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Emily took a deep breath. ‘OK. I’ll try. I’ll think about the idea of a Jalpura documentary.’ For a long moment they stood, hands linked, and a strange trickle of warmth, of hope, of lightness ran through her. Until finally the hustle and bustle of people urged them to keep walking and Luca pointed to a nearby food stall.
‘Shall we try that one? I am suddenly ravenous. And we need to eat before the dance.’
‘Me too. That one sounds perfect.’ And as he tugged her towards the enticing aroma she realised she was smiling.
* * *
Luca swallowed the last delicious mouthful of biriani and they started to walk towards the temple where the dance was going to take place.
‘I am very excited about this,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve always wanted to see Kathakali performed.’
‘Kathakali?’
‘Yes, Samar and Shamini mentioned it earlier, after you’d gone. My dad told me about it. It’s a dance that tells a story. It literally means story play. The dancers have years and years of training because it’s so hard. The whole story is conveyed through gesture and facial expression and colour. The make-up is exquisite and basically different colours represent different characters and characteristics. It’s amazingly complex and the story is usually epic. The performances can go on throughout the night.’ She glanced up at him and gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Not today, though. Today is one scene from the story of Nala and Damayanti. It’s a love story, but they have a pretty torturous path with demons and battles and magic and snakes before they get their happy ending.’
She broke off. ‘Sorry. I am boring on.’
‘Nope. You aren’t.’ He grinned at her. ‘I think you’d have made a natural Kathakali dancer.’
‘Hah. Just because I move my hands around a bit when I talk.’
‘There’s that, but it’s also the way your nose crinkles when you dislike something and the crease on your forehead when you are focusing.’ He studied each feature and his fingers tingled with a desire to smooth his fingers against her brow, to move down the bridge of her nose. ‘Then there’s your smile.’
He heard her intake of breath at his words, a sound she turned into a shaky laugh. ‘I think you need more than a few wrinkles to be a Kathakali dancer.’
As she spoke they reached their destination, saw Samar and Shamini waiting for them, and now they turned their attention to the performance.
‘Part of the whole experience is to watch the dancers transform,’ Samar explained, and they watched a dancer lie prostrate as other members of the troupe applied a complicated maquillage. ‘He is the main dancer, he is Nala, so he has the most complicated make-up.’
A few minutes later the performance began, the dancers assembled around a large multi-wicked bell metal lamp. Bare-chested musicians encircled the actors, drums to hand.
Luca’s eyes widened as he witnessed the intricacies, the grace, the drama, the wealth of detailed movement that told the story. The scene showed Nala finally defeated by an evil demon who poisoned his character, made him into a gambler who wagered away his kingdom and deserted his wife. Perhaps that was what had happened to his father, Luca thought; his Achilles heel, his greed, had been exploited by a demon woman who would stop at nothing to get him.
Emily’s words of earlier rang through his head. ‘The very act of living your life as you have, of being a true family with your mum and Jodi, all you have achieved despite what he did to you all—that is success and you mustn’t let anything take that away from you.’
He turned to look at her as she stared wide-eyed and rapt at the stage; he’d swear he saw the suspicion of tears in her eyes as she swayed to the evocative beat of the drums, as the wife Damayanti wept as Nala crept into the night.
Looking down, he saw that at some stage in the proceedings he’d taken her hand in his. For a moment he considered releasing his grip, knew he didn’t want to, told himself that it was all to do with the atmosphere, the beat of the drum, the flare of the fires that had sprung up throughout the grounds.
The applause was long and soon after the performers melted away. ‘Now it’s over to us,’ Shamini said. ‘I think we should dance the kolkali.’
They watched as groups of men and women formed circles; from somewhere came a supply of sticks that were passed around and both he and Emily gripped them. Other people held instruments, drums and cymbals. Luca looked to Emily for elucidation but she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I have no idea how to do this.’ Worry clouded her eyes as she looked down at the stick and Luca wanted to dispel it.
‘Then let’s just go with it,’ he said, and a sudden exhilaration raced through him as he held out a hand to her. ‘Together.’ Because he wanted to dance with her, wanted her to abandon herself to the sound of the drums as she had for scant seconds back in Silvio’s in Turin. Perhaps it would give her a release from the doubts and sadness he knew she carried, would lighten the load.
Surprise lit her eyes along with a second of hesitation and then she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and placed her hand in his with a shy smile. ‘Let’s do it.’
The feel of her hand in his again brought a smile to his face and he squeezed it slightly, caught his breath as she moved closer to him, and he felt intoxicated by her proximity, her scent, her warmth.
Within minutes the music started, the beat slow at first, and the group began to move in a circle striking the sticks against each other, whilst keeping rhythm with different steps. Luca released Emily’s hand but stayed close as they both tried to follow along, and soon enough they were swept up in the rhythm. Yet Luca was only aware of Emily, the rest of the crowd a mere backdrop against this entrancing woman, the sway and curve of her body, the grace of her movements and the expression on her face, her eyes focused on him.
The music increased in tempo and volume, and the movements became faster and faster as the circle of dancers expanded and contracted, the sticks a blur in the moonlight, and through it all Emily weaved and turned, the dance bringing her so tantalisingly close and then pulling her away, and it seemed to him that they danced for each other and each other alone.
Then another dancer tripped, lost his balance and stumbled into Emily’s path; she tried to dodge but her body twisted at an awkward angle and instantly Luca moved to catch her and then there she was in his arms. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I think so. Yes. Thank you.’ Her voice was breathless as she looked up at him and now his chest constricted at her beauty, dark hair wild around her flushed face, her brown eyes warm and alive with laughter and passion, and now he knew that she had danced for him, had been as caught in the spell as he was. Knew too he should let her go but instead his arms tightened around her as he told himself she might be hurt, might need his support. For a timeless instant they stood, and his head whirled as he saw desire spark in her eyes, her lips parted, and he couldn’t help himself. Oblivious to the dancers around t
hem, he lowered his head and kissed her.
