To dance is an art foreign to one who does not have a body. It is difficult for angels to understand the strength and discipline that is required. To dance well, one has to know the space and the flesh that one inhabits, to understand its capability and its limitations. I have only seen the barest glimpse of this through the eyes of my newest assignment.
Myrtle Mills is fresh out of college, working her first job in Concord, New Hampshire and loving every moment of it. She is a long, dark form, one straight line of angles and corners that can twist into amazing shapes and move with a fluidity that stuns me. I have spent all of my time in the Garden today watching her dance, and I do not think I would ever tire of it.
Myrtle teaches dance classes in an old brick building, four days a week, to children of different ages. Her youngest students are mere fledglings, doing little more than jump and twist, throwing their tiny hands into the air. Her oldest, however, are beginning to take on some of the same elegance and precision that makes Myrtle herself so impressive.
I have heard Morgan talk about dancing, and once she demonstrated part of a routine to Brooke while I was present. That was something called jazz, and the tune Morgan hummed while she did it was bright, harmonic, and cheerful. Myrtle’s preferred style is quite different. The music she plays in her studio is fiercer, harsher, with a relentless beat and notes that penetrate deeper than sound. Her movements are full of sudden stops and starts, taking up far more space, taking full advantage of the body’s capabilities. To Myrtle, dancing is not a side talent or a hobby; it is a way of life.
Even outside the studio, she moves with confidence and grace, fully aware of her body’s power and relishing it. I have come to enjoy following her down the street, seeing how other people scurry out of her way. It is perhaps not very considerate of her, but she means no harm, and it is quite a change from other women whom I have seen who try to make themselves small. Myrtle, who stands six feet tall in her bare feet and has a deep, booming voice, will never be that.
When she is not teaching or taking supplemental classes herself, she will go to clubs and parties and continue to dance. When she is walking down the street, sometimes she will jut out a hip and practice a new move, to the bemusement of other pedestrians. Even back in her apartment, making breakfast for herself and whoever she brought home with her that night, she will moonwalk her way across the floor to put the eggs on a plate.
My task with Myrtle is a simple one, at least in name. Myrtle has no problem finding partners—her beauty and boldness make her very difficult to resist. But she is unfaithful to these partners, and though many of them have expressed the desire to be her only one, none of them have been able to hold her.
Danit believes that a new man coming into Myrtle’s life might be able to do that. His name is Jaquinn, and he too is a dancer, though his interest is less all-consuming than Myrtle’s. My task will be to bring the two of them together, and if a relationship begins—as it almost inevitably will—to observe Myrtle and see if a stable relationship does her good.
I will go to meet Jaquinn in a few days, and his first encounter with Myrtle will follow soon after. Meanwhile, I have the privilege of continuing to watch Myrtle dance, and I assure you, it is a great joy.