Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

Edward tasted camphor and felt its vapors in his lungs for hours after the treatments. He did not remember much about the procedures beyond the face mask and the pump for the camphor because Dr. Gates gave him injections before and after the treatments. He did not ask what the injections contained, but recognized the morphine from the sense of well-being and euphoria it gave him. Dr. Gates discussed his theory behind the experimental therapy with Edward, one scientist to another: Gates believed there was a great risk of tuberculosis following pneumonia unless special treatments were given.

The hotel next door to the train station had a small courtyard garden with a quaint Spanish-style fountain; the sound of the splashing water soothed her. She calmed her anxiety with long walks through downtown Albuquerque. Here the cleaning and menial tasks seemed to be performed by Mexicans. She saw very few Indians on her walks except at the train station, where Indian women sold small pottery and beaded pins to the tourists. On the whole the Indians here looked much more prosperous than the poor women she’d seen in Needles. She added items to her list and began shopping for Indigo and her sister.

What was wrong with Susan and Colin? Were they away on vacation? Or was their silence an expression of their disapproval of Edward, or of her? Still she could not simply abandon him; he was quite ill, and asked her to stay until Susan arrived. She didn’t tell him Susan hadn’t responded. The weeks of illness changed Edward’s appearance dramatically; the hair at his temples had grayed noticeably. His hands suffered tremors now, and he was terribly thin with no appetite; yet he seemed to be in high spirits.

In downtown courtyards and along the Rio Grande, the leaves of the cottonwood trees went from greenish yellow to pale yellow and finally to a golden yellow in the weeks Hattie was there. One morning she woke to see snow on the tops of the mountains but the weather in Albuquerque remained sunny and warm. She was anxious to get blankets and supplies to Indigo before the nights were freezing cold; if she did not hear from Susan by the end of the week, she was determined to return to Needles.

The nights were chilly, but the days were lovely; she took long walks from the hotel down Central Avenue to the old town square in front of the church. The spice of burning piñon wood filled the air. From a bench in the shade by the bandstand she watched the old Hispanic women dressed in black file inside for mass. Sometimes she heard snatches of the chants or caught a whiff of the incense as the church doors opened and closed, but it seemed quite remote and strange to her now.

The repeated bouts of therapy with the bellows and rubber tubing wore Edward down, and the raw extracts of glands upset his digestion. On Sunday Hattie found Edward dozing in his bed; he looked much weaker, and his color was not good although the fever subsided. The local doctors disagreed with Dr. Gates over the treatments and withdrew from the case, but Edward insisted the experimental treatments be continued. He said the local doctors couldn’t be blamed for their lack of sophistication in regard to the latest scientific developments.

Hattie feared the local doctors were right, but if he refused to listen to the medical doctors, he would not listen to her — better to agree and reassure him. Hattie was grateful not to encounter Dr. Gates at the hospital, but gradually she realized he must be trying to avoid her as well. At last a telegram announced Susan’s arrival the next week, but on the appointed day, another telegram came with a new arrival time three weeks away.

The injections left him in a dreamy state for hours; he drifted in and out of consciousness, deliciously numb. The injections slowed his breathing but relaxed the bronchial spasms as well. Later as the injection’s effects waned, he felt quite lucid and energized. He kept a pencil and paper on the table at his bedside and made notes of ideas for the locations of the other mine shafts or questions to ask his friend Dr. Gates.

By then his thoughts were as vivid and detailed as dreams and he was content to sit back and think for hours on end. If he thought about the mine, immediately he envisioned a long glittering tunnel into the center of the crater, its walls embedded with black and white diamonds. At the end of the tunnel was the ore body of the meteorite itself, lustrous soft alloy of pure silver streaked with gold.

He and their company would be able to repay Hattie’s loans, and he could settle all he owed Susan and Colin. He recalled Susan the night of her ball in the rich sapphire blue silk brocade that cost hundreds. The mother lode of the meteor crater would put him back in good standing with them. Livorno, even Hattie and the separation, would scarcely matter beside the wall of silver and gold.

Now when he dreamed, not only was the Riverside property all his, but his father was alive in the dream, standing with him between rows of mature citron trees directly west of the house. But when he looked back, he saw only the terrace fountain and lily pond and the terrace garden walls, but the house and all other outbuildings were gone without a trace, as if they had been removed long ago.

He intended to discuss with Hattie the equipment purchases and the overdrafts in one of his lucid periods between the injections. He wanted her to know her loan to him was secured by the machinery and the leasehold. But when she came that afternoon, she was upset over Susan’s silence, and he had to reassure her.

Hattie was furious with the woman; what was wrong with her? She refused to be delayed with her plans any longer, and began packing the blankets and other supplies for the girls in sturdy tin trunks. Prices and quality were much better in Albuquerque, a much larger town than Needles. She bought a great many canned goods, and found dried apples and dried apricots, dried beans, and corn sold by the local farmers. When she had everything packed, she realized her luggage would completely fill a buggy. That night she slept more soundly than she had in weeks, and woke early for breakfast and a visit to the hospital before the afternoon train west.

Edward was confident he wasn’t dying, but he felt strange and not entirely in his body since the last treatment. Now as the effects of the injections began to wane, he experienced agitation from disquieting thoughts laced with regrets. He should have bribed the customs officers in Livorno before they embarked to Corsica. He should have concealed the citron slips more ingeniously.

What bothered him most was his memory of the piles of meteor irons he left behind in Tampico; he always intended to return to the town market to acquire those meteor irons from the hostile blue-faced woman. Oh the burn of regret lest someone knowledgeable see the neat pyramid stacks of the irons and buy them before he did! He drifted off on the Pará River once more, his head rested on gardenia blossoms in the big Negress’s lap in the canoe; when he looked up at her face it was sky blue.

Hattie saw the Australian doctor and the nurses outside Edward’s room and her heart sank. She did not make eye contact with the doctor and was about to enter the room when one of the nuns told her the priest was with him now to administer the Last Rites; Edward slipped into a coma during the night.

Hattie burst into tears and surprised herself with the grief she felt; she knew she was mourning the absence of Indigo as well as the loss of Edward, who was still a friend, after all. Dr. Gates hurried away down the hall as if he sensed her anger. That wretched Australian criminal! His quack treatments destroyed Edward’s health!

When the priest left, they allowed her to stay alone with him; his breathing was in slow labored gasps and she reached down to take his hand in hers and whispered, “Rest in peace.” Poor thing! Moments later his breath left him in three loud snores.