering up her clothes Iolani padded quietly from the room. She closed the bedroom door behind her, then stifled a giggle. She’d heard his remark about dancing around the Maypole, and was aware of the ancient European custom. Well, she wouldn’t take part in the dancing at the Festival tonight. She’d already done a fertility dance. And (and here she stifled another giggle) with a very decorative Maypole. A short while later Whipworm stirred, ears twitching, and rolled over on his back. His eyelids clenched at the light coming in the room from the open window, and with a soft groan he threw one arm over his face to shield his eyes. The motion might have moved the air in the room. After a pause his nostrils flared, then he sat up in bed, eyes wide open as he started trying to figure out what had happened since he finished his dinner. Slowly, realization dawned. He put his head in his paws. “Oh . . . my . . . God . . .” Iolani was putting away the last of the dinner dishes (she hadn’t really had the opportunity to clean up after Dr. Whipworm had eaten) when the kitchen door opened. She turned to see the crossbred tod-fox standing in the doorway. He was wearing pyjamas and a robe, and his expression was set and stern, his paws jammed into his robe’s pockets. “Umm . . .” “Good morning, Doctor,” Iolani said. “Would you like breakfast?” The vixen’s tail swished. “I bought some eggs yesterday – “ “Forgive me.” The words were abrupt, blurted out, and she stopped speaking and looked at him. His expression was stern, yes, even angry. But he wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself. Angry – and guilty? He looked hard at her, then down at a spot on the floor at her feet. “Iolani, did – did we - ?” “Yes, Doctor.” The reply made his ears twitch back as if he was flinching from a blow. “I was afraid of that. I want to apologize to you, Iolani. This is the first indiscretion on my part since coming to these islands. Can you forgive me?” Iolani nodded, struck dumb. She had been his first – in how many years? No wonder. “Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to say next,” Whipworm said. “I am going to let you go,” and the vixen felt her fur bristle in surprise. “I can’t be trusted to keep my impulses at bay, so I want you out of this house by tonight. I’ll give you an extra weeks’ pay, and you can call on me for a recommendation if you find another job.” Iolani gathered her wits and opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a paw. “I won’t hear anything more about it, Iolani.” He stepped out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him. ***
Applause jolted Iolani out of her reminiscences and she joined in the clapping and cheering as Kaipo’i bowed and waved happily. He moved off of the beach as the next contestant got ready, and joined his parents up in the stands. “How did I do, Father?” he asked eagerly, and his grin widened as Arenui hugged him. Arenui was a fox from South Island; she had met him two months after she’d become pregnant. The mechanic had fallen in love with her almost at first sight, and she with him, and the fact that she was already expecting a child was not even an issue. Many women conceived after the Gunboat Wars in an effort to fill empty places in the longhouses and in peoples’ hearts. Dr. Whipworm had left Spontoon six months later, and there was no indication that he knew that he had left a son behind. Arenui tousled his son’s headfur. A tall and well-built tod-fox, his name in English was Big Wave. Kaipo’i owed his name to his father, who loved him just as much as he loved the three children he and Iolani had produced. “You did very well, Son,” he said, hugging him again. “Now, go get some water and cool off.” Kaipo’i grinned, kissed his mother and loped off as the next hula was announced. Arenui sat back, one arm slipping around Iolani’s waist. “How do you think he did, Love?” “I think he won, what else?” she laughed. “He’s a wonderful dancer.” “Yes.” Kaipo’i rejoined them, wiping his muzzle on the back of his paw and straightening his grass skirt as a few girls nearby giggled and pointed. Iolani smiled, and smiled wider as the winners of the dance competition were announced. Kaipo’i came in first in his age class, and he smiled and blushed as his schoolmates and coworkers cheered him loudly. Iolani saw that a few girls were smiling coyly at her son, and she smiled again even as she kissed her husband. There might be some more dancing around the Maypole tonight. end |