Leslie Silko - Gardens in the Dunes

The coolness of the tile floor felt wonderful on Hattie’s bare feet — no wonder Indigo was able to sleep while she and Edward tossed and turned. For an instant she thought how easy it would be to take a sheet and pillow to the floor to sleep, but of course that was silly.

Hattie was less concerned about Indigo’s health after she finished her soup and bread earlier in the evening, but the child still refused to speak or make eye contact. Hattie missed the lively exchanges she and Indigo had, and the child’s vibrant reactions and questions about the places and people they saw. Surely someone would find that parrot for the reward! If only their schedule had permitted them another day in Livorno, they might have searched for the bird themselves. Hattie sighed; she was beginning to weary of travel. A day of rest from travel would benefit them all.

Edward got up a little after daybreak while Indigo was still asleep. To Hattie’s annoyance, Edward at once began to fuss with the camera case and bumped the floor hard with the tripod. Hattie expected the noise to wake Indigo, but she scarcely stirred in the alcove. The poor child was worn out!

“I think I’ll stay here today with Indigo and rest,” she said. Edward did not disagree, but as he went on with his repeated repacking of the camera case to ensure against breakage, he pointed out that the hotel dining room was closed for the summer; they’d have only soup and bread again. Moreover, the hotel had no garden for shady walks, only a paved courtyard with some pots of withered dahlias in full sun. The mountains would be much cooler and the mayor’s brother promised a home-cooked meal at his house in Borgo; the fresh air and exercise would be good for all of them.

When Hattie woke her, Indigo had just reached the Sea of Galilee, which looked like the river at home, only many times wider and surrounding everything; in her dream, Rainbow was on her shoulder and Linnaeus frolicked along the rocky seashore, whose stones and pebbles were the same colors of pale yellow and pale orange as the stones along the river at home. Up ahead in the distance she saw the white cloaks of the dancers as they lined up to get the sacred red clay dust. When Indigo woke to see that she was back in the hotel room with Hattie and Edward, she burst into tears.

“Why did you have to wake me right then?” she cried in anger. “I was almost to find them!” Hattie felt a surge of compassion in her heart for the child, followed by righteous anger at Edward. They had not argued with each other before, but Hattie was fed up; if he had not insisted on such a haste, the child would behave much better, and so would she!

Edward countered if Indigo were not so spoiled and so stubbornly convinced the parrot would never be found, she might be tolerable. He looked at the child. Pet parrots were lost and returned to their owners every day, all over the world, he said to the child; but Indigo covered her ears and refused to hear of it. An outing in the sunshine and fresh air was just the tonic Indigo needed.

Indigo sat motionless with her eyes closed as Hattie tugged off her nightgown and put on her cotton slip and blue gingham dress. With her eyes closed she could visualize the desert seashore of her dream that took her to Galilee, where Jesus and his family and followers were camped. She didn’t care what Edward or Hattie thought; she squeezed her eyes closed and went over the dream again and again until she was confident she could return to the same place in the dream tonight; then she opened her eyes and saw both Hattie and Edward were irritated by her behavior. Good, Indigo thought; maybe they’d find a train and send her back to Arizona.

They got a late start after the mayor’s brother had to shoe one of the horses, and the heat rose in waves from the dirt road ahead of the buggy while the dust swirled all around. The ragged buggy cover gave only a small area of shade that left the lower legs and feet in full sun. Hattie found the rolling hills with the terraced fields overlooking the sea strangely appealing in their solitude.

In the heat of the day, they were the only beings that moved along the road. The blazing full sun at midday was entirely too strong for good photographs, but they were passing into the first of the citron groves, so Edward asked the driver to stop. He got down from the buggy and approached the odd pole frame that enclosed the tree — to train it to grow in a vase form, to give the branches the right spread, the mayor’s brother explained in an odd mixture of Italian and French. Edward noted how the right spread of the branches enabled them to hold much more fruit without breaking. He restrained the urge he felt to pick one of the small thick-skinned “lemons” and pretended to study the vista of dry rocky hills in shades of umber and sienna streaked with olive and the citrus green of the orchards, framed by the cloudless azure sky. He easily could have taken all the cuttings he needed right here, but he hoped to find a more discreet opportunity.

The buggy passed more roadside orchards of citrons, and Edward saw no one about, not even a dog. Before long the driver stopped the buggy at the front gate of a large old farmhouse and quickly stepped around to help Hattie and Indigo step down. He showed them to the door, which he pushed open with a flourish. Welcome, welcome, came the voices from the next room, and there they found a great table set with many courses and what appeared to be the driver’s entire family seated, apparently waiting for their arrival.

Indigo noticed the children her age immediately because they stared at her every move; she saw old grandmas and old grandpas with little children and even a baby on their laps. They were sitting on benches that permitted them to crowd as many as they could around the table; Indigo was reminded of the time all the strangers came to dance for the Christ when they pressed closer together around the fire to make room for everyone. Indigo pretended not to notice their stares; she looked around and saw the farmhouse was one big room with the stove and kitchen in one end and beds of all sizes and shapes here and there along the walls, with boxes and chests of drawers forming little alcoves, some of which had curtains hung from the ceiling for privacy. The delicious odors of hot bread and cooking food made Indigo hungry for the first time since Rainbow’s escape.

They all live here in this one room, Hattie realized as she took her place at the end of the bench next to a shy young woman holding an infant. Indigo slid over closer to Hattie to make room on the bench for Edward, and they ate a wonderful meal that began with sweet peppers stewed with onions, followed by a spaghetti dish with tomatoes and little squids, which Indigo liked a great deal.

After wedges of cheese and ripe soft pears, their host announced that they would all walk together to the little schoolhouse at the edge of the village where the image of Jesus’ Blessed Mother recently began to appear on the front wall above the door.

Indigo was wide eyed as she whispered to Hattie; this was it! Indigo could hardly sit still while the others finished eating. Had the Mother of God come alone, or were the other family members and the dancers with the Messiah, camped higher in the mountains? Maybe the Blessed Mother could look across the sea and find Rainbow perched in a potted lemon tree on the ledge of a splashing fountain.

Hattie expected their host and perhaps his immediate family might accompany them to the site of the miraculous wall, but the entire family came in a long procession of sorts. The sun was still blazing hot as they set out. Edward refused offers from the young boys to carry the camera case and the tripod, although his leg was beginning to bother him.

Hattie felt an odd energy, a mood of excitement, among their host’s family as they walked along, despite the heat, and she assumed it was due to their visit. Their host explained the miraculous wall brought a steady stream of visitors to their village. The mayor’s brother tugged at the edge of his neatly trimmed beard as he explained that recently a disagreement between the townspeople and the church officials sprang up. Since the apparition of Our Lady on the schoolhouse wall, the visitors and pilgrims who used to visit the gold and silver portrait of Mary in the abbey shrine seldom went there anymore. Who could blame them? If they knelt or stood long enough in front of the schoolhouse wall, they might get to see the Blessed Mother herself!