A Bait of Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

intense. Others came and they laughed a silent laughter, long slender feelers clicking in telegraphic wit.
    The mug dropped, spilling a last few drops of cold cha on the bed as she drifted to sleep, fingers still curled tightly about the Eye. In her dreams the air dancers whispered: come come come come
    join us come
    In the morning she dragged herself out of bed and dressed with one hand, clutching the crystal in the other, ignoring the unmade bed and leaving her sleeping shift on the floor where she’d stepped out of it.
    She listened distantly as Habbiba described the cafta to be embroidered, took the ruled paper and went to her table to draw the designs.
    Her fingers slipped into her pocket and moved slowly over the warm sensuous surface of the crystal.
    Habbiba came scolding when she saw nothing on the paper.
    Gleia looked at her vaguely, listened until the wizened little woman was done with her tirade, then bent over the paper. She began sketching flower forms under a single sun and dancing soaring butterfly figures, working the whole into a rhythm of lightness and joy.
    Habbiba watched for a minute then went quietly away, smiling with greedy satisfaction.
    Gleia went back to dreaming.
    In her room that night she stripped off the cafta, hung it on a hook and forgot it. Forgot to wash. Forgot to make her cha. She picked up the nightgown from the floor and slipped it over her head, ignoring its damp musty smell. She lay on the wrinkled sheet turning the crystal over and over in her hands.
    They came swooping around her, taking her through the line of houses perched on slender peeled sticks that raised them high above the flower-dotted moss below. Through open arches pointed at the top—past arches filled with knotted hangings accented with polished seeds—past walls bare and pearly gray, with brilliant hangings as strips of color against that bareness. Over floors upholstered with padded carpets, different colors in different rooms—through room on room on room, separated from one another by cascades of multi-sized arches. Antennas clicking with laughter, the butterfly people darted about, showing off their homes.
    come come (they whispered to her) leave your miseries behind and ride the wind with us
    come come
    In the morning she dragged herself out of bed, put on the crumpled cafta from yesterday. Dressed with one hand again, not aware that her movements were limited by the warm and throbbing crystal clutched in her right hand. She thrust it finally into her pocket and left the room without washing herself or doing anything about the mess she left behind.
    At work she sat hunched over the layout paper, running her pencil idly over the sketch from the day before, dreaming as idly of the crystal’s world.
    Habbiba came by sometime later and looked over her shoulder. When she saw the whole morning had gone by with nothing done, she exploded with rage. “Hai worm!” she shrieked. Her small hand buried itself in Gleia’s tangled hair and jerked her head up. “What’re you sniffing, bonder?” She peered into Gleia’s dull eyes. “By the Madar, I’ll teach you to waste my money on that filth. Abbosine!”
    The big tongueless watchman came from the small room where he spent his days. He took Gleia’s hand, pulling her down the hall into the punish room. He pushed her against the wall and closed a set of cuffs about her wrists, her struggles as futile as fly tickles against his unthinking strength. He looked morosely at Habbiba. When she jerked her head at the door, he shambled out.
    The furious little woman slammed her fist into Gleia’s back, driving her against the wall. “You never learn,” she hissed. “You never learn, bonder. Maybe I can’t make you work, fool, but you’ll hurt for it.” She stepped back and swung a many-tongued whip. The sharkskin tails slashed down, slicing through the worn cloth of the cafta, cutting lines of fire