Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

Hattie explained the run-down gardens of the Riverside house as well as Indigo’s interest in plants and seeds had renewed her interest in gardening. A medicinal garden would be just the thing for that area of sparse lawn by the lilacs. The location got plenty of sun with just enough afternoon shade for the heat-sensitive plants.

Indigo was captivated by the gladiolus for reasons Hattie could not imagine; hybrid gladiolus seemed to her garish and artificial, though Aunt Bronwyn’s clever placement of them did show off their best qualities quite nicely. Hattie tried to interest her in a stand of silvery Casa Blanca lilies, but Indigo wanted to examine a spike of burgundy flowers edged in pink.

While the child roamed among the gladiolus, Aunt Bronwyn pointed out the more modest species of gladiolus and the little white and red gladiolus that grew wild in the hills above the Mediterranean. This was to have been the last year she was going to bother planting the tender hybrid gladiolus, but Indigo’s enthusiasm for the long bed of the tall silver and burgundy gladiolus changed her mind. She would plant them every year in honor of their visit and Indigo’s enthusiasm for gladiolus.

As Aunt Bronwyn and Indigo paused to watch a big toad catch gnats, Hattie turned to survey the garden and caught a glimpse of another doorway in the west wall, overgrown with a fragrant white climbing rose. She thought she’d like to take a look, but the twilight was fading. Better to wait until tomorrow.

Before she went downstairs for dinner, Indigo put the parrot in his cage; the pupils of his eyes enlarged and he began to shriek; she begged him to please be quiet, she would come right back; but the parrot would have none of that. Indigo knew they expected her at dinner but she didn’t want the parrot’s screaming to upset Edward and Hattie.

She sat with the parrot until there was a gentle knock at the door and Aunt Bronwyn came in. Was everything all right? Was the bed comfortable? Indigo decided Aunt Bronwyn would understand, so she admitted she didn’t care to sleep in beds at all — she moved the bedding to the floor at night but replaced it first thing in the morning. Hattie knew, but Edward didn’t. Aunt Bronwyn seemed interested in how she got along with Edward. He was nice, but he didn’t like the parrot’s screeching; that was why she hadn’t come down to dinner; the parrot didn’t want her to go. Aunt Bronwyn took the brass handle of the cage herself and they walked downstairs together.

In the long narrow room that had been the old chapel, they sat around a massive round table Aunt Bronwyn called King Arthur’s table because it was so old. Long deep scratches marred its surface, and she laughed and said those were marks from the daggers and swords of the Knights of the Round Table. The coachman’s wife served roast chicken, fresh green beans, and potatoes, with carrot cake for dessert. After dinner they did not sit up long because they wanted to get an early start the next morning. Aunt Bronwyn had so much she wanted to show them.

Indigo made a wonderful nest with the sheet and blankets on the floor; Aunt Bronwyn helped her pull the bedding loose and told her she needn’t move it from the floor in the morning. Now Indigo felt so much more comfortable. The parrot slept perched on the cage top with his head tucked under his wing; Indigo wondered what he dreamed — probably he dreamed of his old home in the flowery jungle where he used to fly free with his sisters and mother. Indigo felt a heaviness in her chest and tears filled her eyes; she missed Sister and Mama so much, and poor little Linnaeus was left behind. The tears made her face hot and then she felt hot all over and kicked away the sheet and blankets and pushed the pillow to one side so her cheek and ear touched the cool stone floor. She drifted off to sleep listening to the gurgles deep in the belly of the earth; the sounds were more watery here in England.

Hattie dreamed she was walking under the big elms and oaks in the park at the Boston Commons. A cool fall breeze blew across her face. How bright and alive the red maple leaves and golden oak leaves appeared, backlit by the sun; they shimmered so close to her face Hattie reached out to touch them. She woke with a start, shivering, aware she was lying outdoors in the dark. She had not walked in her sleep since she was a child. The sky was clear; how brightly the stars lit the night. She recognized the garden stepping-stones across from her, but she was surprised to find herself lying on a long flat horizontal stone in a raised flower bed. She sat up and saw her feet and the edge of her nightgown were caked with dried mud. As her eyes became accustomed to the light, she realized she was in a part of the garden she had not seen before; only the high stone walls were familiar. It appeared to be an old, abandoned garden of some sort, oddly adorned by stones, many of them broken, carefully sited in the raised parterres with the sweet bay and dandelions.

Hattie stood up, shivering, her arms folded around herself, and realized the stone she’d been lying on was the stone from the dream she’d had in Oyster Bay. In that dream, the stone lay in a churchyard cemetery with old tombstones; of course, Aunt Bronwyn’s garden was once a churchyard. What an odd coincidence this was! If her feet had not been so cold, she might have thought she was dreaming. The cool night air was sweet with the scent of river willows and roses. As she followed the stone path out of the abandoned garden she heard a strange noise ahead of her — a loud knock. The loud knock sounded again and to Hattie the sound resembled a club of wood against wood. When she reached the gateway between the two gardens, she saw a strange glow emanating from within. Hattie took deep breaths to calm herself. The light appeared to be on the far side of the grape arbor. At first she mistook the light for a lantern’s glow — were they searching for her? But as she observed it longer, Hattie realized the glow was too soft to be a lantern. The loud knock sounded again, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up; she saw something luminous white move through the foliage of the corn plants and the tall sunflowers. Her heart beat faster as she heard the soft rhythmic sound of breathing approach her. She felt a strange stir of excitement and dread at what she would see when she stepped through the gateway. The luminosity of the light was astonishing: was she awake or asleep? How beautiful the light was! Her apprehension and dread receded; now a prismatic aura surrounded the light. It was as if starlight and moonlight converged over her as a warm current of air enveloped her; for an instant Hattie felt such joy she wept.

When she reached the front of the house, Hattie found lanterns lit and the coachman and Aunt Bronwyn up and about. They appeared surprised to see her. Embarrassed, Hattie assumed they were looking for her, but no, the cattle were loose, through an open gate or break in the fence — they were not sure, but the white cattle were everywhere. Three cows and their calves browsed on white climbing roses in front of the house, unconcerned with the commotion. Hattie assured her aunt she was unharmed, but the old woman looked intently at her as if she was not convinced. The eastern sky was already bright pink with the approaching dawn.

Aunt Bronwyn said the sleepwalk might be due to the excitement of their arrival; travel was quite taxing on the nerves, as she learned on a recent trip. She was so exhausted by the train ride from Trieste to Budapest, she hallucinated bad odors in her hotel room. Hattie’s heartbeat quickened at the mention of hallucination; the light she saw was no hallucination. Aunt Bronwyn thought perhaps the breakout by the cattle disturbed her sleep and caused the episode.

Hattie shook her head. She feared she might be the culprit who left open both the gates. She pointed at the mud on her feet and the edge of her nightgown, evidence she’d walked as far as the puddle outside the orchard gate, though she remembered nothing of the sleepwalk.