The crowd applauded vigorously and Miriam could feel again the mass excitement.
“As usual,” continued Drewena, “Kate has adapted a native dance-ritual to her own choreography. To-night she will interpret the fire dance of a tribe of Andean people.”
Drewena stepped back as Patsy came from the corridor with a smoldering, perfumed brazier which she placed upon the floor, now cleared for a space in the center. The music began, the muted drums became more prominent, and Kate walked from the shadows of the alcove to the brazier, standing quietly beside it, her eyes lifted upward, watching the smoke, her hands palm outward before her. There was a leather strap around her forehead and a leather wristlet above the left hand. On her upper arm was a metal band which had the dull gleam of copper.
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.