wonder if you could ask—”
Polaris smiled disdainfully and spread out his open hands in a priestly gesture, “We have nothing to do with the futile weapons of this world, my daughter. They have no power here in this sacred place. Yet, if you wish, I shall make inquiries. But now . . .”
Behind her, Elizabeth heard a rustle and murmur. She turned: Seven young women were removing their sandals at the door. Polaris continued, “But now I have a cluster to orient. Please return by the same way you entered our community; the area beyond is private. If you would like more information about Starshine Community, you may visit our Web site.” The young women, all wearing light sleeveless robes in shades ranging from creamy yellow to deep orange, were approaching with measured steps. Their heads were bowed and their hands were crossed on their breasts. Polaris bowed slightly, then turned and sprang back onto the dais. Elizabeth had been dismissed.
She returned to the door and contrived to stuff her feet back into her sneakers without untying the laces. The young women circled three times around the dais where Polaris stood, then sank gracefully to the carpet to kneel facing the tall white figure.
Like stars wheeling around the North Star,
Elizabeth thought as the dark purple doors closed quietly behind her. The picture of the yellow and orange robes puddled on the deep blue carpet stayed with her.
It's unreal,
she decided.
Everything here is so beautiful, like one of those movies where each frame could be a painting.
Driving back toward the gate, she wondered about Polaris.
How could someone with pure white hair look so young? Daughter, indeed! I could be his mother! Maybe he's an albino? His skin was certainly pale. But his eyes weren't pink, though that wild turquoise was probably courtesy of contacts . . . And what in the world, or out of it, are these people up to? I'd heard there was a “hippie commune” up here, but I sure didn't expect anything this organized. Someone's spent a lot of money here. Hippie communes are usually raggedy-ass poor, at least they used to be.
The women under the apple tree were gone now, and there was no sign of life in any of the little cabins or the yurts. It was like a fantasy village, tended by invisible gardeners and unspoiled by human squalor. She continued on down the road toward the entrance. The goats had moved higher up in the pasture to the shade of a grove of locust trees. Elizabeth slowed to look for Rigel but there was no one to be seen.
Dammit,
she told herself,
you didn't find out diddly. Polaris said Cletus hadn't been here recently, but—
She decided to drive up the left fork and see what the rest of the community looked like.
There's no sign saying not to,
she argued, and swung her car around.
The left fork led upward, zigzagging across a steep wooded hillside. The road was narrow and if she were to meet a car, she realized, there would be no room to pass. Elizabeth cursed her impulsive decision. Briefly she considered backing down, but quickly saw that it would be very difficult, if not impossible. She glanced at the abrupt drop-off, mere inches from her right tires, and doggedly drove on, praying that she would soon find a place to turn around.
The road grew even steeper; she shifted into low four-wheel drive. Old trees pressed in closer, the road grew narrower, and it began to seem as if she were caught in some endless nightmare. Higher and higher the jeep climbed. She was near the top of the mountain when at last a small clearing appeared to the left. A windowless building occupied most of the space with—
joy of joys
—a graveled area in front of it. There was just room to back her car in beside the shiny black pickup truck parked there and turn around.
As she was executing this maneuver, a door in the end of the building opened and two burly men emerged, both carrying rifles. They wore jeans and black T-shirts, and their eyes were hidden behind wraparound
Polaris smiled disdainfully and spread out his open hands in a priestly gesture, “We have nothing to do with the futile weapons of this world, my daughter. They have no power here in this sacred place. Yet, if you wish, I shall make inquiries. But now . . .”
Behind her, Elizabeth heard a rustle and murmur. She turned: Seven young women were removing their sandals at the door. Polaris continued, “But now I have a cluster to orient. Please return by the same way you entered our community; the area beyond is private. If you would like more information about Starshine Community, you may visit our Web site.” The young women, all wearing light sleeveless robes in shades ranging from creamy yellow to deep orange, were approaching with measured steps. Their heads were bowed and their hands were crossed on their breasts. Polaris bowed slightly, then turned and sprang back onto the dais. Elizabeth had been dismissed.
She returned to the door and contrived to stuff her feet back into her sneakers without untying the laces. The young women circled three times around the dais where Polaris stood, then sank gracefully to the carpet to kneel facing the tall white figure.
Like stars wheeling around the North Star,
Elizabeth thought as the dark purple doors closed quietly behind her. The picture of the yellow and orange robes puddled on the deep blue carpet stayed with her.
It's unreal,
she decided.
Everything here is so beautiful, like one of those movies where each frame could be a painting.
Driving back toward the gate, she wondered about Polaris.
How could someone with pure white hair look so young? Daughter, indeed! I could be his mother! Maybe he's an albino? His skin was certainly pale. But his eyes weren't pink, though that wild turquoise was probably courtesy of contacts . . . And what in the world, or out of it, are these people up to? I'd heard there was a “hippie commune” up here, but I sure didn't expect anything this organized. Someone's spent a lot of money here. Hippie communes are usually raggedy-ass poor, at least they used to be.
The women under the apple tree were gone now, and there was no sign of life in any of the little cabins or the yurts. It was like a fantasy village, tended by invisible gardeners and unspoiled by human squalor. She continued on down the road toward the entrance. The goats had moved higher up in the pasture to the shade of a grove of locust trees. Elizabeth slowed to look for Rigel but there was no one to be seen.
Dammit,
she told herself,
you didn't find out diddly. Polaris said Cletus hadn't been here recently, but—
She decided to drive up the left fork and see what the rest of the community looked like.
There's no sign saying not to,
she argued, and swung her car around.
The left fork led upward, zigzagging across a steep wooded hillside. The road was narrow and if she were to meet a car, she realized, there would be no room to pass. Elizabeth cursed her impulsive decision. Briefly she considered backing down, but quickly saw that it would be very difficult, if not impossible. She glanced at the abrupt drop-off, mere inches from her right tires, and doggedly drove on, praying that she would soon find a place to turn around.
The road grew even steeper; she shifted into low four-wheel drive. Old trees pressed in closer, the road grew narrower, and it began to seem as if she were caught in some endless nightmare. Higher and higher the jeep climbed. She was near the top of the mountain when at last a small clearing appeared to the left. A windowless building occupied most of the space with—
joy of joys
—a graveled area in front of it. There was just room to back her car in beside the shiny black pickup truck parked there and turn around.
As she was executing this maneuver, a door in the end of the building opened and two burly men emerged, both carrying rifles. They wore jeans and black T-shirts, and their eyes were hidden behind wraparound
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