The Hand Mirror

by Onan the Terrible

Chapter Two

With that he reaches out and takes her hand in his. His hand is large, strong and tough skinned and hers feels tiny within its clasp. She steps forward and she realizes that she is barefooted, gone are her beautiful slippers. Her feet are finely shaped and not used to being bare outside of her retreat but the grass is soft and dry. She steps between the two boulders and can feel the atmosphere change from pleasant to one of charged excitement.

Quite how it happened she isnt sure but in the very next instant it wasnt Hakuwai's hand she was holding. It was still larger than her hand, but much smoother and it was adorned with a ring, a heavy looking silver ring in the shape of a serpent eating it's own tail. It looked to be very old. The arm as well was different in that it was clothed in a richly embroidered silk fabric. Before she could think any more, she was pulled between two horses and into a tight circle of carts and wagons. There was a large campfire burning fierce and bright. Around the edge in the flickering shadows was a mixture of people who all had a similarity. As she looked about confused, she found herself being led into the circle, her hand held aloft. It was then that she could see that she was wearing a blouse of rough cotton, gathered loosely across her chest with a skirt of a finer weave but still cotton or a similar type of material. She looked up and into the eyes of her captor, for captive is how she was feeling. She was unaware of where she was or whom she was with. The security that she was feeling with the one called Hakuwai was lost and she was unsure about anything. Within his eyes though she found some ease of mind. They were deep pools of blue, fixed solely on her and they somehow soothed her fears. He spoke to her in a language that once again was unknown, but familiar. "O Pulika le tinshasko shav, I am Pulika the son of Tinha. Hakuwai and I are spirits bound over time." "Hakuwai has sent you here for protection and thinks that you might dance for us." "My family you see here are keen for entertainment and will play for you."

"Romale tai shavale akarel tume o Pulika" (By your leave, gypsy men and youths, this is Pulika calling you) "My Spirit Brother, Hakuwai has sent this woman to us to protect and care for and in return she will dance. What do you say? " She heard a lot of talking and discussion and it seemed to be civil. An old man finally stood and addressed Pulika, "Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa." "You know our thoughts and feelings towards outsiders Pulika, however, you have led us well and we have prospered and grown in strength with your guidance and wisdom and your craft." "Kay zhala I suv shay zhala wi o thav, (where the needle goes, surely the thread will follow)." With that a young man stepped forward and began to play an instrument that sounded like an organ with bagpipes and rattle combined. The sound was infectious and had a distinct Middle Eastern quality. Before long she found herself swaying to the music and closing her eyes allowing the sound to wash over her.

After a time she realised that she was moving quite freely, her arms were unencumbered and swinging loosely and her feet were shuffling on the bare ground. "O manusha khelevan tut", called out one of the men. Pulika moved to her side and whispered "He says that the people make you dance, little one." The music was by now beginning to infuse itself into her very soul. Her movements became fluid and graceful as she began to slip and twirl slowly and snakelike. As she moved around the circle all eyes followed her. Her neck was moving whilst her head remained still, the movement transferring itself down her body and ending in another step forward. As she moved around the fire it became obvious that she was not actually dancing to the music anymore but had begun to slow the pace and the lad playing was leaning in to watch. She was now using her hands to express her feeling of fluid motion, alternating the wave action from one side to the other. She made one complete turn around the fire and stopped directly in front of the young hurdy-gurdy player. Her eyes, which had been closed up to now, suddenly opened and fixed the gaze of the player. He was trapped like prey and unable to look away as she began a seductive display. It was soon apparent that she had taken control of the music as well as his mind. The music and the dance melded into one complete whole and she was the conductor. Raising her eyes skywards she let the full moon's rays bathe her and she felt transformed by the soft light. Her arms had slipped into the sleeves of her blouse and she was hugging herself tightly. Her wriggling movements imitated the moth�s caterpillar stage and she slowly circled the fire again. As she moved the music picked up its pace and she danced faster and faster, kicking up her legs to spin forward and squirming inside of her blouse. She had begun to raise her arms up her torso to eventually go above her head, the music getting ever faster. At the point of her second circumference she flicked her blouse away, much like the caterpillar exiting its cocoon. Her breasts were held proud by her crossed arms above her head; the nipples standing quite erect and visible even in the flickering light. She was completely oblivious to the men and boys around the campfire, this was not a dance to titillate. It was her own dance and she was responding to something deeper than mere mortal emotion. The music ebbed into a slow swirl as she slowly stretched her arms out to her front and made motions as if she were cleaning herself. She hooked her thumbs under her waistband and slipped her skirt down and stepping out of it, she then began gently rubbing her body sliding her hands from her head down to her feet. She then stepped backwards from the fire and began to crouch with her arms outstretched. She moved forwards, standing as she did so and on reaching full standing position, she made a little jumping motion, landing gracefully on one foot and beginning the process again. As she made her way around the circle, her back to the fire, all of the men were spellbound. The music again began to increase in tempo and her motions of flying were ever more desperate. At one point her foot flicked through the flames of the fire, kicking a log and causing a shower of sparks to rise up. This seemed to make her movements become more frantic, almost confused. Small beads of sweat were forming rivulets through the ash and dust that covered her naked body. As she skipped and spun around the circle her breath became increasingly laboured and small grunts and hisses were heard. She seemed to become totally disorientated, eventually collapsing in a heap in front of Pulika. The music continued and her chest could be seen to rise and fall as if she were attempting to stand again. Then there was silence. Pulika made one of his gestures over her and spoke a few words incomprehensible to all there and then bent down and took her hand, coaxing her to her feet. As she stood up Pulika held her hand and slowly drew her towards the circle of wagons. Stepping over the drawbar of one particularly bright cart and parting the blanket that was strung between it and a tree behind, he spoke; "You should cover yourself and then we will eat". Pulika stepped through still holding her hand and gently pulled her in.

Once again she was totally confused for inside was not a Gypsy's sleeping quarter nor indeed was it Pulika who was holding her hand anymore. She looked backwards and could see the campfire flickering and hear the murmurs of the men and the boys talking about her dance. But when she looked forwards she could see what appeared to be the inside entranceway of a club of some sort. She was actually crossing through a doorway both literally and magically and she was now obviously the guest of this new stranger. She looked down and could see that she was clothed, but in garments that she would not have selected for herself to wear, other than to a costume party. She appeared to be dressed as a man. She had on a slim fitting tuxedo complete with overcoat, walking stick, and spats. Her hair was tucked into a homburg style hat and a white silk scarf was over her shoulders. Her companion was all that she could concentrate on however. He was tall and athletic with close trimmed hair that was steel grey. It was not an old mans colour but a vibrant, strong colour that seemed to suit this mans strong and vibrant spirit. His hand that still had hers in its grip was also strong and vibrant. She didn�t know why but his hand gave her strength. The most striking thing about this man was however the long, jagged and angry red scar that ran from just under his jaw line, up and across his right cheek and finished between his temple and ear. It defined this mans position. He was powerful and in control and he accepted that fact without thought. She was unable to look away from his face, her eyes flickering between the scar and his eyes. They were also steel grey and once they caught hers in their gaze she felt compelled to cast her looks downwards. She felt that she should have his permission to look at his face. She cast a look backwards just before she entered the doorway and noticed a sign above the door, "The Kit Kat Klub".