Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

His plan was to ship florists the Brassavola blossoms, plant and all; later, when the blossoms ended, the customer returned the plant to him. As Hattie listened to his new plan she realized a quality of tone in Edward’s voice had changed or perhaps her hearing changed. She no longer recognized the connection she’d once felt with him, perhaps because she no longer trusted her own judgment. The glowing light in Aunt Bronwyn’s garden and the disembodied mask she dreamed seemed more real now than her manuscript or her marriage.

Indigo was delighted with Edward’s gift for Linnaeus, and while she let Rainbow get a closer look, she was careful the parrot did not take a bite. The fruit was so fragrant and each day she watched the color of the smooth green skin change ever so slightly. She could hardly wait to see her dear little friend again and to give him the wonderful gift.

The days were still hot as the train left El Paso, but already the nights were cool; the days were growing shorter now. She and Hattie continued their geography lessons with the map, and Indigo counted the days, then the hours, before they reached Yuma. She missed her best chance months ago in Needles; this train they were on followed a southern route through Yuma; Indigo didn’t know her way around Yuma.

The moon was low in the sky; its first quarter shone brightly through the window of the compartment onto the bananas on the seat; in the strange light they reminded her of a giant severed hand. She could hardly wait to see Linnaeus to give him his gift. Just as she was going to sleep, she felt the train slow and heard the conductor call out, “Yuma.” Hattie did not stir despite the jerks and creaks of the train. Rainbow slept with his head tucked under one wing; she thought she saw one eye open at her from under the wing, then he went on sleeping. If she wanted to get away, here was her chance. She pressed her face against the coolness of the window glass: the sandy hills approaching the river were a dark blue silver from the moon. She tried to see if she could locate the place where the Indian police held her and the other children — the last place she had seen Sister Salt — but all that seemed so long ago; she recognized nothing. She looked at the bananas again — she promised Linnaeus she’d come back. How could she leave Rainbow behind? Yet she couldn’t jump off the train with him; he might be killed. Tears filled her eyes, and she felt swallowed by loss — Mama, Grandma, and Sister — all over again. Hopelessness paralyzed her and despite the voice in her head that told her to go now, hurry, before the train picked up speed, she did not move.

With her cheek cold and slippery against the train window, she cried herself to sleep. She dreamed Rainbow was perched in one of Grandma Fleet’s apricot trees and she sat in its shade while Linnaeus played in the sand nearby. But in the terraces between the dunes, planted among the corn, beans, and sunflowers, were bright swaths of red, pink, yellow, orange, purple, and black gladiolus flowers as tall as the tasseled corn.

The train arrived in Los Angeles a little past four that afternoon. Edward insisted the cab take them directly from the train station to the lawyer’s office, where they left him, but not before he instructed the cabdriver how to gently unload the orchids at the hotel.

Hattie removed her shoes and rested on the bed while Indigo played with the parrot on the floor. Tomorrow the train would return them to Riverside, and a house that was no longer theirs, if it ever had been. Fortunately she hadn’t had time to settle into the house, so she would not feel much loss. But she’d grown so fond of Indigo she wasn’t sure if she could bear to let the child go, especially now. She was determined to take the child out of the Indian boarding school and help her find her mother and sister. If Indigo was orphaned, then Hattie would spare no expense until she adopted the child.

Edward returned from the lawyer’s office with letters and telegrams and good news: All was well in Riverside. The monkey was healthy and played happily with the kitten; the two curled up with each other at night. Edward smiled at Indigo as he said this, and she returned his smile. Poor man, he wasn’t so bad — there were worse.

Indigo turned to Rainbow in his cage and told him not to worry — she loved him as much as she loved the little monkey. Now they could all be together. She showed the parrot the bunch of bananas, the gift for Linnaeus. At first the two of them would have to become acquainted — Rainbow had to watch out the monkey didn’t accidentally hurt him; they had to be especially careful of the kitten Linnaeus adopted.

Edward gave Hattie the telegram to read for herself; Susan and Colin agreed to lease the house and gardens to them, but the citrus groves must be sold. Fortunately, orchid culture did not require extensive acreage. The sale of the citrus groves meant all the debts could be paid, with money left to build glass houses for the orchids.

He waved another letter at her; more good news! In a letter sent from Albuquerque, his Australian doctor friend reported specimens of meteor iron were obtained from a sheep herder who sold them to a prospector. When the assay laboratory in Albuquerque attempted to saw open the specimens, the hardest steel blades were quickly dulled, and finally a pneumatic spring-loaded chisel had to be used. Inside the nearly pure cadmium were threads of pure silver and gold; but more astonishing yet, the specimens were shot through with black diamonds that penetrated with great velocity! Dr. Gates urged Edward to come out to the Arizona crater site as soon as possible. Hattie could only nod her head; she would never forget the doctor’s long hands and that slow predatory examination during her illness. She swore never to be in the same room with that vile man again. She might have been able finally to rationalize Edward’s zeal to acquire the citron cuttings for the government, but his association with Dr. Gates was beyond the limit.

The journey by train to Riverside was not long, but the time seemed interminable to Hattie, and she was reminded of descriptions of purgatory and hell. She realized she no longer believed; if they existed at all, purgatory and hell were here on earth. She was exhausted but could not sleep as the train lurched along; her clothing felt untidy and she felt a sick headache coming on. Only when she looked at the child whispering excitedly to the parrot was her heart eased. The child was thriving; her dresses were a bit short and snug around the waist and she outgrew her shoes. Hattie found comfort in making plans for Indigo’s return. She would need proper clothes herself to travel in the sun and heat of Arizona.

Edward reread the letters and the telegrams; he was more confident than ever of success with the mining venture. Of course their new company would require funds immediately, and the settlement of the estate with Susan and Colin might take months. He felt confident he could persuade Hattie to lend the money, only until the estate was settled.

The sun had set but the twilight was still bright as they drove through downtown Riverside, past the businesses and the stately Mission Hotel, where the oil lamps were already lit along the entry promenade; from inside, music from a piano could be heard faintly as the coach passed. Once they’d left behind the downtown businesses and streets lined with houses for the farmland and orchards on the outskirts, Indigo pulled herself closer to the window and she began to watch for the Indian school buildings. Dim light shone from the windows of the dining hall, and her heart beat faster when she sighted two long lines — girls in one, boys in the other — marching toward the dormitories. She felt light-headed with relief once they’d passed. Last year at this time she had been one of those girls in line — pushed from behind and pinched by the others.