The Night Travellers

21. Dancer's Return

21 Dancer's Return She was standing in Sally's hallway, rolled-up jeans, leather sandals, hair in strings. Her arms looked overbrown and broken out—bitten, maybe. She was favoring one foot, like a pony that had picked up a nail. Those poor feet, thought Sally. So much demanded of them. What she said was, "Why, child, come on in/' "Mother's not at home," said Mary Kerr, limping into the living room. "But she must have told you." "Just that she was going off with Philadelphia Fred." "I don't know about 'going off.' She went up to visit. How did you come?" "Hitchhiked." "That's dangerous, isn't it?" "It takes forever. I had to walk a lot, too. Thank you for the money, Aunt Sally." She lifted one foot and with perfect balance extracted a small rock from the toe of her sandal. "Our program was just super. I learned a lot I never knew before. We were just getting started." She dumped a swollen duffel on the floor. Something like the arm of a sweater was sticking out of it. She sank into a chair. "It was Ed gave it to me," Sally began. "Your mother— Don't you want some lunch? Or would you say breakfast? I've got all sorts of stuff in the icebox. I think you children never eat anything." Mary Kerr giggled and calmly announced, "What I need is more money." When in doubt, sit down at the sewing machine, was Sally's motto. 107 JOS THE N I G H T T R A V E L L E R S What on earth to do with this complicated situation? "At least you're honest/' But in sewing terms, it was worse than the year they all had to have hoop skirts with rosettes sewed into the panels. "You go get yourself something to eat back there, and then we're going to sit down and talk everything out." Of course, she said no to the money. Ed had it, he just had no patience with giving it to her. Mary Kerr was burning to move on with a core number of the dance group, attached by now to this Art Manning character like a Pied Piper or a Greek god, to some other station of learning, keeping up the momentum, presenting programs in barns if need be, printing flyers in small-town newspaper offices. There was time left before cold weather when Art headed back to New York. She might even get a chance to go with him. "I thought you'd understand." She sat down with a saucer of leftover french fries she had found in the kitchen, a poor choice. "I do understand," Sally said. "I just can't get you any money." Mary Kerr took the news soberly. Why ever would she think she would get it just by asking? She kicked off her sandals. Sally stared at her feet in disbelief. They were dirty. They were rubbed, blistered , cracked, and swollen. But underneath all that, their neat, muscular structure looked knowledgeable, trained. Don Harbison had once proudly remarked, "Her feet are her fortune." What would he say now? "Honey, were you out all night?" "Well, I started out with some others about ten o'clock. They headed west around one, and I kept on alone, hitching." Those lonely little feet, catching gravel along the roadsides, standing back to wait for the next passing car. "Jeff's father was here," said Mary Kerr. "As if I didn't know." "Jeff told me. He scared shit out of Mother. Excuse me. He scared her to death." "So is Jeff with you?" Not alone in the night. Sally felt relief. "Jeff's nowhere near here. He tried to teach in Winston but they were scared of him for some reason. Then they sent for him to work with the Movement. He's getting well-known." "But you're not into all that. Or are you?" Something to tell Ed, one way or the other. Mary Kerr laughed. "What would I do if I was? They like rock singers and guitar players, not dancers. It's true I did that pyramid The Home Scene 109 act in the rally on campus, but mainly to see if I could get up that high. They almost dropped me right into the spotlights. Jeff says I'm not a...