Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

“It’s so small.”

“He — he’s a boy.”

“He looks too tiny to live,” Big Candy said in a sad voice.

“Don’t talk like that to him!” Sister Salt said in low, fierce tones. She wanted to say talk like that could kill tiny babies, but Candy looked so sad she kept quiet. He didn’t know the first thing about Sand Lizard babies. His ignorance was more apparent when he asked her to unwrap him so he could get a better look. She pulled the bundle closer and arched her body over it as she shook her head. Later on when she gave him clean dry wrappings, Candy could see him; right now it was important to keep him warm so he could sleep.

Big Candy sat down at the table again; the beat of the rain against the tent was not as heavy now. He sat in silence and he didn’t touch the money. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted the child until he saw the baby was too tiny to live. He’d seen babies born too soon when he was a child — born to the housemaids, who brought them to the big kitchen to keep warm. He watched his mother help the women try to save babies born too soon — pitiful little things with legs and arms like sticks; they gasped like fish out of water for a day or two, then lay still. He had not thought about them for years, but now the tears sprang into his eyes and he choked up as he had each time the babies died. Poor girl! She doesn’t know any better — she thinks this baby will live. He rubbed at his eyes hard with his fist and cleared his throat. He didn’t want to add to her hurt so he didn’t tell her what he knew.

He’d be back soon; he just had to take the receipts to Wylie. What a mess in this rain! He pulled down the wide brim of his felt hat to better shed the rain, and turned up the collar of his denim work coat. If the rain kept up, the clayish mud would be knee deep and impossible for the machines and mules. Bad for the contractors, but good for beer sales and the casino, especially now the soldiers were in the area.

Wylie was still wary of the presence of the soldiers. For now they might be there to discourage sabotage by disgruntled farmers downriver and slowdowns by workers demanding shorter hours; but the boss had information from his contacts in Prescott his enemies meant to put an end to his strict control of the gambling and beer at the construction camp. Wiley was already through a fifth of whiskey when Candy got there. He grinned when he saw the money sacks Candy put on the table were too full to tie shut.

“They might close us down next week,” Wylie said with a grin. “By God we’ll make money hand over fist until they do!” He wasn’t worried. It was his job to control access to the job site to keep the work going smoothly — to keep the peace between the general contractor and all the subcontractors and their workers. He had to watch the federal inspectors who came from time to time, to make sure they didn’t become too cozy with the contractors.

The Prescott businessmen had the hard liquor and the prostitutes in their wagon town within walking distance. Wylie didn’t stop them from running dice and card games outside the construction zone; if the men didn’t want to walk that far after work and preferred Big Candy’s barbecue, beer, and the casino tents along the river, well, that wasn’t Wylie’s fault. The construction zone and workers’ camp had to be kept in an orderly manner to prevent labor agitators and other safety risks. The only big complainers, beside the Prescott and Yuma businessmen, were the traveling preachers, who waved Bibles over their heads and condemned him to hell because he refused them access to the construction zone too. The wagon town suited the prostitutes, but the preachers wanted to reach the workers before they squandered their pay on beer and dice, or went to the women in the wagons.

Wylie barred the preachers on the grounds they might be labor agitators. Look at the uproar the preachers caused as soon as they arrived and went after the businessmen with the wagons of women. Wylie figured as long as the preachers and Prescott merchants quarreled with each other, he and Big Candy had nothing to worry about. Time and again, Wylie had watched the two forces squabble at the federal job sites he’d superintended. One of these days, Congress might get around to changing the law that gave the site superintendent such authority at government project sites. Wiley wasn’t concerned; he and Big Candy would be long gone by then.

Wylie wanted to retire by the sea in southern California, where it was warm; Long Beach suited him just fine. They’d done so well as business partners over the years, Wylie was reluctant to part with Big Candy. He tried to persuade Big Candy the weather in Denver was too cold and Negroes weren’t welcome, even if they had money. Now, in southern California they welcomed a man with money, whatever his skin color. Candy wanted a hotel and restaurant, but why not in Los Angeles? Big Candy was a Louisiana man; he’d hate the Denver winters. But Candy wanted to live near big mountains; Louisiana didn’t have big mountains, and neither did Los Angeles.

Despite the impressive receipts, Big Candy seemed subdued; Wylie asked if there had been trouble with a drunk in the casino the night before. Just from the way Candy shook his head, Wylie knew it was woman trouble. He poured them both another glass of brandy; how could that girl of a squaw make trouble for an ex — army Indian fighter like Candy? he wanted to know. Candy sipped the brandy and shook his head. The girl had a little baby — his baby — but it was born too soon and sure to die.

Wylie shook his head, then downed the brandy and poured more. The constant moving from job site to job site barred a man from a family; Wylie was glad of it — but he could see sometimes Big Candy was lonely. Wylie patted Candy on the back and poured him another brandy; he’d never known a man, white or colored, as honest as Big Candy. They never discussed how or why they got along — they had an understanding that developed effortlessly, at least Wylie thought so. He didn’t presume to know what effort it took for a colored man to get along with a white man. Maybe Candy put in more effort than he let on; maybe that’s why he kept talking about Denver. Wylie still hoped to talk Candy into southern California; that way he could eat Candy’s cooking anytime he wanted. It was a shame about the infant, and he had nothing against the Indian girl, but Wylie was confident his friend could do much better for a wife in California.

Wylie knew how to cheer up Big Candy. He complimented him on the pork ribs that evening. Then he talked about steamed Pacific blue mussels in white wine and mushroom sauce he once ate in San Francisco. Candy’s expression relaxed a bit and his eyes brightened.

“Scallops,” Candy said. “I’ve been thinking about sea scallops poached in white wine.” Candy knew this was Wylie’s way to try to persuade him to go to Long Beach instead of Denver. Wylie remembered all of Candy’s best dishes, and could describe each one in detail months, even years, later. Wylie’s appreciation of fine cooking kept Candy inspired.

The rain brought the first relief from the heat in months, and the sticky, slippery red clay mud gave workers the vacation their bosses had refused. The soil was too wet to work and the workers celebrated their holiday with pails of beer and loud whoops and yells at the dice and cards. A little later there were gunshots followed by cheers. The little black grandfather stiffened and twisted around in his cocoon at the first loud sounds and refused to nurse. He was angry too because his own father believed he would die. Each day the baby lived would persuade Big Candy that he was wrong. You have to be patient with your father, she whispered to the little fists jabbing angrily from the bundle.