The high knee movement as she circled the brazier showed the control and discipline of her deeply tanned legs, and the supple flexibility of a professional dancer. Her bare feet slapped stiffly against the wooden floor as she continued to circle the smoke which was now rising like a slender blue pillar. As she went round the coals, her body rotated while circling, so that at times she faced the low flames and at others had her back to them, her body always arched, her circled head often coming close to the flickering brazier. A soft, faun-colored wrap that looked like chamois swung from Kate’s waist; but on one side it had been cut in from the hips where the fine webbing of her dark jockstrap covered her.
Among the excited watchers, none was more affected than Beulah. She kept wiping her mouth and whispering, “My God!” to Docky. Docky, however, for once, was too fascinated to reply.
Intoxicated by the wild music and by the incense which now pervaded the room, even more by the dance itself, Kate continued her steps with more abandon, her copper body whirling with such rapidity that she seemed to be weaving amid the smoke, making it catch her enthusiasm as it leaned toward her at every angle until it spiraled upward as though part of the dance. A bolo knife with a polished bone handle rested against the nearby wall and Kate leaped toward it, picked it up swiftly and fastened the looped thong around her wrist. Then as the song of the Firebird[2] grew wilder, she swung the heavy, shining blade as though cutting her way through vines and wet, tall grass, until the knife sang in the air and Kate’s slim, powerful body weaved from side to side in her savage desire to get once more to the flames. Her teeth were drawn back as though fighting with intangible yet formidable spirits, and her handsome face was set in a perfect mask of determination to get to her own beckoning god—the crimson soul of the flame—life-giving and protecting. At last she reached the genie of the fire-bowl, her face, arms and belly streaming with sweat, the bolo knife held rigidly over her head and her left hand supporting the sinews of the wrist which held it.
This time, instead of circling the brazier, she leaped over it, held herself suspended one fraction of a second before she dropped lightly on the other side, wheeled instantly and repeated the floating movement until the blur of her body became one with the smoke. Suddenly, to the horror of the guests, there was a soft whisper, like fire through damp reeds, and the odor of burning hair mixed with the scent of the pitch. As the crowd held its breath sharply, Kate let out a fierce, sensuous shout of triumph, and whirled in eccentric half-turns into the shadows of the alcove....
There was no applause. The crowd was stunned by this amazing, painful exhibition into deep silence. Docky abstractedly removed and wiped her glass eye again, and Beulah dabbed futilely at her aging face. But their attention was now quickly drawn to the corner where Roberta had been sitting. She was standing in such an imperious manner that everyone turned toward her in astonishment. The broken rays from a chandelier nearby revealed her beautiful, tragic face as she said with the elegance of contempt, “And now—let me speak!” Her resonate voice filled the deep silence, and she crossed the floor to a place where she could face the crowd more fully.
Rather nervously, Drewena hurried to her and whispered something; but Roberta’s desperate expression stopped her from speaking further and she drew back, more than ever perplexed. At this, Miriam, watching the blue fox muff attentively, walked quietly to Roberta until her eyes said, “Stop!” which Miriam did, a few paces away.
Then, in level voice and without gesture, never taking her eyes from Miriam’s face, Roberta said—
There on the sheets, my lad,
With small gold arms and hair tossed back
Most carelessly,