Dancing Shoes

by Hugh Todd

There was a length of footpath along which Ruby never walked. She had almost forgotten why she crossed the road before it, on her way to and from the bus stop, only to have to cross back fifty metres further on. The window display in the shoe shop opposite gave her such pleasure that she had almost convinced herself that it was for this that she dodged the traffic, provoking the only breathless moments of her day.

Even when office-mates accompanied her, she was able to steer them over to that window, where she pointed excitedly at the shoes she never bought, giggling half ashamedly, half scornfully at any suggestion that she should do so. When, as they sometimes did, her companions went inside and tried on those daring confections, she would go with them, delighting in their audacity, running a commentary as vibrant and particular as any sale assistant’s. She would invariably exit the shop first, her back to the street, her attention focused on the completed purchases and their new owners.

If her colleagues thought her a little odd, they were forgiving, since her attention both flattered and emboldened them. And besides, she was no threat.

On the last day of October, Ruby left the office late. She was alone. The street lights were lit, the traffic ebbing away. Checking for the bus ticket in her handbag, she slowed to cross the road. She looked up, and stopped. On the other side a barrier blocked the footpath. In the intermittent light of its orange warning lamps she could make out a detour arrow, pointing to her side of the street.

She hesitated. The footpath ahead was empty. She could, she thought, walk all the way around the block. She had time before her bus came. Then again, it had been a long day. And going that way meant walking through a zone of car park entrances and blank façades. Almost as unappealing as ... as ...

The toot of a car horn startled her.

“‘Night, Ruby!”

Ruby, gathering her thoughts, recognised Samantha from accounts, waving from the passenger window of a passing car. Before she could formulate a reply the car had travelled out of earshot. She waved, feeling foolish. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably, and she looked around for something familiar and reassuring to calm herself.

The street was now very quiet. No cars at all passed along it, and she could see no pedestrians. She felt an urge to run back to the office, to shut herself in with her files and the computer. She could finish that report. She could stay the night. But Samantha had been the only one left when she had gone, and she would have locked up.

She stood there, not moving, feeling deeply alone. Tears welled up, hot and full, and coursed down her cheeks. She let them fall. There was no one to see them.

There were times, at home in the night, when she woke and listened for noises. She was sure sometimes that she could hear someone walking around the rooms, and she would stop breathing, staring at the ceiling so that both ears could pick up the slightest sound. No one had ever broken in, but the adrenaline stirred by her fears kept her awake, sometimes until dawn when she felt safe enough to sleep a little before rising for work.

She had loved several men, and even thrown herself upon one or two of them in a way that now made her ashamed. None, though, had seemed to notice and she had come to accept that she was, sexually anyway, invisible to them. Her visits to the shoe shop with the girls from work gave her both a vicarious thrill at preparations for encounters with the opposite sex and (more rarely, since her hopes for herself had long been dormant) pain at the ease with which they seemed to launch themselves into their encounters and relationships.

Her tears lessened. She felt lighter. With a tissue from her bag she dabbed her face and sniffed. At least there was no runny mascara to worry about. She smiled ruefully.

Well, she would miss her bus if she just stood here. It was time to get a move on.

She stepped into the forbidden stretch of footpath, walking close to the curb, clutching her bag tightly. Her eyes were averted from the source of her unease, an alleyway running between two ancient buildings.

Years before, when she had first started at Mason’s, she had walked past this alley many times. It had taken a month or two even to recognise the discomfort she felt as she passed it, and to realise that the alley was its source.

It was the sound that she had first noticed. A low murmuring, like the wind, almost imperceptible above the noises of the street. As she gave it her attention, she heard other sounds: shrieks and laughter, snatches of conversation and songs, though never clear enough for her to hear. She heard more bestial sounds, moans and cries, and felt uncomfortable and frightened. When she peered into the alleyway she thought sometimes she could see wild shapes moving, perhaps dancing.

A sort of pull, too, went with the wind. A gentle tug, barely noticeable, like that of a draught flowing into a chimney. She felt it in her being, too, a desire she did not understand, and from which, eventually, she fled, beginning her habit of avoiding the alleyway altogether.

Tonight, in the quiet of early darkness, the sounds were more apparent. As she drew nearer, she fancied that amongst the indistinct words she could hear her own name. “Ruby. Ruby.” A voice of great longing; deep, rich and dangerous. She wrapped her arms about herself, breaking into a half run, fixing her eyes on the curb ahead.

A bright figure flashed before her, crossing the footpath. She looked up, following its trajectory involuntarily. It passed into the alleyway, now just ahead. It was tall and dazzling, trailing luminescence. Ruby desired instantly to follow it.

She dashed to the entrance of the alleyway and halted. Where was the bright figure? She could see nothing. Her fears returned, and she drew back, but as she did so she discerned a faint light, growing fainter as she watched. Longing seized her again.

“Wait for me,” she called. “Wait!”

She hurried ahead, eyes fixed on the glimmering spark, which seemed still to be receding. Now, however, the gentle breeze at the entrance to the alleyway had picked up and was blowing her from behind, playing with her hair, ruffling her skirt. She felt almost as though hands were touching her, and once or twice made to brush them away, only to find nothing there. It swirled around her arms and between her legs, and she began to laugh at its mischief.

The sounds, too, grew louder, raucous and unrestrained. She felt a wildness growing within herself, and a longing to join the laughter and the singing.

The wind dropped suddenly. She stopped. Before her on the ground, glowing in what seemed to be their own light, sat a pair of dancing shoes, red and sparkling with crystals, or diamonds. Or rubies. She felt suddenly out of breath. Rubies. They were for her. They were the most beautiful shoes she had ever seen, and they were for her.

The wind gave a puff, as if nudging her. She kicked off her loafers and slipped the shoes onto her feet, feeling as she did so the thrill of a caress, and once again tears started to her eyes. She held out her arms and spun around, and started to dance, adding her voice to the sounds around her. The shoes seemed to give her grace and movement, and amongst the rising sounds she heard music, bearing her along.

The wind now became more unambiguously physical. She could feel the form of a body moving with her as she danced, holding her hand, her waist, pressing in against her. She felt a face close to hers and a warm breath in her ear. They spun and danced and whirled. All the time she heard her name, and she felt desire grow within her, glorious and full.

Her hands now touched skin. She felt his shoulders, his back, his buttocks. With a glad shock she took in his nakedness. She let him undo her blouse, release her skirt. As her clothes fell away she felt a rush of release, as if her old life were falling away with them. Her moving body felt the tingle of the night air and the touch of his hands on her own breasts and belly and buttocks. Their dance slowed, and his hand slipped between her thighs.

As he came into her the pleasure she felt was piercing and intense. So this was how it was! She gasped and her back arched, and she took his buttocks in her hands and pulled him in deeper. They moved together, as if their union had been for ever, and her cries joined those on the wind around her.

When another prick pierced her below the heart she gave a start of surprise, then was glad.

“We’ll dance for ever, my darling,” she said.

A homeless man came upon her in daylight as he searched the bins in the alley. Her clothes were scattered about. She wore nothing but a pair of red sequinned shoes. When the police brushed the hair from her face, they were startled.

“Look,” said the homeless man, pointing. “She’s smiling.”