Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

At dawn she woke to a black dog gently licking her face. If the dog’s motion had not been so gentle and slow, she might have feared an attack. The bundle was secure in any case because she slept curled around it to keep it warm. During the night she woke but could not be sure if he moved or if she had only dreamed he moved. She was still bleeding, though much less than the night before; the afterbirth was in the sand nearby, untouched by the dog. A good sign. The dog had a fat stomach, but seemed crippled; it hobbled backward wagging its tail as she raised up. Did something move in the bundle? She still couldn’t bring herself to look. Too bad she hadn’t brought a canteen, because she was really thirsty. She wondered if Big Candy came to her tent last night and was looking for her. Maytha and Vedna probably wouldn’t get back from Needles until tomorrow.

The dog stood a short distance away watching her face and the bundle in her arms curiously. When they lived in Needles, she and Indigo used to beg for a puppy, but Grandma Fleet said dogs eat too much meat.

Now the sun rose above the horizon but with a partial mask of thin clouds. Her left arm was stiff from holding the bundle and she tried to shift it a bit without disturbing it — if she bumped it and it didn’t move, then she’d know he was dead. Just then she was aware of a strange sensation — an odd tingling — and when she touched herself with her right hand, her breasts were swollen and leaked warm milk through the cloth of her blouse. The dog’s ears pricked up at the bundle, and when she first looked down, she thought she saw a spider, then she realized it was a tiny black hand reaching out of the bundle.

He was still alive! Now she had to look, but she dreaded to see the poor little thing breathe his last. Yes, she whispered to him, it was her fault he was born too soon, for eating too much greasy white-colored food. She whispered to him as she gently pulled open the bundle to look. Now both little black hands were waving at her angrily and she laughed with relief at how briskly they punched the air. He smelled breast milk and wanted some right now. As she fumbled with her blouse to bring out a breast, he began a high-pitched cry sounding like a river heron; the longer it took for her to push back the cloth wrapped around him, the louder the heron’s cries became. His little wrinkled face was contorted in anger — his eyes squeezed shut and mouth gulping like a fish; in her haste to get the breast and nipple to his mouth, milk squirted on his forehead and for an instant he stopped wiggling and opened his eyes in surprise and she saw he was a tough customer who wouldn’t die anytime soon.

His mouth was so tiny her nipple filled it entirely but he did not choke or cough as he sucked ravenously. He gave out angry cries as she shifted him to the other breast, which was soaking them both in milk. She was so relieved he was alive she began to cry softly. His vigorous sucking stopped briefly, and she saw a black shining eye open for an instant to see what was wrong. “I’m just so happy,” she said in Sand Lizard language. “I was afraid you were dead.”

The black dog was lying close by, and watched patiently. Each time she felt his nursing diminish, she started to get up, but instantly he woke and began to suck so strongly she sank back down on the sand again. She managed to scrape away enough sand with one foot to properly bury the afterbirth without disturbing him. Encouraged by that success with him in her arms, she was able to urinate, then crawled a distance away to clean sand. She was so thirsty. She’d never go for a walk without a canteen again — not even in cool weather! Good thing she was only a few miles from the river. For a moment she wondered why Big Candy didn’t come looking for her — maybe Wylie sent him to Prescott; the twins probably wouldn’t get back from Needles until the next day.

Finally she managed to stand up without disturbing him — he slept with her nipple in his mouth — and she began to walk back down the sandy wash the way she’d come. The black dog led the way, stopping from time to time to look back to see if she was still coming. She had not gone far when the dog suddenly stopped as it approached a bend in the arroyo. The hair on the dog’s back stood straight up and Sister Salt froze in her tracks; but then the dog’s tail began to wag wildly and it gave a bark and ran fast on its crooked legs around the bend in the wash.

“There you are!” a woman’s voice shouted in Spanish, and before Sister Salt could decide whether to hide or not, a strange sight met her; around the corner came a small dark woman surrounded by a pack of black dogs. The woman seemed as shocked to see her as she was; for an instant Sister Salt thought the dog woman was about to turn and run.

All the dogs began to bark but the woman shushed them; they obeyed at once and sank to their bellies; it was then Sister Salt noticed each of the other dogs wore a burlap pack over its shoulders and back. “They won’t harm you,” the woman said in Spanish, but when Sister Salt didn’t reply, the woman repeated the words in English. Sister Salt nodded but didn’t move; she felt him let go of her nipple and begin to squirm in his bundle; he wanted the other breast.

The woman watched as she shifted him to the other side. She wasn’t much older than herself. The woman looked at the torn bloody skirt, then at the bundle in Sister Salt’s arms, and she looked around to see if there was anyone else.

“Do you need help?” the woman asked in English. Sister Salt got a good look at her then and saw a dark purple scar from the middle of her forehead down the bridge of her nose to her chin.

“Please, some water,” Sister Salt answered. The woman turned to the dogs, who wagged their tails but obediently remained on their bellies. From the nearest dog’s pack she took out a plump canvas water bag that felt deliciously damp and cool in Sister Salt’s hands; water never tasted so good! She could have made it back to the river without water, but that might have also caused her milk to dry up, and she didn’t want to take that risk.

While Sister Salt drank, the woman gazed around them with vigilance, but more than once the woman looked back toward the south, the direction she’d come from. The woman offered to hold the bundle while she washed up, but Sister Salt declined. The little black grandfather would be furious if she disturbed his nest between her breasts to hand him over to a stranger.

In Yuma, the dog woman heard about a wagon town booming upriver at the new dam, so she brought her dog circus to make some money. Sister Salt nodded. Yes, money was waiting up there for entertainment. The workers would flock to see something new for a change.

She introduced herself as Delena, but just the way she said the name told Sister Salt it was not her real name. Delena asked if she lived there, and Sister nodded. For the first time since the baby was born, she began to take stock of her situation. She could see the dust cloud in the distance above the construction site. Her feelings were hurt because Big Candy didn’t come looking for her. Even if he was really busy, he should have at least sent Juanito out to search for her this morning. If Big Candy didn’t care enough to start a search, she wasn’t sure if she should bother to go back.

Maybe she should ask the dog woman for a water bag and start back to the old gardens now. Even before he was born, the little black grandfather hated the construction noise. He might never tolerate the noise now, and all night the drunks and gamblers laughed and cursed around the tents. She’d have to move her tent downriver away from the noise. She had a difficult time deciding what to do; he watched her from inside his cocoon. His eyes said, “You don’t want to go back there,” but she pretended not to understand.