Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

Indigo sat up on her blankets; the little grandfather was wide awake, propped up in his bundle, listening and watching everything. Good, Indigo thought, let him see how his mother-granddaughter repays the kindness and generosity of a stranger.

“I notice you eat the food she brought; you see by the light of the lamps and oil she brought,” Indigo said.

“You sound like a white girl! Listen to yourself!”

“Listen yourself! You’re the one! You hurt feelings without a second thought just like white people!”

Indigo watched the little grandfather’s eyes move from one to the other as they argued, but could not tell whose side he was on. Sister said even if Hattie came back this time, and the next time, someday she wouldn’t come back.

How do you know?

Stories Grandma told, about a long time ago. People worked for the Mexicans for money, and bought their food and clothing. For years these people were wealthy, but one day the Apaches came and killed all the Mexicans and took all the sheep and the goods. The people who got rich working for the Mexicans began to get hungry. Crops were meager that year so the people with corn traded a handful of corn for a handful of silver coins; before long the rich were poor like everyone else.

As Indigo listened she realized her sister was right; Hattie couldn’t live there and she couldn’t come month after month or year after year. Grandma Fleet did use to warn them to remember other locations of water and places of shelter, just in case something happens — as it happened to Mama, or to Grandma Fleet, who didn’t wake up.

The baby did not seem to mind but the argument upset the monkey and parrot; it was too windy to take them outside, so she let them out of their cages to quiet their noise. Sister Salt frowned but said nothing as long as Indigo stayed right there with them to stop any mischief. Sister was afraid the pets might bite or scratch the baby, but Indigo was confident they wouldn’t harm him. She could not be so sure about the tubs of new beer — both the parrot and monkey liked to perch on the rims of the tubs, and she caught the parrot nibbling at the orchids on the window ledge.

Fortunately she stopped Rainbow before much damage was done — he peeled some green skin from two or three leaf tips. The orchids became everyone’s favorites because they put out fragrant white-winged blossoms for weeks since the fall equinox, just like Edward promised. They had survived Indigo’s anger — tossed and dumped from their pots — and even neglect; their stick-shaped leaves stored water like a cactus, and the flowers lasted weeks.

How strange to think these small plants traveled so far with so many hazards, yet still thrived while Edward died. Grandma Fleet was right — compared to plants and trees, humans were weak creatures. Indigo wondered how Grandma’s apricot trees were. The shallow sandstone cave at the spring above the old gardens was a perfect place to keep the orchids when the hot weather came next year.

She had been thinking of the old gardens more and more. She didn’t tell Sister or the twins, but the other day, while she and her pets were weeding the garden and keeping the birds off, two or three of their flooded-out neighbors came and began to pace off the perimeters of the garden and set marker stones at each corner. A few days later the Indian preacher from the flooded church came with some others to look at the new fields planted next to theirs. The Indian preacher looked right at Indigo and even from a distance she saw his anger. Of course their beans and peas were already blossoming, and their amaranth was tall, while the crops in the new fields had barely sprouted. The twins said it didn’t matter that the flooded people planted late because white churchpeople sent them a wagonload of food once a month.

Maytha and Vedna returned around sundown after the wind died down; not long after, the guests began to arrive with their bedrolls and bundles of firewood. The little grandfather was awake and Sister asked Indigo to watch him on his blanket while she helped the twins serve gourds of beer outside. As it got dark, Linnaeus curled up next to Indigo on her blankets and Rainbow climbed on top of his cage and tucked his head under his wing to sleep.

The argument with Sister left Indigo exhausted. She did not remember falling asleep, but when she woke the sun had been up for a while but so had Linnaeus and Rainbow. She forgot to shut them in their cages before she fell asleep and now both of them were gone. Indigo could see where the monkey played with the empty beer gourds and the parrot chewed off the gourd rims soaked with beer. They found her notebook and scattered her color pencils, but none were chewed. The orchids on the window ledge were untouched.

Sister was asleep with the little grandfather in her arms, and the twins slept outside with the guests, but Indigo woke them. Had they seen the monkey and the parrot? No. They rolled over again — even Sister didn’t care.

She walked among the sleeping guests and the campfire burned down to white ash but saw no trace of them. If only the weather had been colder, they would not have wandered out of the house. She felt the panic rise up her spine. Linnaeus would be killed by the neighbors’ dogs, and poor Rainbow torn apart by an eagle or a hawk. She had to find them fast.

Indigo ran to the garden. Around the pea plants she found parrot-shredded remains of pea pods, and neatly opened bean pods — the work of the monkey fingers — all freshly picked; good thing the girls didn’t come down to the garden very often. They left the garden to Indigo now that they had guests nearly every night.

The parrot and the monkey were probably in the amaranth now because it was tall and thick enough to hide them; she called their names as she waded into the thick stands, shoulder high in some places. The amaranth grew all the way to the back boundary of the field where they set their horsehair snares for rabbits; maybe she’d find them trapped. But the web-like snares were empty, and her heart began to pound in her chest as she realized the two had gone into their neighbors’ gardens, where the plants were smaller and more tender.

As she stepped over the low sandy ridge that formed the boundary, she saw the damage at once. Limp, wilted pea and bean plants were strewn all around; in the rows of beans closest to the road she spotted them side by side; the monkey had both fists full of baby plants; the parrot worked rapidly, tasted only the tendrils, then dropped the rest. The monkey picked the seedlings more carefully and ate all but the roots.

“No!” she called out. “Stop that!” They both looked at her calmly and went on with their feast until she reached them. Linnaeus looked up at her with big eyes and extended a fist full of bean seedlings to her, and Rainbow waddled over and grabbed hold of the hem of her dress with his beak to climb onto her until she lifted him to her shoulder. They were so dear; she loved them so much, she couldn’t bear to scold them; how could they know these plants belonged to the neighbors?

Quickly she removed all the evidence she found — torn plant remains and any parrot and monkey tracks she saw. She looked around but saw no one and hurried back to the house; she hoped the neighbors would blame ground squirrels or sparrows for the missing seedlings.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hattie did not intend to stay in Albuquerque so long, but there was little the bank officers there could do, except advise her to contact her New York bank directly. Though she was low on funds she hired a lawyer, Mr. Maxwell, to make sense of what the bank had done when Edward over-drafted the line of credit. Mr. Maxwell was an older man, whose announcement that he was a widower left Hattie feeling uncomfortable, especially after he sent a dinner invitation to the hotel.