"I'd hoped you might fall asleep for a bit," he said. "You looked so
tired when I left."
Francine glanced at her wristwatch. "It's only three-thirty. What's
the day like?"
"Hot and windy."
Ohashi busied himself inserting film into the projector at the rear of
the room. Presently, he went to his chair, trailing the remote control
cable for the projector.
"Ready?" he asked.
Francine reached for the low editing light beside her chair, and turned
it on, focusing the narrow beam on a notebook in her lap. "Yes. Go
ahead."
"I feel that we're making real progress," said Ohashi. "It's not clear
yet, but the points of identity...."
"They're exciting," she said. "Let's see what this one has to offer."
Ohashi punched the button on the cable. A heavily robed Arab girl
appeared on the screen, slapping a tambourine. Her hair looked stiff,
black and oily. A sooty line of kohl shaded each eye. Her brown dress
swayed slightly as she tinkled the tambourine, then slapped it.
The cultured voice of the commentator came through the speaker beside
the screen: "This is a young girl of Jebel Tobeyk. She is going to
dance some very ancient steps that tell a story of battle. The camera
is hidden in a truck, and she is unaware that this dance is being
photographed."
A reed flute joined the tambourine, and a twanging stringed instrument
came in behind it. The girl turned slowly on one foot, the other raised
with knee bent.
Francine watched in rapt silence. The dancing girl made short staccato
hops, the tambourine jerking in front of her.
"It is reminiscent of some of the material on the Norse sagas," said
Ohashi. "Battle with swords. Note the thrust and parry."
She nodded. "Yes." The dance stamped onward, then: "Wait! Re-run that
last section."
Ohashi obeyed.
* * * * *
It started with a symbolic trek on camel-back: swaying, undulating. The
dancing girl expressed longing for her warrior. _How suggestive the
motions of her hands along her hips_, thought Francine. With a feeling
of abrupt shock, she recalled seeing almost the exact gesture from one
of the films of the Galactics. "There's one!" she cried.
"The hands on the hips," said Ohashi. "I was just about to stop the
reel." He shut off the film, searched through the notebooks around him
until he found the correct reference.
"I think it was one of Zak's films," said Francine.
"Yes. Here it is." Ohashi brought up a reel, looked at the scene
identifications. He placed the film can on a large stack behind him,
re-started the film of Oriental dances.
Three hours and ten minutes later they put the film back in its can.
"How many new comparisons do you make it?" asked Ohashi.
"Five," she said. "That makes one hundred and six in all!" Francine
leafed through her notes. "There was the motion of the hands on the
hips. I call that one sensual pleasure."
Ohashi lighted a pipe, spoke through a cloud of smoke. "The others: How
have you labeled them?"
"Well, I've just put a note on the motions of one of the Galactics and
then the commentator's remarks from this dance film. Chopping motion of
the hand ties to the end of Sobaya's first dream: '_Now, I awaken!_'
Undulation of the body ties in with swaying of date palms in the desert
wind. Stamping of the foot goes with Torak dismounting from his steed.
Lifting hands, palms up--that goes with Ali offering his soul to God in
prayer before battle."
"Do you want to see this latest film from the ship?" asked Ohashi. He
glanced at his wristwatch. "Or shall we get a bite to eat first?"
She waved a hand distractedly. "The film. I'm not hungry. The film."
She looked up. "I keep feeling that there's something I should
remember ... something...." She shook her head.
"Think about it a few minutes," said Ohashi. "I'm going to send out
these other films to be cut and edited according to our selections. And
I'll have some sandwiches sent in while I'm at it."