Read The Girl With the Jade Green Eyes for Free Online Page B

the strength of earth’s social taboo against nudity. This morning he would be introducing her to Peterson, who obeyed regulations, observed conventions, practiced decorum, and reverenced propriety. The chief ranger would have trouble enough adjusting to the girl’s appearance and origins. Besides, Kyra was receptive and sensitive to human emotions. Peterson’s embarrassment might shame her.
    It was too early to call Peterson, who had not yet begun to monitor his radio. He shaved and ate breakfast and packed his gear and shortly after seven he sat on the knoll, waiting, when Kyra emerged from the aspens wearing only a pink shoulder bag. Stepping into the creek, she waded upstream, trailing her fingers in the water as she walked. Exuberant in the morning, she could have been Eve in a still-pristine Eden, and, watching her, Breedlove regretted that he was not a poet capable of enshrining the sight of her in memorable phrases. When she passed beneath the willow at the bend in the creek, she strode dappled by its shadows, reminding him of the line from Hopkins, “Glory be to God for dappled things.”
    It occurred to him that it was unlikely that she had heard any poetry over Station KSPO, and yesterday she had brightened with delight when he compared her to an orchid. He could pirate the deathless phrases of the poets and fling them at her, with variations to suit the circumstances, without fear of detection. When she emerged onto the east bank of the creek and waved up to him, he arose and waved back, calling down to her:
“You walk in beauty, like the night
    Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
    And all that’s best of silver and green
    Meet in your aspect and your eyes.”
    “Breedlove, you can’t see green at night.”
    Drawing closer, she swirled before him, modeling her bag by holding it to her hip. “Is my bag the height of fashion?”
    “It is. But I’m going to call my leader to come and get us and take us to Spokane, and we’ll need a dress to cover you.”
    “Breedlove, is my body so uncomely you’re ashamed of me?”
    Genuine hurt in her eyes brought his instant rebuttal.
    “Absolutely not! It was once said of earth’s first geometer, ‘Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.’ That’s no longer true. Euclid and Breedlove alone have looked on beauty bare. But it is a rigid custom on earth for women to wear clothes in public, and I’ve got this little number here”—he stooped and lifted the poncho—“that will get you to my house and my sister’s dresses. It will cover enough of you to keep Ranger Peterson from going into deep shock when he sees you.”
    “You didn’t seem very shocked when you saw me.”
    There was a note of suspicion in her accusation.
    “I know, but I’m young and resilient. Peterson is mature and believes in custom and going by the book.”
    “And not as lusty,” she added, amused now by his obvious confusion. She took the proffered poncho and slid her arms through the slits, looking down at its folds.
    “I think I’ve known you long enough, Breedlove, to tell you frankly this is not a gorgeous creation. If you will cut me a length of your rope, I think I can improve the drape.”
    He complied, and while she worked at the drape he radioed Peterson. “Pete, this is for your ears only, and I mean only your ears. A historical event has taken place in the meadow. You’d better draw on your June ration of gas to get the helicopter to the meadow as soon as possible. Come in from the south over Hallman’s Peak and don’t circle the meadow. Come straight down to where you’ll see me signaling.”
    Apparently impressed by Breedlove’s urgency, Peterson did not argue, saying only, “Wilco. Out.”
    “My leader is on his way,” Breedlove said to the girl, who was dubiously holding the pink bag against the dull green and yellow of the poncho. “I plan to take you to my parents’ farm and hide you there until Peterson contacts the authorities. I planned to tell you