In a distant village in Neopia, in a thatched and worn
cottage, lived a little Aisha and her parents. She was Eliotta. Eliotta loved
to dance.
Eliotta adored dancing. It was better, she thought,
than the farmer's life that was her parents' lot, better than the merciless
sun, the aching limbs, the lagging hours. When she grew up, she would be a dancer.
But this seemed impossible. To be a dancer,
you had to go to dancing class. To go to dancing class, you needed money. Eliotta's
parents were not the sort of people who could send their daughter to dancing
class, or any sort of class at all. They had enough to do, putting bread on
the table. Eliotta helped whenever she could, of course, but it was still not
enough.
Still, Eliotta's hope could not be extinguished.
She could not afford to have dancing classes; she could have it some other way
with no need of affording. She hung around the dance studio where the luckier
and more fortunate children had their lessons. So great was her love of dance
that she dared to climb up the pipe to the small ventilation window at the back
of the building and hang there as long as she could, watching them dance, memorising
the steps, the tune, the rhythm, every slight movement of the dancers' hands,
every small tip or hint the instructor dropped, to try out when she got back
home.
From her high perch on the pipe by the ventilation
window, Eliotta could hear the other children complaining about the difficulty
of the steps, the strictness of their instructor. It seemed to her that they
hated these lessons, attended only by force from their mothers. Why? her heart
longed to cry out to them. Why? You do not know how lucky you are! Why, I would
go through any torture to be in your places! I would give everything on earth
to attend just one of your lessons! You cannot understand the meaning of appreciation.
Eliotta had no other way to have her classes.
She could not slip in, for the teacher made them stand in front of her and tick
their names, and it would be useless to tell her that she had forgotten to write
down Eliotta's name. She had no friends that she could pass off as, for the
snobby girls from the rich families would have nothing to do with what they
called 'low-down farm girls'. So every day, she climbed up that slippery pipe
and perched by that dingy ventilation window, just to catch one small glimpse
of what they were dancing today.
Eliotta's father highly disapproved of these
doings. "A waste of time," he would snort, whenever he saw Eliotta flitting
about in the little kitchen, humming dancing tunes and doing an occasional pirouette.
"Dancin', when you should be helpin' your mam instead with the housework. I
knew we should've got a boy instead." And Eliotta would meekly cease and continue
her work, not daring to contradict his gruff grumbling voice and fearing his
quick temper.
But her mother was different. Eliotta's mother
was a small gentle Aisha, whom Eliotta mostly took after, and she loved her
daughter dearly, despite her husband's constant remark that she was "spoilin'
that girl". Eliotta's mother had in fact shared the same childhood dancing dreams
as Eliotta now did. In her young daughter she found a fresh gleam of hope. Hers
was now long gone; now she concentrated on her daughter. She let Eliotta take
time off from the work so that she could escape to the dance studio for another
lesson and even stopped her own work sometimes so that her daughter could show
her the latest tropical Island dance or elegant royal waltz and listen to her
comments.
Eliotta had the odds against her: her father's
disapproval, the difficulty of attending lessons, the danger of being discovered
by any of the dancers. Once, as the girls were leaving the studio, she had craned
her neck to watch them. A bit too far out, and she fell, thump, onto the ground
below. She was badly bruised. Just then came voices from around the corner,
belonging to some of those snobby girls.
"What was that, Victoria? Heard it?"
"Yeah, like something falling. Come on, let's
go check it out."
Fear bit into Eliotta. They would find her and
take her to the teacher, and she would be punished, and her father would be
terribly angry and she would never be able to dance again. Then she saw that
the studio was separated from the pavement by a short hedge. Painfully she rolled
into it as the two owners of the voices came round the corner. It just covered
her small body.
"Can you see anything, Irma?"
"Wait a while. Could be just some creature. Maybe
it's a trick of one of those farm girls, to scare us."
Footsteps, and then to her horror, Eliotta heard
rustling around her ears. They were going to find her, find her, find her...
"Nothing, Victoria. Just leaves. Come on, we're
wasting our time."
Footsteps echoing into the distance. Eliotta
summoned up her courage to peek out, and finding it empty, she ran off home,
relieved at that narrow escape.
But she was not inclined to give up. Her mother's
love and pride kept her going, and so did her own determination and love for
dancing. She continued her vigil at the ventilation window and her own practices
in secret.
Years passed. Eliotta grew older, from a little
child to a young girl. Her passion, however, did not cease. Instead, it grew
stronger; she must make her move soon, or the chance would be lost forever,
gone in the mists of time. She was taller and heavier, but not so much that
she could not climb up the pipe anymore to watch the lessons. She practised
devotedly every day. Soon she was able to combine dances, faerie-flight with
ice-sway, plateau stamp with water movement. Better and better, every day, she
could master the art, superior in the flow of dance, her unsuitable learning
not withstanding her quick ability to pick up steps and her determination to
learn.
The chance came at last, one day. Eliotta was
dancing a new dance, Sakhmet in the Desert, for her mother. Quick and graceful
she moved; it was hard to follow the elusive movement of her limbs. She needed
neither props nor costumes for her mother to see the real dance in Eliotta's
imagination. They were in a rich, scented tent, filled with silk cushions and
Desert furniture. In front of her danced a Desert performer, such as those who
entertain the courts of kings, in white linen and gold bangles. Eliotta's mother
watched, transfixed. As the images faded back into those of the thatched cottage
room, she had made up her mind.
"Eliotta," she said. "I want to show you something."
Eliotta followed her mother into the kitchen.
The walls were made of brick. Her mother went over to the wall behind the sink.
She made sure that there was no one watching them, and then she began to feel
the wall with her fingers. Eliotta patiently waited.
Her mother stopped at one particular brick.
She felt the cement around it, and then to Eliotta's surprise, she pulled out
the brick. Inside, there was a small hollow space of about twenty-five centimetres
across. Her mother put her paws inside, and drew out a small bag of Neopoints.
Eliotta gasped.
"These are my secret savings," said her
mother. "I saved them up when I was a child. Your father doesn't know about
this." Her mother bent close to her. "Eliotta, I'm giving this to you."
Eliotta could not say anything.
"I know you want to dance," her mother continued.
"There is an audition in the Faerieland School of Dance. Take this money and
use it to get into the school. I meant to use it in times of trouble, but this
is better."
Eliotta managed to find words at last. "No,
Ma," she whispered. "I can't take your money. You must keep it for the
family."
Her mother was adamant. "You will take it, and
become a dancer, Eliotta." Her face softened, and she smiled slightly. "When
I was your age, I wanted to be a dancer too. I missed my chance. Now it is your
turn. We will go to Faerieland tomorrow."
The next day, Eliotta was ready early in her
best brown smock. She and her mother finished breakfast quickly. Her mother
picked up the bag in which the NP had spent the night, beckoned to Eliotta and
they walked to the door.
"Where're you going?" Eliotta's father shouted
after them.
Eliotta's mother turned around in the doorway.
"I know your opinion, Alfred," she said, "and I don't care to hear it. I am
taking Eliotta to the audition. Goodbye." She turned and pulled her daughter
out of the house, shutting the door after her.
To be continued... | 
