Being a Green Mother by Piers Anthony Read Free Book Online Page B

nothing, merely shrugging when Orb questioned her. Her clothing was ragged, her shoes falling apart. Orb realized that it would be pointless to try to teach her anything in her present state. First she had to win the girl’s confidence, and before that she had to get her presentable.
    “Come on, Tinka,” she said briskly. “We’re going shopping.”
    The girl stared blankly past her.
    “For clothing, shoes, whatever,” Orb said. “You’re a pretty girl, if—”
    Tinka continued to look blank. Orb suddenly realized that she had not heard the girl speak. Was she dumb as well? No, for she had answered to her father’s call, and a person who could hear, could speak. If she wanted to.
    All in good time, she decided. Surely the girl could sing, or her father would not have sought Orb’s instruction for her.
    Yet why was she so unresponsive? “You do understand me, don’t you?” Orb asked.
    Tinka shrugged. Now it was evident that she did not. She had responded only to the inflection of questioning.
    Orb sighed. “Well, come anyway,” she said. She took the girl’s hand and led her out. Tinka followed docilely.
    They went to a store that sold clothing. “I want this girl properly dressed,” Orb told the proprietor. Because this store catered to the tourist trade, English was understood here. “Dress, shoes—and gloves, I think. With—you’ll have to do something for the fingers. But not like a tourist—like a proper village girl, a pretty one. You’ll have to choose the colors; she can’t see. Can you handle it?”
    The man brought out his fat wife. They spoke in what Orb assumed was Basque. The wife took Tinka away. Orb beganhaggling about payment; she was learning how to manage, here. She had enough money to cover any reasonable contingency, but those who spent too freely were not held in high esteem. Even so, the storekeeper was asking too much; Orb’s bargaining became serious.
    It took some time, but when the wife brought Tinka back she was stunning. She was clean, and her hair had been brushed out and fastened back with nylon combs, and she wore a bright print dress, white blouse, flowery shawl, and slippers that made her feet look almost normal. Sturdy gloves on her hands masked the missing fingers. She was, indeed, a pretty girl.
    The wife stood Tinka before the mirror. Orb thought that was a mistake, but it wasn’t; the woman was verifying the hang of the dress, making final adjustments.
    “Lovely!” the storekeeper exclaimed, and his voice rang with a sincerity not entirely inspired by the money he had made on this transaction.
    Tinka heard. For the first time she spoke—but her words were unintelligible to Orb.
    “What language is that?” Orb asked quietly.
    “Calo,” the storekeeper said. “She’s a Gypsy wench. I thought you knew.”
    “But I don’t know Calo!”
    “Why would you want to? Teach her English.”
    Orb took the girl back to her apartment. Again the villagers affected not to notice, but Orb knew they were watching more closely than before. Apparel could make a significant change in the appearance of any woman, but Tinka’s transformation was remarkable. The girl even held her chin higher and walked with more confidence, as if conscious of the impression she was making.
    Orb fixed something for them both to eat, not certain whether Tinka was conversant with civilized food, but the girl had no trouble.
    At last Orb tackled the problem of teaching. “Can you sing?” she asked, and when the girl did not react, Orb brought out her harp and sang a brief song.
    Tinka smiled. In a moment she was humming along, picking up the melody immediately. Her pitch was perfect, her voice good. She could sing, certainly.
    But that was not what Nicolai wanted from Orb. He wanted the magic.
    Orb put her hand on Tinka’s arm. Then she sang, using the magic. She knew that the girl heard the sound of the hidden orchestra.
    Indeed she did. She spoke a veritable torrent in the Gypsy language.