SWANS IN WINTER
India Lake loves the wild and she will do anything to protect it—including taking off her clothes.
India Lake is in the middle of a full blown mid-life crisis. Her love life is stalled, to say the least. And her boss forces her to take a two-month vacation after she loses her temper with a library patron at work. A few days later, while observing the swans who have migrated from Alaska to a pond near her home, India meets photographer extraordinaire Benjamin Swan. India and Benjamin are immediately attracted to one another. India wonders if he might be what her friend Rhonda calls a “sole mate,” someone India can walk through life with. But the mysterious photographer and nature lover has many secrets. When the swans and Turtle Pond are threatened by pesticides and a shadowy lumber company, India and her friends from POOL (Pissed Off Old Ladies) decide to pose in the buff for a lunar calendar they can sell to raise enough money to hire an environmental lawyer to protect the land and the swans. As India talks to each woman and Benjamin takes their photographs, India comes to realize her place in this community of Swan Maidens. Once Benjamin’s secrets are revealed, can she forgive her Swan Knight? And can she save the wild and learn who her true “sole” mate is?
Also by Kim Antieau
Novels
The Blue Tail
Broken Moon
Church of the Old Mermaids
Coyote Cowgirl
Deathmark
The Fish Wife
Her Frozen Wild
The Gaia Websters
The Jigsaw Woman
Mercy, Unbound
Ruby’s Imagine
Nonfiction
Counting on Wildflowers: An Entanglement
The Salmon Mysteries: A Guidebook to a Reimagining of the Eleusinian Mysteries
Short Stories
The First Book of Old Mermaids Tales
Trudging to Eden
Chapbook
Blossoms
Blog
www.kimantieau.com
Swans in Winter
Kim Antieau
Published by Green Snake Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright (c) 2012 by Kim Antieau
Cover photo by Tommason | Dreamstime.com.
Book design by Mario Milosevic.
Special thanks to Nancy Milosevic and Ruth Ford Biersdorf.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
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Chapter One
THE AUTUMN RAIN tasted like cloud sweat. India leaned against the cottonwood for protection from the icy east wind and stood on her toes to see over the tall dirty-gold pond grass. A white neck curving to gray floated into view. India grinned and put her hand over her mouth so she would not laugh out loud.
The swans were back!
The swan wiped her black beak on her white and gray neck. Then she stopped. Another swan floated into view. They both looked at India. Talking to each other about the strange watching creature? India wondered.
Another swan joined them.
India stepped forward until she could see most of the east end of Turtle Pond.
Four, five, six swans, she counted.
Gracefully, the swans glided west, away from her, elegant S curves. India wanted to dance a jig or sing a song. Twenty-seven swans!
She gasped. They were so beautiful.
Being this close to the swans made India feel like she was in the midst of a miracle. Or a fairy tale where the hera has just discovered the treasure—or the answer to the riddle of life.
Suddenly, all as one, the swans pumped their wings and lifted up from the pond, no splashes or cries of distress like the ducks, no annoyed honking like the geese. Just air. Silence. Then their own peculiar song of . . . jubilance? Irritation? What was that sound? How could she describe it?
Otherworldly. No. Childlike. Eerie.
India leaned her head back and turned as the swans flew over her. More curves. White fading into the clouds. They became a stark line of white against the dark rocky gorge cliffs as they followed the Columbia River west.
In another moment, India could no longer see them. She looked down again.
She jumped at the sight of a man standing twenty feet from her. He stared after the swans, too. Bearded. Head covered with a black cap. Dressed in an orange parka. A hunter? No gun. Boots muddy.
India started to walk away.
“Did you notice how many?” the man asked.
India turned around. The rain had stopped, the wind lessened.
“Twenty-seven,” she said.
The man reached into his parka, pulled out a small spiral notebook with a tiny pen attached to it. He unhooked the pen, wrote something in the pad, then shoved them both into his pocket again.
“Thanks,” he said. “I got up late today.” He nodded toward the river.
India followed the tilt of his head and saw a small blue tent in the distance. He was going to freeze or drown if that tent was his only shelter.
“You’re the guy Jack Combs from the reserve told me about,” India said. “You’re studying the swans this winter.”
The man nodded. “That’s me,” he said. He looked her in the eyes and smiled. Why was he looking so intently at her? She wanted to step away from his gaze.
He held out his hand.
Oh no, she thought, now I have to touch him!
“Benjamin Swan.”
“You’re kidding,” she said, shaking his hand. He held on to her hand for a second too long.
“Yes, that’s my name,” he said, laughing. “It’s worse. My middle name is Anthony.” He looked at her expectantly.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“Benjamin Anthony Swan. B. A. Swan.”
“Your parents had a sense of humor.”
He nodded and still watched her. She looked away. She had a pot of minestrone on the stove. A paperback mystery waited. And she was cold.
“You like the swans,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Yes.”
They both looked at the pond, now empty of swans.
“I figure a world where swans exist can’t be all bad,” India said.
“Thank you,” he said.
India looked at the man. “What? Oh, yes, well, I meant the feathered kind.”
“Ahhh,” he said.
“It was nice meeting you,” India said.
“But I haven’t met you,” he said. He smiled. His beard was black and brown. Any gray? India instinctively touched her own covered head. Hers was nearly all gray. She was the only forty-something woman she knew who did not dye her hair. Gray is beautiful she told her friends; I’ve earned every one of these gray hairs. They laughed at her and said, gray is just old. They were right, of course. As India’s hair turned from brown to gray, people stopped seeing her. It was as if she no longer existed. Strangers looked right through her.
Until now. This stranger kept looking right at her. What was wrong with him?
“You’re India, aren’t you?” he asked. “Jack told me about you, too.”
“Oh? What’d he say, be on the lookout for the little old lady who haunts the meadow by Turtle Pond?”
The man flinched.
Feeling a little bitter these days, girl? she thought. Gawd. She wanted to get out of this conversation gracefully.
“No, he said his friend India lived nearby and she knows a lot about ponds.”
“That’s me,” she said. “I’m India.” She was embarrassed. “But I think Jack must have been pulling your leg. Perhaps he said I knew a lot about lakes, not ponds. Because that’s my name. India Lake. He’s always teasing me about my name. My parents had a sense of humor, too.” Why was she babbling like this? “Well, my lunch is waiting. I better go.”
She waved, turned, and hurried away. What was wrong with her? She was with the public nearly every day. Why was she suddenly a raving lunatic?
“I like it,” the man called.
India looked over her shoulder as she kept walking.
“What?”
“Your name. I like your name, India Lake. It’s geographical.”
She stopped. “Geographical?”
“Yeah, geography. A place you can call home. India Lake.”
Rain began pelting India. The wind shook what leaves were left on the cottonwood. Benjamin Swan stood in the pasture between the pond and the cottonwood, feet apart, anchored in the muddy ground, dressed in his bright orange parka. He grinned at her.
She smiled uncomfortably, frowned, then turned away. The rain was cold. She wished she could fly home.
Instead, she ran.
INDIA GOT TO the front porch of her little gray rented house seconds before the clouds burst open. She glanced at the gorge cliffs across the river. Snow fell there, dusting the evergreens with what looked like powdered sugar and falling into ravines, creating white Vs that would remain until spring.
India went inside and shook off her wet coat, hat, scarf, boots, and socks. Her slacks were wet, too. She stepped out of them and took the whole pile of clothes to the laundry room where she spread them out to dry. She got another pair of slacks from the chair in her bedroom. She stood in front of the picture window holding her slacks and looking out at the storm.
The rain fell in sheets over the river and out in the meadow where she had just talked with the man about the swans. She could see part of the pond from here, the curves of its banks serpentine. The first time she had seen the pond she had assumed it was this murky little place where nothing lived. Until Rhonda told her about the turtles. Then India took her binoculars out to the edge of the muddy water and looked through them until she saw turtles sunning themselves on the shiny gray trunks of long ago dead and decapitated trees.
Each time India returned to the pond she saw more wildlife: the great blue heron fishing at the edges, bald eagles swooping quietly down from a nearby cottonwood, osprey noisily searching for prey in the cloudy waters, various species of ducks raising their young, and kingfishers calling out as they furiously flapped their wings and flew over the pond. During the summer India watched the female turtles go into a kind of trance as they laid their eggs along the sides of the path; she waited until fall to watch them hatch out.
When Jack Combs, the ranger, rented the state land surrounding the pond to a cattle rancher who was also the local sheriff, things changed. India fought to keep them from mowing or driving along the path when the turtles were laying eggs. She called the sheriff each time the cows broke through the fencing and headed straight for the pond, where they trampled the fragile shoreline as they grazed and defecated. The rancher told her, “Turtles are nasty creatures. I’ve seen turtles swoop underneath a baby duck and pull it right down into the water and drown it.”
“Those are snapping turtles; these are western pond turtles,“ she explained to him, although that was beside the point.
India told Rhonda, “I should have said so what? Are we only supposed to save those things that are cute and cuddly? What a boring world that would be.”
Now India looked away from the pond and tried to find the blue tent. She could not see it. She hoped Benjamin Swan didn’t freeze. She pulled on her slacks and wondered if someone outside could see her inside, half naked, trying to get dressed.
She shrugged and padded into the bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her curly gray hair was matted down on one side. Bags under her eyes. Blue eyes. Not as blue as Benjamin Swan’s. She shook her head. She had never been vain before. Why start now? She stared at her reflection. She hadn’t been vain before because she had been attractive most of her life. Pretty. Cute.
She was long past cute.
It made her angry that she cared.
She stuck out her tongue at her reflection, then went into the kitchen to heat up her soup.
It was all nonsense. She did not like thinking about herself in those terms: attractive, ugly, old, young. Her life had never been about those things. Why had she become aware of it lately?
She ladled the minestrone into an apricot-colored fiesta ware bowl and went and sat at the round wooden table in front of the picture window. Rain streaked the glass, making the outside world look like a melting painting.
India heard a knock at her front door.
“Hello!” Rhonda’s voice.
“Come in,” India called. She looked across the room as Rhonda opened the door, shut it, and took off her coat.
“Geez Louise,” Rhonda said. “It is cold and miserable.” She strode across the room. She was a big older woman with the grace of a flamingo. Or a swan. No. A bear. A big ol’ Grizzly bear.
“Minestrone on the stove,” India said as Rhonda pulled out a chair.
“I don’t want any of your healthy crap,” Rhonda said, grinning. “What are you up to today?”
“Went out to the pond,” India said between mouthfuls. Steam rose from the concoction of zucchinis, peas, potatoes, carrots, onion, celery, garlic, and a bit of tomato and pasta. How could anyone not want to fill their bellies with this delicious brew?
“This is so good, Rhonda. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“That’s what you said about that tofu broccoli casserole,” she said.
“Yeah and I was right,” India said. “You would have liked it if I’d said the tofu was fried chicken bits. Besides, I only gave you some because you insisted on tasting it.”
“Well, I’ve learned my lesson,” Rhonda said. She shuddered. India laughed.
“I saw a tent out between the meadow and the river,” Rhonda said. “You hear anything about who the occupant is?”
“He’s a friend of Jack Combs,” India said. “He’s studying the swans.”
“He’s actually sleeping in that tent?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You met him?”
“Yeah, he was out counting the swans. Get this. His name is Benjamin Swan.”
“How apropos,” Rhonda said. “How does Jack know him?”
“I don’t know.”
Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Where’s the whole story here, girl? You’re the librarian. Aren’t you supposed to be an information specialist? This is very little information, my friend. Isaac and I should have him over for dinner. Was he interesting?”
India shrugged. “He seemed nice enough.”
Rhonda looked at her. “But?”
“No but. He was nice. He’d fit in at one of your dinners, I’m sure.”
“One of our dinners? What does that mean?” Rhonda asked.
“It means you find the most interesting people in the area and invite them to dinner so you can interrogate them about their lives,” India said. “He’d probably have lots of interesting conversation in him, and he could use a hot meal.” India pushed away her empty bowl. “He stared at me a little. Made me a little bit uncomfortable.”
“Psycho-uncomfortable?”
“No, I don’t think so. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure he’s nice.”
India stood, picked up the bowl, and carried it to the sink.
“Have you decided where you’re going on your vacation?” Rhonda asked. “When’s it start?”
India returned to the table and sat next to Rhonda.
“In a couple of days. December first. I don’t know if I’m going anywhere. Maybe I’ll stay here and write, paint, watch the swans.”
Rhonda made a noise. “This is the worst time of the year to stay here. You need sunshine, a bathing suit, someone tall, dark, and handsome.”
India laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I need. You think everything can be solved with sex.”
“No, I just fantasize everything can be solved with sex. I’m an old lady. I got no more desire.”
“Right. I see you and Isaac making out when you think no one is looking.” India laughed and affectionately slapped Rhonda’s arm. “What’d you come over for anyway? I’ve got things to do. I can’t waste my afternoon gabbing with you.”
“I was taking a stroll,” Rhonda said, “and I saw the swans flying overhead. I wanted to let you know they were back. And to see if you wanted to sign up for the belly dancing class on Tuesday. Violet needs one more to make the class go.”
“I’ve told you before I’ve never been good at organized dance. I am not graceful.”
“Come on. It’s supposed to be a very ancient form of dance. The body creates geometric shapes that heal, make desire, and create the Universe. Dance existed before sound, you know. Before the word.”
“I thought the purpose of belly dancing was to get men hot,” India said.
“No, it’s to get women hot.”
“Violet tell you all this?” India asked.
“No,” Rhonda said. “Please. Violet is a baby. But she’s a good instructor.”
“All right,” India said. “I’ll go to one class and see.”
“Good. Will you give me a ride?”
India laughed. “Of course.”
“Wear something sexy to class,” Rhonda said as she stood. “I want to see some skin.”
“I’ll see if I have any.”
“Skin?”
“Something sexy. Now go home.”
“I love how gracious you are,” Rhonda said. She kissed India’s forehead. “See you later, gator.”
Chapter Two
INDIA STOOD AT the circulation desk. It was a busy afternoon. The kids had early release from school and now crowded the library. Normally India liked the library busy, but today she felt off. It was her last day for two months, yet it seemed like any other day. No cards from her staff. No cake. Of course, they knew she wouldn’t eat cake, so maybe they figured it was a waste of time. Still.
She heard laughter and looked at a table of preadolescent boys hunched over a pile of magazines. She smiled. She wanted people to be comfortable. It was their library, after all. She liked working here because she could have easy superficial relationships with people. She was social all day and then went home by herself.
Things were changing, though. She glanced at the internet stations and catalog terminals. Out in the public part of the building she counted thirteen different computer terminals. The computers were fast, and they helped her find what patrons needed quicker than she had been able to before, but people were impatient now; they demanded and expected information fast, faster, fastest. Every day the software changed. She could not always keep up and neither could her patrons. Sometimes she felt like one of those people who had been alive when the world changed from candles to electricity and horse and buggy to automobiles. She was not sure where she belonged.
She was tired of everyone being irritated all of the time. The patrons were demanding and irritated; her staff was angry and irritated that they had to deal with the ever-changing computer world and the demanding, irritated—and irritating—patrons. Recently India had yelled at a patron. Screamed at him, really. It had been at the end of a long tiring day, and she had not been able to maintain her “public servant” voice after listening to the patron berate her for five minutes because the internet was down. Soon after their “argument” the man complained to the main office, and India’s supervisor in Vancouver called and reminded her that she had over two months of vacation time accrued, and it was time to take some.
“I’m going on break,” Teri said, coming up behind India. “All these kids are getting on my last nerve.”
India nodded. India was the only one on staff who did not have children—and she was the only one who could tolerate a library full of pre-pubescent and teenaged children. She walked across the room to get an empty book cart. The boys giggled as she went by. She had known most of them since they were babies. As she returned with the cart, one of the boys whispered, “She’s a lesbo, you know.”
India stopped and leaned down until her head was level with theirs. She said loudly, “Lesbos is an island, boys, where women devoted to the goddesses Artemis and Aphrodite went to practice the art of charis.”
“Huh?” one of the boys said.
“Charis. It means grace. The graces: art, dancing, poetry, music, love. I think the word you were groping for, as it were, is lesbian.” Her voice rose even higher when she said lesbian. “And I wish I were a lesbian, so I could go live on Lesbos or some tropical island where there were only women and I wouldn’t have to deal with snot-faced little boys like you.”
The boys giggled. She scooped up their magazines.
“And Jeff, you better be nice to me. I saw you minutes after you dropped from your momma’s womb, and I seem to remember a certain birthmark on your—well, you know where. Shall I describe it?”
“Ohhhh!” the boys squealed.
India winked and walked back to the circulation desk. Jack Combs leaned against the counter.
“You’re cruel,” Jack said.
India smiled. “Hey, I’m tired of people thinking I’m harmless. Those boys need to show some respect. Or at the very least they should be terrified of me. You know his mother would back me up.”
“Reminded me of the old you,” Jack said.
“The old me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Nothing. Just the good ol’ days when you were a happy smart-ass.”
India raised her eyebrows, then said, “What are you doing in town all dressed up in your park ranger duds?”
“Talking with the commissioners about next spring,” Jack said. “They want me to let them spray Franz Lake for mosquitoes. I told them I wouldn’t unless it’s a health crisis. Same ol’ crap.”
“You held your ground,” India said. “Good for you. You’re the only one who’s getting paid to protect our interests who actually protects our interests. At least most of the time. We don’t need to mention the cows and barbed wire fences again. None of the other county officials care about the environment.”
Jack smiled wanly. They had had this conversation many times before.
“Hey, Benjamin told me you two met.”
“Yeah,” India said, waiting to hear that Benjamin had labeled her as a local loony.
Jack nodded and stared at the papers on the circulation desk. India wondered when Jack had stopped looking at her—really looking at her.
“Is he sleeping in that tent?” India asked.
“He will until it gets too cold,” Jack said. “I’ve offered him a room at my place or that mobile home next door. He got a grant to do this, did I tell you?” He glanced at her. India looked at his eyes. Brown. Deep dark brown. He used to look at her. Back when they were dating regularly. That was a long time ago. Now they were good friends, the kind of close friends only former lovers could be. Well, not exactly former. Secret lovers?
“India,” Jack said. “Is everything all right?”
“What? Oh, I’m sorry.” She dropped her gaze from his eyes. “I was lost in thought. You want to come over tonight?”
“Can’t,” he said, slapping the countertop.
“Got plans?”
“Yep.” He didn’t look at her, only smiled a lopsided grin. He had a date.
“Have fun,” India said. “I better get some work done.” She walked out from behind the circulation desk.
“If I get back early I could come over,” Jack offered as India walked away.
She wanted to say something cruel. Instead she called over her shoulder, “No. Go have a good time.”
Teri sat in the workroom flipping through a magazine.
“I think I’m done,” India said.
Teri looked up. “Your replacement librarian won’t be here until tomorrow.”
India smiled grimly. “You can survive for another thirty minutes.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Is there any reason I need to stay?” India asked as she got her coat and purse from the coat tree.
“I have five more minutes on my break.”
India sighed. “I’ll wait then.”
She carried her coat and purse out to the circulation desk. She was sick and tired of this place and all of its petty little rules and regulations. Couldn’t Teri see she had to leave, she had to get away?
India closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Why did she have to get away? Because Jack going on a date hurt her feelings? She had wanted him to date someone else for years. She was always trying to fix him up. After all, they were friends who occasionally saw each other naked. Comfortable for her and him, she thought.
She opened her eyes. Benjamin Swan was standing in front of her. This time his hat was off. His hair was raven black. No gray.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello, India Lake,” he said.
She grimaced. When Benjamin Swan said it, her name sounded like a line out of a country western song.
“Hello, Benjamin Swan.”
He smiled. “You remember me.”
“Of course. What can I do for you?” she asked in her helpful librarian voice.
“My truck broke down,” he said. “I wondered if you could give me a lift home. Jack is staying in town for a while.”
“So I heard,” India said. “Home? You mean that tent? I read it’s going to freeze tonight.”
“It’s plenty warm,” he said. “Besides, I can always go over to Jack’s.”
“How? You haven’t a truck.”
Teri came out of the workroom. India put on her coat and picked up her purse from the circulation desk.
“I’ll see you in a couple of months,” India said to Teri. “Have fun.” She looked at Benjamin. “Sure, come on. I’ll take you home.”
They went outside into the near night. India unlocked the passenger door of her blue Honda, then went around, opened her door, and slid inside. She started up the car, then rubbed her hands together. Benjamin Swan seemed to fill up her tiny car.
“It’ll warm up fast,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“Today was my last day,” she said. She turned on the headlights and shifted the car into first. They drove away from the library and out onto State Route 14.
“You’ve quit?”
“No. I accumulated too much vacation time. They told me to use it or lose it. So I’m taking it all at once.”
She sped up as they left the town limits. The stars were beginning to come out one at a time, as if someone were slowly poking tiny holes in a huge blue-black stage curtain.
India glanced at Benjamin. He gazed out the window.
“How’s the swan study going?” India asked.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m starting to distinguish one swan from another. At least I think I am.”
“You’ve done this before? You’re a naturalist?”
“Amateur. I’ve volunteered for projects like this before,” he said. “Jack told me they needed someone here so I applied for a grant. Jack’s been great. Of course he says he didn’t mean for me to sleep outside in a tent, but I want to know if I can do it.”
“How long have you been out there?”
“Ten days.”
India shook her head. “I’ve never been a good camper. I grew up out in the country and saw myself as Nature’s child, but out in the woods in a tent, I got cold. It was embarrassing.”
“I have to admit I’ve been pretty cold these last couple of nights.”
India laughed. “I bet.”
The road curved past Beacon Rock, the core of an ancient volcano that now served as a tourist attraction.
“One day I couldn’t sleep so I walked to Beacon Rock and climbed to the top. It was incredible.”
“Wow. Weren’t you scared?”
“Of what?” Benjamin asked.
“I don’t know. Of slipping. Of a cougar eating you. Of falling to your death.”
“I thought I would be,” he said. “I don’t like taking risks much. But this felt right. I went the back way, through the cow pastures, so I wasn’t on 14 for very long. I saw deer and a coyote. Heard an owl. I saw the reflection of the moon in the river. Just beautiful.”
India was sorry she had missed it. “Would you like to have some soup at my house before you go back to your tent?”
She turned the car off 14, went across the railroad tracks, and down Shore Drive.
“Thanks, but Rhonda and Isaac invited me over for dinner.”
“Oh. OK. Shall I drop you at their house?”
“No, right here is fine. I need to change my clothes.”
She stopped the car at the entrance to the meadow next to the pond. Benjamin pulled a flashlight from his pocket, then looked at India.
“I hope you come out to see the swans,” he said. “I would enjoy talking with you.”
“Now that I’m off work, I’ll probably be out there every day,” she said.
Benjamin got out of the car. India watched the flashlight beacon bob up and down as he walked away.
She wondered how he was able to change clothes inside that tiny tent.
“Strange bird,” she said, then laughed at herself.
She drove home. It was dark and cold inside her house. She turned the light on and the heat up. She checked her messages. Rhonda had invited her to dinner.
“I guess that means I can’t totally feel sorry for myself,” she said.
She curled up on the couch and dragged a quilt across herself. She closed her eyes.
“Just for a minute,” she whispered.
SHE STARTED AWAKE to someone knocking at her door. She threw off the quilt and jumped up.
“Who is it?” she asked, feeling totally disoriented.
“Benjamin Swan.”
“Didn’t I just drop you off?”
“That was two hours ago.”
She opened the door. Benjamin was dressed in a black jacket, black T-shirt, and blue jeans. No orange parka. She blinked.
“Rhonda asked me to come get you before dinner gets cold.”
“Come in, come in,” India said, motioning Benjamin into the house. She shut the door behind him.
“Who’s their company?”
“Some friends from California. One’s in the movie biz. Another’s a lawyer.”
India rubbed her arms. “I’m not sure I’m up to all that tonight. I don’t feel very interesting right now. She only invites you if she thinks you’re interesting.”
“I have strict instructions to bring you back with me,” Benjamin said.
“Do you always do what people tell you to do?”
“Just women,” Benjamin said. “I obey wisdom.”
India laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m too tired. I don’t feel like socializing or any of that.” She wanted to stomp her foot but decided that was a little too juvenile.
“Let me show you something that will make you feel better. If you still don’t want to go after that, I’ll return to Rhonda’s empty handed, so to speak, and take my punishment like the coward I am. All right? Get dressed. Warm. It’s really cold out.”
“Aye-aye,” India said.
She went to her bedroom, took off her work clothes and pulled on her winter pants, shirt, and sweatshirt. Then she returned to the living room and bundled up in her coat, scarf, hat, gloves, socks, and boots.
“Call me Nanook of the North,” she said. She got her keys and they stepped into a cold clear night. The stars glittered. The air smelled like snow.
India followed Benjamin down the road, across the narrow bridge, and down the lane into the meadow. They walked until they were in complete darkness. India blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She saw porch lights across the river, tiny beacons of home. Their feet crunched over the gravel. Then they were on grass, walking into the cow pasture and toward the cottonwood tree.
Benjamin took India’s gloved hand—for an instant—to lead her to the dip in the Earth where she could not see the pond and the occupants of the pond presumably could not see her. He put a finger to his lips. India listened. At first she heard only the ringing in her ears. Then the traffic a mile across the river.
Then a cooing sound. Lots of cooing. Only that was not the right word. Comforting noises. Ooooh. Oooo. All together it was almost like chortling. Gentle easy laughter.
The swans were singing.
India looked at Benjamin and grinned. He smiled and held out his hand. She took it and twirled around once, dancing to the sound of the swans easing each other to rest. Benjamin did the same.
Then India let go of his hand, and they left the swans and headed for Rhonda’s and Isaac’s with the secret of their swan dance safe between them.
Chapter Three
INDIA STOOD IN the dip in the meadow, high enough up the slope to see the swans but not close enough to frighten them into flight. She watched a gray-necked swan preen. An adult swan spread out her wings.
“Magnificent,” India whispered.
Several dug around in the mud for wapato.
“Good morning.”
India turned and saw Benjamin.
“Hello,” she whispered. “No swan songs this morning. They’re pretty quiet.”
Benjamin nodded. “Some people still believe swans break out into glorious song when they die,” Benjamin said. “Four thousand whistling swans were killed in the United States at one time in an attempt to prove or disprove this theory.”
“That’s awful,” India said.
Two swans slid their heads and neck up against the other, their bills facing Benjamin and India.
“Looks like they’re cuddling,” India said. “I’ve heard they mate for life.”
“Some do, some don’t,” Benjamin said, “though it’s believed the majority do. A pair doesn’t actually make a nest and lay eggs until they’re about four or five years old, but they go steady for a couple of years before that.”
India laughed. “Go steady? Is that swan vernacular?”
A great blue heron squawked, then lifted up from the pond. India and Benjamin walked to the cottonwood—away from the water—so the swans could have more room, in case the heron’s jitters spooked them. The big cranky honked once more as it flew out over the river.
“Did you stay very late at Rhonda’s last night?” India asked.
“I spent the night,” Benjamin said.
India laughed.
“It was cold last night,” he said.
India covered her mouth, so the birds would not hear her laughing.
“I thought you were a mountain man,” she said.
“Hardly. Did you have a good time last night?” He was watching her again, as he had last night. Every time India looked up, Benjamin’s gaze had been on her.
India shrugged. “I love Rhonda and Isaac, and I enjoy their friends for the most part, but I often feel like a pet dog they pay attention to for a little while before they move on to important things. I finally figured out I’m a baby to them and their friends. I’m too young to know anything. Then in town at work, I’m too old to know anything. It’s a delicate age.” India laughed. “When I first moved here, I would walk around the neighborhood. Rhonda told me later she would see me and think I was this quiet nothing. Then she heard me give a talk at the library about writing. She said before that she assumed I was this demure brainless twit.”
“Really? She told you that?”
“Sure. That’s why I like her. She doesn’t hide stuff. You know what’s what. She meant no malice. Do you want to walk so we can keep warm?”
Benjamin nodded. They walked up the slope, then through the gate to the next pasture, skirting the mud puddles until they walked on grass again. A red-tailed hawk called out a warning.
“One,” India said.
Called out again.
“Two,” Benjamin said.
The hawk took off from the dead top of one of the old cottonwoods.
“I can’t fly,” India called. “I don’t eat meat! You could have stayed put.”
Benjamin laughed.
“There used to be a Native village here,” India said. “I’m not sure exactly where, but in this general area. Homesteaders came later. That old house up by the railroad tracks belonged to one of the grandchildren of the homesteaders.”
They followed the cow path into a small wood of evergreens.
“Before the cows came, the ground cover here was all chickweed,” India said. “I would just sit here and graze. Sweet delicious chickweed. It was like a little fairy land. Whenever I find chickweed I’m certain fairies are not far behind.”
“The Celts believed swans were fairy women,” Benjamin said.
India nodded. “Ahh, so I was right. This is—or was—a fairy land. Now you can see all that is left of the chickweed patch is cow shit. And the meadow is full of thistle where it wasn’t before. The cows eat, they shit, and the seeds in their shit grow. Or seeds land on their shit and grow, I’m not sure which. In any case, they spread noxious weeds. Then the ranchers come in and demand the government spray pesticides to get rid of the weeds. It’s a vicious cycle. I fought Jack every step of the way, but they let the cows come anyway. Plus the cows keep getting out near the pond. The entire ecology of the pond is different. There aren’t as many turtles. The water is gray. Way too many geese.”
“Any upside to the cows?”
India and Benjamin walked amongst the trees. India’s fingers traced the grooves in the black bark of one tree.
“No. Well, the swans didn’t come here before the cows, but I’m not crediting the cows with that. That is coincidence. I know that I brought the swans here.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Benjamin said, “but how did you accomplish this extraordinary feat?”
India smiled. “I wanted to write a story about the swans, but I wanted to set it here on the pond instead of Franz Lake. I have to drive to Franz Lake, plus there’s no where to watch the swans except from that pullout along SR14. Anyway, that winter the swans first came here. My story called them here.”
“Did you write the story?”
“I started it, but it didn’t work out.”
“Jack said you’d had a book published.”
“Doesn’t he have anything better to talk about than me?” India asked.
“Yes, but the other stuff isn’t relevant to this conversation.”
India laughed. “OK. Well, I used to write. Now I don’t much. Look over here. I want to show you something.”
India took Benjamin to a large ant hill amidst the trees. The peak of the cinnamon red and gray hill was caved in.
“They’re done for the winter,” she said, “but you can get an idea of how magnificent it was.”
“It’s huge,” Benjamin said. He squatted next to the ant hill. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” India said. “When the ants are here it is an incredible sight. If the sun is full bore on the hill, the few ants move really quickly on the surface of the hill. Because it’s so hot, I suppose. I like to stand so that part of my shadow is cast right on the colony. Like my head or hand. The ants pour out of the hill and take the shape of my shadow. I become part of their world. I’ve always felt protective of ant hills. Most ants are female, you know. Nearly every one you see is a she. Talk about your female wisdom. When I was a girl I found an ant hill out in our woods. I decided to destroy it. I wanted to see what would happen. I planned it. I got up and deliberately went out and kicked it to pieces. Kicked and kicked. I suppose I was angry about something else. All these ants came scurrying out. I saw their panic. I stepped away from my Armageddon and wished I could put it all back. I felt terrible. I started to cry. One of the worse things I ever did in my life.”
India stopped. Benjamin was looking up at her.
Why on Earth had she told him that story?
“So that’s why I feel protective of ants. In case some other monstrous girl is running about looking for trouble.”
Benjamin stood. “Not monstrous. The girl who was you stopped when you realized what you had done. She felt bad. The ants probably rebuilt that hill. Told ant stories about it.”
India smiled.
They left the ant hill and walked out of the woods into the open. India glanced at Benjamin. She had not told anyone that story before. Something about Benjamin made her comfortable. And uncomfortable.
“The sun feels nice,” Benjamin said.
“Yes.”
They stood quietly. India looked toward home. Benjamin stood close to her, and she did not move away.
She should not talk to this man, she thought. She revealed too much about herself. She did not like people to know the details of her life. The sun warmed her face. She shut her eyes for a moment.
“I better go do . . . something,” India said. “I’ve only got eight more weeks to vacate.”
They started walking toward the pond. A swan spread her wings again, wide, as if seeking embrace. Or preparing to embrace. Embrace what? Life? Another swan?
“Will you write during your vacation?” Benjamin asked.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“What about the swan story?”
She shrugged. “It didn’t really work out. Though I was thinking of incorporating it into a story about Sasquatch.”
“Bigfoot?”
“Yes.” They stopped at the green metal gate. India stood on the bottom rail. Thirty or more swans fed at the marshy end of the pond. India heard an occasional swan murmur.
“Bigfoot is a protected species in this county,” India said. “Can you believe that? They’ll cut down all the trees and spray pesticides everywhere but thirty years or so ago, they declared it a crime to shoot a Sasquatch.”
“How did that happen?”
“Apparently there had been a flurry of sightings and some of the experts were saying the only way to prove Sasquatch exists was to kill one,” India said. “So all these crackpots converged on the county looking to kill them a Bigfoot. Instead, they kept shooting at each other. The county figured declaring Bigfoot a protected species would save someone’s life, beast or not. There was a sighting right here at Beacon Rock just a few years ago.”
Benjamin put his left foot up on the bottom rail and leaned against the open gate. “So you believe in Bigfoot?”
“The Native people of this area believe—or once believed—that Sasquatch appears when life is out of balance,” India said, dropping down off the gate. “I believe life is out of balance.”
“Like the Hopi’s Koyaanisqatsi,” Benjamin said.
“Yes, exactly. Crazy life. Life that needs another way of living. Life out of balance.”
They walked around the gate and mud puddles.
“We are about the only culture that does not believe in fairies or brownies or some other,” Benjamin said.
“Yes,” India said. “I’ve never seen Sasquatch, but I think we need him or her. They nearly always refer to Bigfoot as a he but if there are baby Bigfeet, they gotta have a momma. Bigfoot may be real or a symbol of the wild. Whichever it is, we need the wild.”
“I’ve heard some strange noises at night here,” Benjamin said. “Maybe Bigfoot was checking me out.”
“More likely a coyote.”
“Or a cricket.” Benjamin smiled.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” India said. “You know, we worry about you out there. Don’t freeze to death. I told you I was raised out in the country, but I was never a good camper. I remember at one girl scout camping trip I couldn’t sleep because I was so cold. I put on all my clothes, and I was still shivering. I finally got up and went out into the cold to the scout leader’s tent to ask for help. She told me to go back to my own tent and live with it. It was my fault, she said, because I had caused so much trouble earlier in the day by scaring the other girls with stories of Green Eyes.”
“Green Eyes?”
“This being we kept seeing in the woods. Actually we kept seeing these green eyes. Or talked ourselves into believing that’s what we saw. Anyway, the scout leader seemed glad I was miserable. I went back to my tent totally perplexed about what being cold and telling stories had to do with anything. I don’t think I ever got to sleep and the incident changed the way I felt about that woman—and myself.”
Benjamin watched her again.
“I just told another personal meaningless story. I apologize. I was only trying to tell you not to freeze. If you get too cold, come to my house. I won’t tell you you deserve it or that it’s your fault.”
What was she saying?
“Or you could go to Rhonda’s.”
She glanced at Benjamin. He was so tall. Big. He could take care of himself. He smiled at her. Such beautiful blue eyes.
“Thank you for your stories,” Benjamin said. “I like them.”
If she knew him better, she would ask him what he was grinning at.
Oh what the hell.
”What are you grinning at?”
“I can’t tell you,” Benjamin said. He stood with his feet apart again, as if it he were rooted to the Earth.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked.
“No, certainly not. I—I—”
“It’s all right,” India said. “None of my business. See you later, Mr. Swan.”
“You, too, India Lake.”
INDIA WANDERED FROM room to room in her house. It was so quiet. She stopped at the doorway to her office. She should get a cat or dog. Something. She had not had a pet for a decade or more.
She turned around and returned to the living room. When Raymond left he had taken the cat. India had not wanted her. She told Raymond having a pet was like having a little animal slave. The truth was she did not want the mess. Changing litter boxes. Cat hair everywhere for years even after the cat was gone.
India stood at the picture window and looked out. Was that the real reason? When had she gotten so fastidious?
Maybe it was because she did not want the responsibility. She wanted to come and go as she pleased. Wasn’t that why she still rented even though she had lived in the area for a decade?
She looked across the river at the gorge cliffs. The powdery snow had melted, but the white snow Vs remained. Feathery clouds moved west. Some days she stood on the shores of the Columbia River and watched the water flowing west, the clouds directly over the water going east, and the next layer of clouds floating west. A study in wind dynamics—or Zen philosophy. Going with the flow. But which flow?
On a day like today, the gorge was so awesome, so magnificent, that she could not imagine living anywhere else. She felt cradled by the wind-and-water-eroded mountains, soothed by the Columbia River. Sometimes she dreamed the river was red with salmon. Then she would wake up and realize that the true wild salmon were extinct, or nearly so, and she would look out the window and see the haze of pollution that choked the gorge some days. Out here in the Wild West people thought they had the right to burn anything, plus no one had heard of mass transit or car pooling. The result was big city air pollution right out here in the country.
India came from the Midwest. She knew what a place looked like once they had cut down all the trees, fished out the rivers and streams, and killed most of the wildlife: suburbia. In Michigan, she had to drive up north to see the one remaining old growth tree. At least some semblance of wildness remained in the Pacific Northwest. Yet many area residents only valued the wilderness as a cover to give them the privacy to do whatever they wanted out of sight of their neighbors and the government. She had met people who boasted of beating up environmentalists and shooting spotted owls. One neighbor was proud of the fact that he was considered the biggest poacher in the state—he told India this as he tried to steal a turtle from Turtle Pond.
India sat on the couch and pulled the quilt around her. She had been fighting with these people for so long that sometimes she forgot everyone was not like “them,” that everyone was not a “they.” She knew a hunter who made fun of her views but always left the woods how he found it, especially since he rarely actually killed anything. She was friends with an independent logger who didn’t clear-cut even though his fellow loggers pressured him to do so. There was Rhonda and Isaac. And India’s own little environmental group, POOL, and all the women who participated in it.
India rubbed her face. When had she gotten so angry and prejudiced? Old, gray, fastidious, and angry. Pissed Off Old Lady, the real meaning of the acronym POOL.
“As Rhonda would say, ‘Geez Louise.’”
She got up and walked to her office door. This time she went inside. She glanced at the shelf that held copies of her published work, including her novel, Nature Girl. How long had it been since it came out? Five years? She had thought her dreams were finally coming true when Nature Girl was published. She had worked for twenty years to get one of her novels in print.
She pulled the book off the shelf. On the cover was a scantily clad woman stepping into the woods. A little too provocative for the actual story, but she had had no control over what they put on the cover. The reviews of the book had been good, the advertising nil, and the sales mediocre. When she submitted her next novel, her publishers turned it down. So did every other publisher she sent it to. They cited Nature Girl’s low sales figures.
When India had first started out, getting published was the biggest hurdle. Once a writer finally got published, as long as she kept writing good books, the publisher tended to stay with her and help her build an audience, but that was rare nowadays. India put Nature Girl back on the shelf. She again felt like one of those people on the cusp of change: She could not seem to keep up. She had more compassion now for people who had to change careers mid-life. She had been writing stories since she was a child. It was her gift. Now, it seemed, no one wanted that gift.
She supposed she needed to learn a new skill. Could you really learn a new gift?
She had made so many plans, had wanted so much in her life. Now she felt useless, unseen, untalented.
Maybe she was like all those old loggers swilling beer at the Spar Tree. They blamed environmentalists because they were out of work. They never acknowledged their own part in their downfall. She wanted to shake them and scream, “You cut down all the trees!” Did people want to shake her and scream some truth to her about her own responsibility in her downfall?
She returned to the living room and looked toward the pond. She spotted Benjamin Swan’s orange parka.
Who was he? She rattled on and on when she was with him, yet he said little about himself.
Or maybe she had not listened.
She was so nervous around him.
Wasn’t sure why.
Enough of this, she thought.
She had to get dressed for belly dancing class.
Chapter Four
INDIA DROVE DOWN the block to Rhonda’s house. Her friend waited in the dark at the mailbox at the end of her drive. India pushed the passenger door open, and Rhonda got in.
“It’s going to be cold tonight,” Rhonda said. “Did Benjamin get his truck fixed?”
I didn’t see it.”
“Brrr.”
India continued driving the loop road up to SR14. When the road ended, she pulled out onto the highway.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” India said.
“Awww. It’ll be fun,” Rhonda said. “Remember, it’s not only dance, it’s geometry.”
“Geometry?”
“Sacred geometry. I don’t know much about it except it uses shapes and proportions from nature to design buildings, a kind of architectural yoga. We’re going to be creating these same shapes with our bodies. Circles. Ss. The symbol for infinity, which is also a kind of serpent shape. We dance these geometric forms, and this movement massages our internal organs and, they say, connects us to the Great Mystery, or to the Great Mother.”
“I thought you were an atheist,” India said.
“I’m agnostic,” Rhonda said. “That means I have no knowledge of the divine. I don’t say the divine doesn’t exist; I just don’t know. It’s too big. It’s a Great Mystery. If the divine does exist, it would have to be a Great Mother, wouldn’t it? In order to handle so many different things. I love Isaac and he can do one thing at a time really well, but I never met a man who can do many things at once, and do them well. I can cook, eat, plan my day, and have sex all at the same time.”
India laughed. “Please get that picture out of my mind! Besides, aren’t those gross generalities about women and men?”
Rhonda shrugged. “All I’m saying is that to create and organize the Universe, you’d have to be able to juggle more than one task at a time. Thus, the Great Mother. But as I said, I don’t really know: It’s a mystery.”
VIOLET WAS ALREADY at the Recreation Center when India and Rhonda walked in. She stood at the back of the gymnasium stretching, her belly bare, her legs in pink tights. Her voluptuous curves undulated to the belly dancing music.
India stopped and stood at the entrance to the gymnasium, watching and wondering how to leave gracefully. Rhonda strode past her into the room. One row of overhead fluorescent lights illuminated Violet and the shiny linoleum floor. The chairs, long tables, and stage were in semi-darkness. Rhonda took off her coat. Beneath she wore a long flowing blue dress with a sheer rose-colored scarf around her waist. She began moving her hips to the music.
“Hello, India. We do stretching exercises first,” Violet said.
“Before we shake our sacred booty,” Rhonda said.
India rolled her eyes and took off her outer garments. She tied her white shirt below her breasts and pushed her long red skirt down below her navel so that the curve of her waist and belly were exposed. Three more women joined the group: Gina, the postmaster; Ivy who was so skinny India couldn’t imagine she had the strength to walk, let alone dance; and Cheryl, a woman from Rhonda’s swimming class. Cheryl and Gina were both peripheral members of India’s environmental group POOL.
Violet shut off the music and said, “Thank you for signing up again. I don’t usually do this in December, but some of you asked me to continue through the holidays. So welcome all. As usual, we need to warm up. Stretch those arms and hands up to the ceiling. Keep your knees relaxed. Breathe.”
“All at the same time?” India asked.
Everyone laughed as they reached for the sky, one hand at a time.
“Now the head.”
They made circles with their heads, their shoulders, hips.
“Loosen up those hips,” Violet said. “That’s where the heat comes from.”
Rhonda looked at India and winked. India smiled wanly. She did like the feel of her hands on her bare skin as she moved her hips.
After they warmed up their knees and ankles, Violet turned on the music again.
“Feel the beat,” Violet said. “Let it flow up through the bottom of your feet. Move to it. Feel your hips start to move on their own.”
India closed her eyes for a moment. She had never had problems moving to music; it was structure she couldn’t quite get. She did as Violet asked.
Violet taught them how to make figure eights with their hips. India thought she was doing fine until Violet pointed out she was not moving in time to the beat.
“But don’t worry about it,” Violet said.
“I wasn’t until you pointed it out to me,” India said.
“Do the best you can.” Violet smiled.
India wanted to smack her. How old was Violet? Two? India tried the figure eights again. Why get mad at Violet because she was not particularly graceful? Maybe India was the one who was two.
Violet then showed the group how to drop their hips with “flourish.” India watched Violet move her hips as part of the figure eight with her hands poised elegantly above her head and tried to emulate her.
“With more of a boom,” Violet said. “Not a boom. More of a statement. A flourish. Yes, Ivy, that’s nice.”
How could Violet even tell Ivy was moving?
Finally Violet taught them how to walk while performing the figure eight with a flourish. The six of them snaked around the tables and chairs in time with the music. India’s belly and thighs tingled. The music flowed around them, like an ethereal serpent extolling them to dance, to move. India thought they should be outside, dancing naked and howling under a full moon.
Cheryl called, “Yayayayayayaaaa!” Rhonda joined in. Soon all the women were shouting this tribal call to dance.
Jack walked in then. The women danced over to him and surrounded him, shaking their hips and bellies. He blushed and smiled.
Violet was the first to leave the circle. She walked to the cassette player and turned it off.
“Next week, girls,” she said.
The group of women stopped dancing and moved away from Jack.
India said to Jack, “I didn’t expect to see you.”
But she was glad. She was ready to keep dancing. Maybe with him.
“I didn’t expect to see you either.”
“Oh.” So he hadn’t seen her car and decided to stop in? He looked away from her. India followed his gaze.
Violet.
“Oh Jack. Violet? She’s a child.”
Jack looked back at her. “Well, I’ve struck out with women my own age.”
India made a noise and went toward Rhonda who was holding India’s coat and talking to Cheryl.
Jack put his hand on India’s arm. She turned to him.