Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

Wylie tried to put their loss into perspective: Candy had escaped losses in ’93 because he never used banks. One time it paid Candy not to use a bank; but now Candy suffered a loss that a bank prevents. Even so, Wylie still preferred to take his chances with his money in a hole before he’d watch the bankers rob him again. Bankers were untouchable, but the Mexican woman and her dogs might be tracked down and caught, though it wouldn’t be easy. She might be dangerous, she might ambush Big Candy along the river, and one man could never fight her and shoot all those dogs at the same time. She might have accomplices hiding out in the hills who would pick off any pursuers one by one. If they got the army or law enforcement involved, they’d never see the money again even if the woman was caught.

“No, forget it,” Wylie told him. They would make back that money in a year or less if they opened a hotel and restaurant together in Los Angeles. Wylie had money buried in the backyard of his mother’s house in Ohio. Enough to get them started. Think of the abalone flesh white as the breakers, their taste as delicate as the scent of the sea breeze; only Big Candy knew how to make the delicate breading of sherry, egg white and walnut flour before he braised the abalone in sweet butter. Los Angeles was waiting for a chef like Candy to show them how to cook.

Candy felt anger sweep over him as Wylie spoke. Easy for Wylie to talk — he still had money. Hell, he started with money! Candy lost everything — years of working day and night. A man could do nothing for himself without money; here a man, white or colored, was nothing without money.

He saw Wylie truly wanted him to accompany him, Wylie really was his friend — he didn’t blame Candy or criticize his judgment. But somehow that only made the loss worse because his friend Wylie trusted him to take care of the floor safe and he failed. Now everything was meaningless except recovering the stolen money as soon as possible.

Wylie even invited Sister Salt and the baby to come along too, but Candy shook his head. He told Wylie to go on ahead to Long Beach without him. He couldn’t explain to Wylie but he was consumed by the feeling he had failed to measure up, and only by finding that dog circus woman and their money could he be restored.

Wylie was amazed at the effect of the theft on Big Candy; he was inconsolable, transformed so Wylie barely knew him. Nothing else mattered — Wylie even offered to loan Candy money to go ahead with his plans in Denver, but Candy refused.

Before he left, Wylie gave Candy the address in Long Beach where he’d be staying. He finally persuaded Candy to take his old shotgun, $50 for food, and one of the big mules to ride. All Candy needed was a little time and he’d get over it and start thinking clearly again. Wylie just hoped, in the meantime, Candy didn’t go off and get himself killed.

Delena and the dogs trotted slowly but steadily away from the river over the sandy ridges to the dry gravel flats that stretched east and south. From time to time they stopped to rest, and she checked each dog’s pack to make sure it was secure, and not rubbing off any hide. Though the days were still hot, now as the morning star rose a light wind stirred and chilled her until she started moving again. Finally, just before dawn they reached the precipitous edge of the big arroyo that would take them to Havasupai Creek.

She waited while the dogs scouted the steep clay bank until they located a game trail down. Even so she found herself sliding down on her seat, the slope was so steep. It was much cooler down there; as she hoped, there were still muddy water holes along the creek bottom from the rain the month before. After she drank and refilled her canteen, she walked until she found a pocket of deep fine sand at the foot of the clay bank. Oh the soft sand felt so good as she dropped to her knees and hands; she removed her backpack to scoop out a bed for herself. She used the pack for a pillow; it was heavy and hard, not with cash but with the big canteen and the chunk of roasted beef she grabbed off the grill. That and any rats they might catch was all they had to get them to the Havasupai River. The money sniffer curled up with her and one by one the other six dogs took their place until Delena was covered with dogs. She patted and scratched each dog — not too long or the others would get jealous and want to fight. Yes, I know you love me, she said; you love me for that big piece of roast beef in my pillow.

The last few days and nights she got very little sleep as she feverishly prepared the dog circus performance and spied on the buried safe. Now she was exhausted. Almost as soon as the last dog pressed itself across her shoulders, she was asleep so deeply the dogs’ barks at coyotes scarcely roused her.

When the sun was midway overhead, the dogs began to get up, stretch, and go off to relieve themselves and drink. When only the crippled money-sniffer dog remained, Delena sat up; the warmth of the sun felt so good she wanted to lie down again and sleep more, but she knew they had to get going again.

She was curious about her pursuers so she brought out the Gypsy deck from the bag she wore inside her dress, around her waist, and spread the satin cloth over the sand to see what the cards had to tell her.

The Gypsy cards were oddly unmatched and had little to say about her pursuers; she realized then there must be only a few pursuers, maybe only one, and that was the reason for the cards’ meager information. The unusual disarray of the cards gave her suspicions of invisible intervention to protect her lone pursuer. He must be a fool to come after me and my dogs by himself. No wonder his ancestors took pity on him and tried to block the cards. Still, she could feel the golden threads of the radiance from across time that turned the cards and spoke the truth about her pursuer, like it or not.

The figure of the Owl was lying on its side against a blood red background; the Owl wore a gold crown and was tied to a branch with a golden chain. Too bad for her pursuer! The Owl’s position meant his plans will fail! She let out a shout of joy that brought all the dogs to stare at her. She remembered the message of the cards to the Sand Lizard woman, that greed would be punished — this Owl bound by a gold chain must be the Sand Lizard’s husband.

The figure of the Four-leaf Clover on dark purple lay on its side, the same as the Owl, and meant a misunderstanding, something her pursuer didn’t know, maybe about her or maybe about himself. Good, good, she whispered to the cards, and the dogs nearby wagged their tails.

The last figure was of the white Lilies upside. “Oh poor Sand Lizard girl, your husband is very confused.” The poor man was beset by useless doubts for no reason. Now that she knew who her pursuer was and his state of mind, she wasn’t in such a hurry. Even a good tracker would find it difficult to tell the difference between coyote tracks and her dogs’ tracks; their paws were callused like the coyotes’. She was careful to walk on hard-packed ground and in the sand to step from rock to rock when she could; on long stretches of sand she stopped from time to time to wipe away her tracks.

Her pursuer had to decide which way she went, and the fastest, easiest route to Mexico was straight south along the river to Yuma. Even if he guessed right and rode east, he still had to catch her; the most stout horse or mule would soon tire from toting a man that heavy; the mount would need water and food — a great deal more water than he’d find on the route she was on.

She and the dogs slept in the shade all afternoon, moving from one side of the wash to the other as the sun shifted. As the air cooled off before sundown, the dogs got up, stretching and sniffing the air. They managed to locate a nest of baby cottontails in the clay bank, but gobbled them all before Delena could get any for herself. “OK,” she said, “if you won’t share, then I won’t either”; she cut herself big pieces off the roast in her pack but gave none to the dogs.