Page 16 of The Goblin and The Dancer
“Nothing a little hot water and soap couldn’t fix,” Rosanna said bravely. She even smiled a little, but Grik’s keen ears heard the sniff.
She was crying.
His heart twisted. “Please don’t cry. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll get you out of here; I promise.”
“I’m not,” Rosanna murmured. “I know you will.”
Grik felt nearly faint with delight. “Really?” Her continued sniffing curbed his joy, and he thought hard about what else she could be crying about and then struck upon it. “Did . . . was it what Paul said?”
Rosanna didn’t respond in so many words, but she gave a tiny nod.
It was all Grik could do not to caper with glee. He hated seeing Rosanna hurt, but he couldn’t help being secretly pleased that Paul was digging his own grave. But the more he considered Paul’s insensitivity, the more it sponged away Grik’s evil pleasure and replaced it with sorrow.
“He shouldn’t have said that, Miss Rosanna,” he said softly. He thought of adding, “he probably didn’t mean it,” but he couldn’t find it in himself to be so generous. Paul had enough advantages already.
Rosanna shrugged, a little bitterly. “He’s right. I am just a dancer; what do I know?”
“You’re notjusta dancer! You’re a wonderful dancer, the best dancer that ever lived. And you’re smart and wise and kind and . . .” Grik trailed off as he realized that Rosanna was looking at him. “I mean . . . everyone knows that,” he added in a rush, his throat thick with sudden shyness.
Rosanna’s voice was quiet. “Do you know why I became a dancer?”
“Because you loved it?” Grik ventured tentatively.
Rosanna offered him a meager smile. “Yes, I did love it. But . . .” she paused, looking uncomfortable. “I also couldn’t do anything else. I got into the school and was later accepted into the company because I could dance well, never because of my grades. I never qualified for scholarships, but I got in anyway, because of my feet.” She pulled a face.
The sudden memory of some backstage gossip from some of the other dancers returned to Grik. They had said something like that, that Rosanna got everything in life because of her feet, not her brains. Grik had been so angry at the time that he had emptied all of his dustbins in that dancer’s dressing room. Nobody had ever found out who had done it, and that girl had been lucky that it had been the only thing he had done to her.
Rosanna was quiet for a moment and then spoke in a rush. “My mother told me that my dancing didn’t matter. She said she couldn’t believe that it was a job and that people would pay to see someone hop around on a stage. She said the world doesn’t need something so frivolous, and I ought to do something useful with my life.”
Grik gaped. How could anyone say something that was so obviously wrong? Of course dancing was important. So this was why Rosanna had looked so sad at times.
He didn’t know much about Rosanna’s background; he knew only the tidbits that he had picked up from the backstage whispers. He knew that her father was dead and she was estranged from her mother, a woman rumored to be cold and impossible to please.
This knowledge had only further solidified Grik’s feelings that they were meant for one another. He too had lost a parent when he was young; his mother had died in a mining accident. He too had a parent that was impossible to please. His father had gone out for a drink at a goblin bar one night and not returned. Grik had always believed that it was because his father didn’t think Grik was worth returning for. He had been an outcast for his strange ways even in his own home.
There was no noise around them but the steady drip of water and the methodical ding, ding, ding, of rock against metal.
He forced his attention back to Rosanna. She was still crying silently, and he wanted so badly to take her hand, but he didn’t dare.
“I . . . I was thinking. That maybe what I do, all I’ve worked for, is a waste. That it doesn't matter that I’m lost down here, because . . . because my mother is right and being a dancer is a foolish thing.”
Grik scooted closer. “That’s not true. It’s not. Dancing makes people happy.”Just like you make me happy.
Rosanna turned a little, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you really think it’s important?” she said, sounding nearly desperate. “Is entertaining people the same thing as helping them? Is it really doing something useful? Something good?”
Grik nodded so hard his head ached. Rosanna’s dancing had always touched him. Watching her dance made him feel less alone, less sad, less ugly. Troubles seemed to melt away when he watched her. When Rosanna danced, it was as if she were somehow inviting everyone watching to dance with her. It was almost as if her audiencebecameher, performing every move with her and rejoicing in the beauty and wonder of it.
“When I . . . I mean, when people . . .” Grik cleared his throat. “When people watch you dance, they go away. They forget how things are. That’s important. As important as being a soldier or anything else.”
Rosanna nodded and gave him a grateful look that melted his heart, but he still caught the shadow of doubt in her expression.
“Thank you,” Rosanna whispered. “You are so kind. And brave. We wouldn’t have survived the river without you.”
She reached for him, and Grik’s breath caught in his throat as her fingers closed over his.
She held his rough hand and didn’t shudder.
Grik didn’t even dare to move. He was afraid that if he did, Rosanna would let go—and he couldn’t bear for her to let go. Her hand was so small, so smooth, in his rough palm.
