Gardens in the Dunes (79 page)

I saw my slain sister, Buffalo.

I saw my slain brother, Condor.

Don't cry, they told me.

Don't cry.

A dancer sank to her knees moaning, then lay flat to embrace the ground; her companions pulled her shawl up to keep her warm while she visited with her dear ones. They stepped over her and the others who fell to the ground twitching and babbling, and kept dancing as the starry bridge of the Milky Way arched over them.

The dancers stood near the fires to keep warm as they rested before the last song; Indigo went with Sister to the lean-to to check on the baby and to see if Hattie and the pets were keeping warm. They all were asleep and snugly covered; Sister put a small piece of wood on the fire outside and they returned to join in the final round of songs.

As they sang and danced the circle, Indigo lifted her eyes to the high sandy hill above the river to the northwest, and sang with all her heart for Mama to come. Just as the morning star rose above the mountain horizon, Indigo felt her sister's grip on her hand tighten before Sister Salt sank to the sand and lay crying softly and moaning. Indigo felt her heart pound with the drum until she was enclosed by the sound that shook the ground under her feet. Now the Messiah and his followers were near, prepared to come bless the dancers on the last night. She held on to the twins' hands even tighter to keep her balance on the pulsating earth.

Winds dance

In the green grass.

Winds dance

In the yellow flowers.

They covered Sister Salt with a blanket while she lay motionless on the ground, and later helped her back to the lean-to to sleep. Visits left the dancers exhausted.

Indigo had difficulty getting to sleep and wanted to be up early when Sister woke to feed the little grandfather. If it was Grandma Fleet who visited Sister last night, did she have any news about Mama? It was still dark when she woke and heard the others snoring; outside a crack between the wood and tin, dawn was approaching behind low foggy clouds. Faintly, in the distance, she heard beautiful singing and realized the singing she heard was not from the encampment—all the dancers were asleep. The sound was in the distance but closer now. Careful not to wake anyone, Indigo took her shawl and stepped outside before she wrapped herself against the freezing air. On the high sandy hill she thought she saw some movement in the mist and fog.

As she began to climb up the deep sand of the slope, the fog and mist swirled down to meet her; now the singing was near and very beautiful—a song in the Sand Lizard language she'd never heard before.

Dance, little clouds, your sisters are fog!

Dance, little clouds, your brothers are mist!

Play in the wind! Play in the wind!

Mama was rocking her—she was so snug and warm. What a happy, beautiful song! Mama kissed her and held her so close.

Indigo woke in her bed and saw it was still dark. She felt so much love she wept; she knew then where Mama was and always would be. Dance, little clouds, dance! Play in the wind!

For an instant Hattie did not know where she was, then she heard the drum and the voices. Outside the soft yellow glow must be the approach of dawn; the lemon yellow light was the same color as the lost carnelian carved with the waterbirds. The crushing pain was gone and her head felt clear; all her senses were alert for the first time since the assault. Dawn was the time the Messiah and his family were expected to come. She wanted to see for herself.

In the soft light she could make out the sleeping baby, the quilt carefully tucked around him; the parrot and monkey both were awake in their cages and watched her put on her shoes. As she approached the blanket over the lean-to entrance, the light outside became brighter and more luminous—she
recognized it at once and felt a thrill sweep over her. How soothing the light was, how joyously serene she felt.

She lost all sense of time and of how long she stood at the entrance, the luminous glow streaming in all around the edges of the blanket. She was too awed to step outside to face it.

The girls were surprised to find Hattie up when they returned to the lean-to after midnight. She told them how she woke feeling so much better and then noticed the beautiful glow outside the lean-to, so much like the strange light she saw before.

The light she saw was the morning star, who came to comfort her, Sister explained. How could she have seen the same light in the garden in England and in a dream on board the ship? Oh the Messiah and his family traveled the earth—they might be seen anywhere. Tomorrow he would come as the Messiah with the others and speak to them.

But on the morning of the fourth day, three white soldiers and two Apache policemen rode up; while the soldiers watched from their horses, the Apaches went around to question all the people about their assigned reservations. The policemen were polite, even friendly when they spoke to the dancers, but they let them know they must break up the gathering at once or be arrested.

Many wept at the news, and Sister and others pleaded with the police to let them dance just one more night—the Messiah and the others were so close now. But no, the Apache cops pretended they didn't know what the people were talking about.

People started to cry as they realized they would not be permitted to dance home their ancestors and the Messiah that night. Sister Salt was furious and cursed the policemen and soldiers in English: Masturbators! Donkey fuckers! Maytha spat at them but Vedna brought out her Bible and waved it in the cops' faces. The soldiers moved in on their horses to protect the cops but Vedna stood her ground and let the Bible fall open, then began to shout the words on the page: “Even though you make many prayers I will not hear you. Your hands are full of blood!”

The Apaches retreated quickly to their horses to confer with the soldiers; they were afraid the girl shaking the Bible might put witchcraft on them. Many people were crying and all appeared stunned; only the girl with the Bible appeared to resist.

Indigo cried and cried; now they'd never find Mama or get to see Grandma Fleet except in dreams. The Messiah and the others were so
close, but now they could not come. Her tears were hot and bitter and burned her eyes, so she had difficulty seeing what it was Maytha was pointing at in the distance. A wagon! Was it more police coming to haul them away?

Hattie was shocked to see her father beside the Indian policeman in the doorway. His expression of joy at finding her quickly faded to concern over the bruises on her face. He hesitated before he stepped inside to kneel on the quilt beside her to get a better look. The parrot squawked loudly and the monkey screamed; the baby woke and began to cry. Hattie burst into tears—her father knelt and gently put his arms around her but she pulled away.

At the baby's first cries, Sister Salt burst into the lean-to past the Apache cop and white man, to pick up the little grandfather. Indigo followed, and recognized Mr. Abbott at once and greeted him politely. The monkey and parrot calmed when they saw the girls.

Mr. Abbott said Indigo grew so much he almost didn't know her. Sister held the baby close to her chest and stood ready to flee even after Indigo reassured her Hattie's father was kind.

Now one of the white soldiers joined the Apache cop in the doorway; Sister spat in their direction and turned her back to them. Outside she could hear people pray, and some wept softly for the losses—their hopes to be blessed by the Messiah were dashed. How they dreamed and yearned to see beloved ancestors and dear ones passed on, and that was not to be.

Hattie realized the police and soldiers came to break up the Indian gathering because of her—because they came looking for her there. She already knew the townspeople blamed Indians for her assault. Hattie stopped weeping to beg her father to intercede for the dancers. She did not hide the anger she felt as she told him the authorities might have ignored the gathering one more night if he had not come looking for her there. Her father seemed shaken by the fury of her accusation, and the others were motionless as she went on; this fourth night of the dance she hoped to see the Messiah. Don't let the authorities interfere!

Her father seemed overwhelmed, even a bit dazed, to find himself in the middle of such a conflict. He gestured out the door; her mother and the Albuquerque lawyer, Mr. Maxwell, were waiting in the buggy. “Get the lawyer to do something!” She got to her feet with her father's aid; she told the girls she'd be right back; she held her father's arm as she slowly made her way out the door.

Hattie looked the driver of the buggy in the eyes; no, he wasn't the one;
she knew it was either the son or the owner of the stable. She felt furious and strong; her attacker walked free in that wretched town!

The lawyer removed his overcoat and Hattie's father put it over her shoulders and rolled up the sleeves that were too long. It smelled vile—stale tobacco smoke and man sweat—but a chill wind had come up and she had to keep warm in order to keep going.

She barely greeted her mother before she began to argue: This fourth night of the dance was to bring the Messiah! Didn't they understand? The urgency in her voice unsettled her mother and the lawyer, but her father patted her hand.

The dancers' prayers saved her life—each night of the dance she recovered a bit more as the Messiah drew nearer. She wept with fury when she saw her mother and the lawyer whisper to each other—they believed she was ill, out of her head.

“Oh Hattie! Just look at you! You've suffered a terrible shock!” her mother exclaimed. Hattie knew she meant the Indian dress and her unkempt hair. That was enough for Hattie. She let go of her father's arm and turned to go back to the camp. But her mother cried out for them to stop her—her daughter was ill and needed help! They must get her on the next train to Albuquerque to the hospital. Her head injuries required treatment at once.

Hattie managed to break free of her father and left the lawyer holding the empty coat; but the soldiers dismounted and helped them subdue her. She saw the people who were packing up stop to watch, then hurry on their way, as if they feared they'd be seized next. Sister Salt and Indigo watched outside the lean-to as Hattie struggled with her captors. After they lifted her into the buggy and Mr. Maxwell and mother held her arms, Mr. Abbott, his face pale with distress, hurried over to say good-bye to Indigo, who wept for Hattie. Inside the tent, the parrot shrieked, furious his beloved was crying, and the monkey called Indigo frantically.

Just as Mr. Abbott spoke, Sister Salt stepped forward and spat in his face. For an instant he seemed shocked, but then he closed his eyes and stared down at the ground; he made no effort to wipe his face before he got back into the buggy.

In the train station lobby Hattie pretended to collapse long enough for her father and the lawyer to leave her alone with her mother while they saw to the tickets and luggage. She waited until they were out of sight and her mother rummaged in her purse to make a run for it.

Her fury gave her strength and will to run down the alley and cross another
street; but instead of returning to the river where the girls were, she headed down another alley; she didn't want to bring any more trouble for the dancers.

She stopped behind a stack of oak kegs in the alley to catch her breath and to listen for her pursuers. Piles of dirty snow lined the north side of the alley and made the footing there treacherous. The fresh air did her good; her head felt clear, and the excitement of the escape gave her strength.

Now the breeze down the alley chilled her and she shoved her hands deep into the coat pockets and felt objects in both pockets. In the right pocket she found a fresh starched handkerchief and a small box of matches; in the left pocket she found a key that she tossed into a dirty snowbank and a small pouch of tobacco she threw down. But she kept the little pack of cigarette papers, and pulled one out and struck one of the little matches to it. For a moment the warmth of the flame around the paper was delicious before she had to let go of the bright ash.

She looked both ways before she continued down the alley, which was cluttered with trash and debris—rotting garbage and overturned barrels—filthy just like the town and its people. She caught the odor of horses and saw corrals up ahead; manure and old straw were piled outside: it was the back of the livery stable. Her heart began to pound wildly; she could turn back and go down a side alley, but she crept closer, careful to remain in the deep shadows as she listened and watched. The horses were calmly chewing their hay and paid no attention as she crept up.

What a disgusting stinking mess outside the back door—she stepped over dirty rags and manure. Straw and hay were strewn everywhere. The smell of rotting urine and manure was terrible as she peeked around the corner of the wide barn door. She listened and watched, but no one was there. Inside it was almost dark, but she could see the buggies and wagons parked along the far wall; above them big metal hooks held the harnesses. Everywhere the floor was littered with hay and straw; along the near wall by the door were the haystack and burlap sacks of feed, and a workbench. Something familiar caught her eye and sent the hair on her neck straight out: among the scattered tools was a big steel vise, and clamped in it was a meteor iron partially sawed in half. She saw other fragments of meteor iron among the chisels and saw blades on the bench. She shivered—from the cold or from the sight of meteor irons, she didn't know.

She knew exactly what must be done; the crumpled cigarette papers flashed under the match; all the starch in the handkerchief caused it to flare
up nicely in the loose hay on the floor. Little wings of flame gave off a lemon yellow glow that recalled the lost carving of the waterbirds. What a lovely light the fire gave off as she warmed her hands over it; but as the rivulets of fire spread to the haystack, the heat drove her outside.

At the corrals, she let the terrified horses run free, and followed them to a hill east of town, where she watched—amazed and elated by the beauty of the colors of the fire against the twilight sky. As the flames snaked over to catch the roofs of buildings on either side of the stable, the fire's colors were brilliant—the reds as rich as blood, the blues and whites luminous, and the orange flame as bright as Minerva's gemstone.