“He’s the one we call the fool, but we mean no harm by it. He’s the one who amuses, takes away plight, brings levity to sad situations. He’s the dancer.”
That was the very word that could bring Darrius to his knees. Dancing. Justine sensed there was more to his story than the dances being exploited by visitors to the various powwows. He could never make a living as an actor. He was too down to earth, too anxious to get to the heart of things; he could never successfully hide what he was thinking. But what was he thinking? What was the reason behind his lack of dancing?
Her demeanor became solemn, she knew he was touchy about the subject and could quite possibly turn away or evade it by any means necessary. Yet, she had to know. She stroked his cheek, feeling his cascading hair brushing her skin. Was it her way of buttering him up? Who knew? But it was worth a shot.
“Don’t kill me over this, but it’s something I really need to know. I want the total truth—all of it. Okay?”
The “okay” was shaky, and he heard the quiver in her voice. His arms encircled her small frame. “Why so serious all of a sudden? Just ask me. I told you I’d answer anything you want me to.”
“Truthfully?”
“There’s no other way, is there?”
“I hope not.” She hesitated a bit and then plunged ahead: “Well—tell me the real reason why you don’t dance anymore, Darrius.”
His body shifted and he released a husky breath. A husky breath from deep within his soul. “Ah, sounds like another one of those questions.”
“What questions?”
“The kind of question that requires me getting something for my efforts. What will you give me for the answer?”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I. That’s a touchy subject. I gave you an answer.”
“Yes, but not the answer, not the answer that gets to the root of the question.”
“You really are some woman, Justine. Okay, but if I tell you, you have to promise not to get scared.”
That alerted her. “Scared? Why would a story about you no longer dancing scare me?”
“Because my dances have been known to kill!”
12
DANGEROUS LIAISONS
They were face to face, and Justine stared into deadly serious eyes. Not expecting his explosive revelation, her voice cracked with surprise—confusion. “Excuse me?”
“You heard right, Justine.”
“Why would a dance be dangerous, Darrius?”
“It wasn’t just a dance, darling. It’s the dance, the same dance you’ll see Derrick perform tomorrow night. It’s the Koshari dance, one I thought I’d perfected until that ill-fated evening—in a large arena, in front of hundreds of people.”
He lowered his eyes, his voice fell silent and Justine saw him fishing for words. Nervous hands now played with strands of her dark locks, and she could feel his tension. She laced her fingers through his, pulling him back to the matter at hand. “Just tell me what happened at the dance. You won’t frighten me. Had I been scared of anything, it would have been traveling up the…never mind.” Letting on about her trip up danger mountain would intensify the moment, not lighten it. Besides, she wanted Darrius’s story and nothing more—for the moment.
“Traveling up what, Justine? Finish what you were about to say.”
“Not a chance. No way are you getting out of telling me about the dance.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because I want to know everything about you—even the bad, if that’s what the dance was.”
“It was, and I’m ashamed of the outcome, but if you need to know—”
“I do.”
“Then hang on, because it’s not pretty.” He took a deep breath and settled back, not wanting to relive an excruciating night years ago. Knowing Justine, he knew she’d stop at nothing to dig the truth out of him. If she had a flaw, her need to know everything was it. He did know it was an expected part of her trade, but it was also part of her personality.
There were so many emotions surrounding the dance and he didn’t really know where to start, but the beginning was probably the best place. Starting out easy, buying time to soften the expected blow, was the only way to ease into it.
“Justine, I no longer perform at powwows because a death did occur as I danced the ludicrous dance eight years ago. It was a powwow much like this one—a more traditional powwow with many of the legendary kachinas performing. They don’t dance in the powwows every year, just on occasions—years apart. This year the Koshari dances in public again. The last time he did was eight years ago—I was the dancer then. As you know, the Koshari is a clown, a trickster who does everything he can do to disrupt the kachina ceremonies. He makes a mockery of everyone there, dancers and spectators. He’s silly, slovenly and cares for nothing but his own entertainment, whatever it may be. I was exceptional at that. I had a way of getting the crowd so riled up and into the ceremonies that I became the main dancer at one point.”
“I’m sure you were phenomenal.”
“I was the best, until one night when I became too much like the character and got careless.”
“What happened?”
“You see, the audience is encouraged to participate in the rousting, get the Koshari agitated to the point where he selects someone to take his frustrations out on. Their primary function is to amuse the audience during gaps in the major ceremonies. They teach a lesson on how not to behave. They serve other functions, as you well know, but my dance was for amusement.”
“I know a lot about the Koshari, how he entertains, what his other roles are. Now that I know you danced as the character, he really is my favorite.”
“Don’t be so high on them because of me. Hear the rest of the story first. There was a young woman doing her best to get me into action, enticing me, so I acted accordingly. She was beautiful, smiling, enjoying the performances…and I was attracted to her. I was only twenty-one years old, and if any situation arose where I could show off my prowess, I seized it. I pulled her into the main arena, grabbing her each time she tried to make her escape. I tossed my fruit, water and anything at her that wouldn’t injure her. I could see she was becoming embarrassed by the crowd laughing at her. She was sticky from the watermelon and her clothes were wet, but I hadn’t had my fill. I was proud of the fact that I was the best Hano clown in the area, even better than my brother, and I wanted to show off.”
Darrius rubbed his temples to relieve the pressure, but with each word, imaginary screws drilled into his skull. “I got my claps, calls, hoots and chants from the crowd and that fueled me, got into my blood, making everything inside me race. Before I knew anything, I picked her up, hoisted her small frame above my head and kept in step with the drums and other music. I lost my footing.”
