Gardens in the Dunes

by Leslie Marmon Silko

  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!

  Dawn and sunset were the best times to look for Our Lady’s image; you must close the eyes, pray, and then slowly open the eyes only a little as you focused on the rough stone wall, their host explained. While the group stood with their eyes closed in front of the schoolhouse, Edward set up the camera behind them. After he made the photograph of the group in front of the miraculous wall, he planned to politely excuse himself to make photographs near the citron groves that surrounded the village. He was relieved to have attention focused on the large group gathered at the schoolhouse wall shrine so he could go among the citron trees unnoticed. Then, he would watch for a moment when no one was watching him, to seize the twig knife and quick-quick-quick cut the best citron twig specimens.

  The faithful watched the wall, lips moving in silent prayer as he completed preparations. He put his head under the camera cloth to begin to compose the picture when behind him a distance away he became aware of a low sound growing steadily louder, as if a giant swarm of flying insects were approaching, but soon he heard voices raised in anger. As he turned, he saw a strange sight down the road at the schoolhouse: their host with his family standing behind him was in a face-off with another, smaller group of villagers, led by what appeared to be Catholic monks who brandished large crucifixes.

  Now the voices grew louder and arguments broke out between the two groups. Hattie became alarmed and took Indigo firmly by the arm to stay close to Edward in case violence erupted. Bloody Corsican feuds were regularly reported in American newspapers. Indigo did not take her eyes off the wall even as Hattie led her away, although the Blessed Mother probably would not come now that she heard the angry voices. Indigo tried to keep her head turned back at the wall as long as possible, until Hattie became impatient and pulled her along to a safe distance from the dispute.

  Edward kept watch through the viewfinder and made one good exposure of their host arguing nose to nose with another man as the monks and the others formed a semicircle around them. Hattie tried to follow the argument as both men gestured at the old schoolhouse and then at the abbey on the hill beyond, but she couldn’t make out more than a few words.

  Edward seemed unconcerned as he moved the camera and tripod to get another view of the altercation. When the second plate was exposed and safely stored, Edward looked up the road for the best grove of the citron trees, branches arched gracefully over the low rock walls easily within his reach. He carefully balanced the camera and tripod on his shoulder and carried the camera box up the road toward the orchard he’d chosen for its robust trees.

  Hattie stayed with Indigo but at a safe distance from the dispute. She felt annoyed that Edward went on with his photographs, but their time there was short. After a time, a friendly woman, their host’s sister-in-law, who once traveled in the United States, joined Hattie and Indigo to explain. Recently, church officials contacted the town mayor to order him to put a stop to the devotions at the schoolhouse wall. The mayor replied there was nothing he could do; the image of the Blessed Virgin could not be washed off or painted over—the monks and other church authorities already tried to expose the apparition as a hoax. But the beautiful colored light that formed the image was only enhanced by the whitewash splashed over the wall. Truly this was a miracle, and the people who once went to the abbey for miracles now came here to the street in front of the schoolhouse, where no offerings were required to see the Mother of God.

  The abbot alleged the image on the wall was the work of the devil because the miraculous appearance overshadowed the monks’ shrine to the portrait of Mary in silver on gold. Still, the people flocked to see the lovely image of Our Lady until the abbot contacted Rome and a monsignor came all the way from Rome and forbade its veneration on pain of excommunication.

  By this time other women joined them, curious to hear what their kinswoman told the foreign tourist. Yes, it was true. The abbey was built to house the precious picture of hammered silver on gold. Pilgrims crawled on their knees up the abbey’s marble steps to leave offerings. The paralyzed walked; the deaf and blind heard and saw again. When the Greek king lay seriously ill, the abbot himself carried the precious picture to the bedside of the king, who kissed the picture; instantly the illness receded and in a few days the king was well again. Over time, however, the miraculous power of the picture slowly got used up; but now the Blessed Mother herself had come to them.

  With Edward barely visible in the distance, bent over his camera, Hattie was grateful for the friendly conversation; at the time she thought his behavior a bit odd, even rude, but he did want to learn all he could about the citron groves while they were there.

  Indigo gripped Hattie’s hand tightly as she felt the excitement all over her body. The farther east they traveled, the closer they came to the place the Messiah and his family and followers traveled when they left the mountains beyond Paiute country.

  After some loud words were exchanged, the monks took up their big crucifixes in both hands and led their followers back to the abbey. Hattie and Indigo followed the other women back to the shrine at the wall, although there was no sign of the apparition with its colorful image of blue, green, yellow, and red. The Blessed Mother was not likely to appear so soon after ugly words were exchanged—Indigo remembered that winter the Paiute women warned the people must be kind to one another or the Messiah and his family would not come down from the mountains.

  Indigo studied the surface of the schoolhouse wall intently and from time to time she glanced around at the faces of the others who were looking for the Holy Mother’s image in case they saw something she couldn’t see, but their expressions were wistful and uncertain. Indigo watched the wall long after Hattie turned to chat with their host’s friendly sister-in-law, who brought a pitcher and tin cups for water. As the light changed, Indigo began to see tiny reflections glitter on the surface of the whitewashed plaster that she recognized as the flakes of snow that swirled around the dancers the last night when the Messiah appeared with his family. She could make out the forms of the dancers wrapped in their white shawls and the Messiah and his Mother standing in the center of the circle—all were in a beautiful white light reflecting all the colors of the rainbow, lavender, blue, red, green, and yellow—and in that instant Indigo felt the joy and the love that had filled her that night long ago when she stood with Sister Salt, Mama, and Grandma to welcome the Messiah. In that instant joy swept away all her grief, and she felt their love embrace her.

  A murmur rose from those closest to the wall, interrupting their conversation, and when Hattie and the others turned to look, the faithful were on their knees in the dirt. Was it an odd reflection off metal or glass nearby? A faint glow suffused the whitewashed wall and Hattie felt her heart beat faster as the glow grew brighter with a subtle iridescence that steadily intensified into a radiance of pure color that left her breathless, almost dizzy.

  The strange light in Aunt Bronwyn’s garden might have been a dream, but here she was with dozens of witnesses! Where was Edward? He must see this! Hattie turned and saw him, a dark speck in the distance, too far to call; but when she looked back at the wall again the light was already growing faint. She was surprised to feel tears on her cheeks and saw that the others—men as well as women—wept though their faces were full of joy. Yes, yes, they all spoke excitedly with one another, t
hey had seen her. Yes, Hattie nodded her head, yes! So this was what was called a miracle—she felt wonder and excitement, though she saw the glow of colored light on the wall for only an instant.

  The rocky dry hills and their people were poor; their lives were a struggle here; that was why the Blessed Mother showed herself here; the people here needed her. Although she didn’t see the Messiah or the rest of the family or her mother with the dancers, Indigo was much heartened; all who are lost will be found, a voice inside her said; the voice came from the Messiah, Indigo was certain.

  Edward rejoined them as the crowd began to disperse. He saw the women and even some of the men had been crying. He thought Hattie and the child were rather subdued but he chalked that up to fatigue. He was still a bit out of breath himself from the exertion of carrying the tripod and the camera case, heavy now with dozens of twig cuttings carefully rolled in oil cloth to sustain them until they returned to the hotel. There he would hollow out little receptacles in the potatoes to provide the moisture and nutrients that would sustain the cuttings on their long journey to California.

  The buggy ride back to the hotel in Cervione was long, but the night air coolness was invigorating. Edward was in rare high spirits and talked excitedly about the joint venture with Dr. Gates—shares in the citron stock in exchange for shares in the meteor iron mine. Hattie let Edward talk while she considered how to describe what she had seen on the schoolhouse wall; she barely held her temper the first time Edward wisecracked about “religious hysteria.” Briefly she thought he might understand if only she explained it in the right words, but as he went on about drilling machines to mine the meteor crater in Arizona, she realized it was no use, not right now.

  Fatigue overtook her, limb by limb, until she could not keep her eyes open; Indigo was already asleep, curled up on the buggy seat. As she drifted off to sleep, she recalled the light in Aunt Bronwyn’s garden that night—now she was certain it wasn’t a dream; it was true; she must write to her at once and tell her about that night and what they’d seen today. Indigo had seen it too, and now the child was so happy and excited before she fell asleep, she asked Hattie how far they were from Jerusalem. Far away, Hattie told her, but much closer than before. Tomorrow Hattie would bring out the atlas for the train ride back to Bastia, and they’d have a geography lesson on the Holy Land.

  The ship departed Bastia for Livorno on the evening tide; the light breeze on deck was cool and invigorating as Hattie and Indigo watched the silhouette of the shore recede. A lovely half-moon floated above them in an ocean of stars, and when Hattie pointed to it Indigo smiled and nodded her head. Yes, the eye of the big snake was watching out for them—that’s what Grandma said. The wide band of bright stars was her belly and chest, though of course she was much too big to be seen from earth.

  When they returned to the cabin Edward was busily wrapping the twig cuttings, their tips stuck in cubes of potato. Later she would be embarrassed she never questioned Edward’s authority to cut the twigs from the venerable orchards; it was for science, she thought.

  No, she did not suspect anything was amiss until the customs officer on the pier in Livorno motioned for his two assistants to unload the hand trolley stacked with their luggage.

  Hattie had walked ahead with Indigo, who was terribly anxious to get to the hotel, where she was sure they would find Rainbow safely in his brass cage waiting for her. She reassured the child the customs inspection would not take long, but when she glanced back to see if Edward was coming along yet, she was shocked to see Edward surrounded by customs officers. Hattie took Indigo’s hand firmly in hers and hurried back to find clothing and personal items deliberately scattered over the inspection table. The citron cuttings were in neat rows. They had also set aside the little sacks of gladiolus corms and seeds Laura gave them as well as the seeds Aunt Bronwyn gave Indigo.

  Hattie tried to go to Edward’s side, but the customs officers politely blocked her path. It was not possible, they said, and motioned for her and the child to step back. Hattie assumed they would be reunited momentarily, so she did not insist. Seconds later she was shocked to see the customs officers lead Edward away; Hattie called out his name, and for an instant he turned his head, and their eyes met for an instant before the officers moved him along. She could not forget the expression in his eyes because its meaning eluded her, yet it remained just near enough to bother her. What expression had she expected to see?

  Indigo took Edward’s arrest in stride; Mama and Grandma used to get arrested—it didn’t mean anything, she tried to reassure Hattie. She was more concerned about the delay; she wanted to get to the hotel to see if Rainbow was found. She sketched and colored a drawing of a green, blue, and yellow parrot while Hattie answered the officers’ questions.

  Her husband had received a cablegram of authorization in Genoa only last week, Hattie told them. She had seen the two envelopes in his breast pocket when he returned from the consulate. It would be a simple matter, would it not, to ask the cable office to check their records. The customs officers asked no further questions but requested she remain at the American consulate until further notice; they brought around a cab that took her and the child to the consulate.

  The deputy consul was on vacation and his assistant away in Rome; the clerk in charge, a dour American with dirty cuffs, announced, in any event, they could do nothing for Americans caught smuggling. Hattie protested; her husband had special authorization from the U.S. Agriculture secretary himself! The clerk stared at her for a moment, his eyes grotesquely magnified by his spectacles; then he rudely turned away and showed her and the child to the door of a sitting room set aside for American citizens in distress.

  Hattie had not cried earlier when she saw all their belongings scattered; nor had she cried when the authorities marched Edward away, because then she still believed it was all a misunderstanding. But as she guided Indigo ahead of her into the small dingy room, furnished only with a dark leather sofa and a table and chair, Hattie began to cry.

  She sat on the edge of sofa and stared straight ahead at the glass doors to the balcony. Indigo squeezed her hand and whispered, “Don’t worry, Hattie. Please don’t cry.” Indigo wasn’t afraid, because the police here did not shove or kick them the way the Indian police and soldiers did in Arizona, and they brought Hattie and Indigo to the consulate as soon as Hattie answered their questions.

  To cheer her up, Indigo talked about the way the Indian police tied their ankles and wrists so she and Sister Salt couldn’t get away; she told Hattie the stories about the times Grandma Fleet was caught by soldiers or by the Indian police, only to escape later; Mama even escaped Fort Yuma, though it took her more than a year. Hattie mustn’t be sad—at home people got arrested for no reason all the time. There was nothing to be ashamed of; this wasn’t bad at all.

  Hattie was quite touched by Indigo’s efforts to cheer her and she had to smile at Indigo’s confidence that the police here were not so bad; as she listened, she was shocked at the routine brutality the child described. Indigo was happy to be telling Hattie stories because the telling took her mind off Rainbow; she was certain he was waiting for her at the hotel. If they hadn’t arrested Edward, she and Rainbow would already be together again, playing with the quartz pebbles Indigo picked up near the schoolhouse with the miraculous wall.

  Indigo sketched and colored gladiolus in her notebook. She recopied the pages of text that she’d copied from Laura’s gladiolus books because it helped her to remember the Latin names. One hour passed and then two; Hattie had no idea how long they would be detained there; both she and the child were hungry and exhausted. When she went downstairs with a ten-lire note to ask if they might get something to eat, the American clerk glared at her but snatched the ten lire from the counter and called a young Italian boy from the back to bring them the bread and milk Hattie requested.

  Hattie began to fear they would be detained there until the deputy consul returned, and that might be days. The authorities seized all their
bags but did return Hattie’s purse and Indigo’s valise. With a sheet of paper torn from Indigo’s notebook Hattie wrote a note to Laura. She apologized for the bother after all the hospitality Laura had extended to them, but there had been a misunderstanding with the customs officials and the American consul and staff were away. Could Laura recommend an attorney in Livorno who might help them?

  Hattie consulted her little book of useful Italian phrases and when the boy brought the milk and bread upstairs, she told him to keep the change as a tip. The boy, who had avoided looking at her directly until then, broke into a big smile. His eyes widened when she gave him another ten lire and asked him to send the letter to Lucca the fastest way possible. The boy looked at the ten lire in his hand and at the address on the letter; if he hurried, he said, the letter might still go on the evening train to Lucca.

  Hattie stood at the French doors of the balcony and watched the street as she waited, certain Edward would come or at least the clerk would bring her some news. But at closing time the American clerk informed her, for safety purposes, the building must be locked overnight, though they could move about inside until he returned the next morning at eight. Hattie was too shocked by his statement to think to ask him what they should do in case of fire.

  The toilet facilities were downstairs, and there was a sink and running water, but no towels. The long leather sofa was large enough for both of them to curl up at each end; the night was quite warm, and while Indigo slept soundly, Hattie lay awake much of the night and wondered how Edward was faring. Was he in jail in Livorno, or did customs have their own detention facilities? Toward morning she did manage to fall asleep but woke with a start, her clothes damp and twisted under her; she dreamed she was in the old woods of Laura’s garden on the overgrown path to the hidden grotto but she could not find her way back to the house. In the gray light before dawn, the dream left her with a lingering sadness she had not felt since the incident with Mr. Hyslop; careful not to wake the child, she went to the table and wept.