Gardens in the Dunes

by Leslie Marmon Silko

  At dawn she woke to a black dog gently licking her face. If the dog’s motion had not been so gentle and slow, she might have feared an attack. The bundle was secure in any case because she slept curled around it to keep it warm. During the night she woke but could not be sure if he moved or if she had only dreamed he moved. She was still bleeding, though much less than the night before; the afterbirth was in the sand nearby, untouched by the dog. A good sign. The dog had a fat stomach, but seemed crippled; it hobbled backward wagging its tail as she raised up. Did something move in the bundle? She still couldn’t bring herself to look. Too bad she hadn’t brought a canteen, because she was really thirsty. She wondered if Big Candy came to her tent last night and was looking for her. Maytha and Vedna probably wouldn’t get back from Needles until tomorrow.

  The dog stood a short distance away watching her face and the bundle in her arms curiously. When they lived in Needles, she and Indigo used to beg for a puppy, but Grandma Fleet said dogs eat too much meat.

  Now the sun rose above the horizon but with a partial mask of thin clouds. Her left arm was stiff from holding the bundle and she tried to shift it a bit without disturbing it—if she bumped it and it didn’t move, then she’d know he was dead. Just then she was aware of a strange sensation—an odd tingling—and when she touched herself with her right hand, her breasts were swollen and leaked warm milk through the cloth of her blouse. The dog’s ears pricked up at the bundle, and when she first looked down, she thought she saw a spider, then she realized it was a tiny black hand reaching out of the bundle.

  He was still alive! Now she had to look, but she dreaded to see the poor little thing breathe his last. Yes, she whispered to him, it was her fault he was born too soon, for eating too much greasy white-colored food. She whispered to him as she gently pulled open the bundle to look. Now both little black hands were waving at her angrily and she laughed with relief at how briskly they punched the air. He smelled breast milk and wanted some right now. As she fumbled with her blouse to bring out a breast, he began a high-pitched cry sounding like a river heron; the longer it took for her to push back the cloth wrapped around him, the louder the heron’s cries became. His little wrinkled face was contorted in anger—his eyes squeezed shut and mouth gulping like a fish; in her haste to get the breast and nipple to his mouth, milk squirted on his forehead and for an instant he stopped wiggling and opened his eyes in surprise and she saw he was a tough customer who wouldn’t die anytime soon.

  His mouth was so tiny her nipple filled it entirely but he did not choke or cough as he sucked ravenously. He gave out angry cries as she shifted him to the other breast, which was soaking them both in milk. She was so relieved he was alive she began to cry softly. His vigorous sucking stopped briefly, and she saw a black shining eye open for an instant to see what was wrong. “I’m just so happy,” she said in Sand Lizard language. “I was afraid you were dead.”

  The black dog was lying close by, and watched patiently. Each time she felt his nursing diminish, she started to get up, but instantly he woke and began to suck so strongly she sank back down on the sand again. She managed to scrape away enough sand with one foot to properly bury the afterbirth without disturbing him. Encouraged by that success with him in her arms, she was able to urinate, then crawled a distance away to clean sand. She was so thirsty. She’d never go for a walk without a canteen again—not even in cool weather! Good thing she was only a few miles from the river. For a moment she wondered why Big Candy didn’t come looking for her—maybe Wylie sent him to Prescott; the twins probably wouldn’t get back from Needles until the next day.

  Finally she managed to stand up without disturbing him—he slept with her nipple in his mouth—and she began to walk back down the sandy wash the way she’d come. The black dog led the way, stopping from time to time to look back to see if she was still coming. She had not gone far when the dog suddenly stopped as it approached a bend in the arroyo. The hair on the dog’s back stood straight up and Sister Salt froze in her tracks; but then the dog’s tail began to wag wildly and it gave a bark and ran fast on its crooked legs around the bend in the wash.

  “There you are!” a woman’s voice shouted in Spanish, and before Sister Salt could decide whether to hide or not, a strange sight met her; around the corner came a small dark woman surrounded by a pack of black dogs. The woman seemed as shocked to see her as she was; for an instant Sister Salt thought the dog woman was about to turn and run.

  All the dogs began to bark but the woman shushed them; they obeyed at once and sank to their bellies; it was then Sister Salt noticed each of the other dogs wore a burlap pack over its shoulders and back. “They won’t harm you,” the woman said in Spanish, but when Sister Salt didn’t reply, the woman repeated the words in English. Sister Salt nodded but didn’t move; she felt him let go of her nipple and begin to squirm in his bundle; he wanted the other breast.

  The woman watched as she shifted him to the other side. She wasn’t much older than herself. The woman looked at the torn bloody skirt, then at the bundle in Sister Salt’s arms, and she looked around to see if there was anyone else.

  “Do you need help?” the woman asked in English. Sister Salt got a good look at her then and saw a dark purple scar from the middle of her forehead down the bridge of her nose to her chin.

  “Please, some water,” Sister Salt answered. The woman turned to the dogs, who wagged their tails but obediently remained on their bellies. From the nearest dog’s pack she took out a plump canvas water bag that felt deliciously damp and cool in Sister Salt’s hands; water never tasted so good! She could have made it back to the river without water, but that might have also caused her milk to dry up, and she didn’t want to take that risk.

  While Sister Salt drank, the woman gazed around them with vigilance, but more than once the woman looked back toward the south, the direction she’d come from. The woman offered to hold the bundle while she washed up, but Sister Salt declined. The little black grandfather would be furious if she disturbed his nest between her breasts to hand him over to a stranger.

  In Yuma, the dog woman heard about a wagon town booming upriver at the new dam, so she brought her dog circus to make some money. Sister Salt nodded. Yes, money was waiting up there for entertainment. The workers would flock to see something new for a change.

  She introduced herself as Delena, but just the way she said the name told Sister Salt it was not her real name. Delena asked if she lived there, and Sister nodded. For the first time since the baby was born, she began to take stock of her situation. She could see the dust cloud in the distance above the construction site. Her feelings were hurt because Big Candy didn’t come looking for her. Even if he was really busy, he should have at least sent Juanito out to search for her this morning. If Big Candy didn’t care enough to start a search, she wasn’t sure if she should bother to go back.

  Maybe she should ask the dog woman for a water bag and start back to the old gardens now. Even before he was born, the little black grandfather hated the construction noise. He might never tolerate the noise now, and all night the drunks and gamblers laughed and cursed around the tents. She’d have to move her tent downriver away from the noise. She had a difficult time deciding what to do; he watched her from inside his cocoon. His eyes said, “You don’t want to go back there,” but she pretended not to understand.

  Rain clouds from the northwest pushed into the sky, and the air felt cooler. The dogs fanned out and trotted ahead of them as they walked along; now and then one of them caught a scent, and they all bolted off yipping and barking, but the lame dog never left the woman’s side.

  Sister Salt had walked farther than she realized the day before. They had walked for a long time, and only now could the ugly hump of the dam be seen off in the distance, rising toward the sky. Whenever Sister Salt needed to rest, they stopped; invariably the woman looked back toward the south as if someone was following her. As long as they spoke in soft tones, the little grandfather slept; otherwise he
screeched like a heron if they talked.

  Sister Salt was curious about the contents of the packs the dogs wore. Delena explained each dog had to carry its own water and food, and its circus costume. She was curious to know what happened to the dog’s legs; a dog might hurt one or two legs, or in a dog fight, injure three; but this dog’s legs all had been badly broken. Sister was curious to know about the long dark scar down her face, but she was too polite to ask.

  Sister Salt took her time walking, partly because it was hot and she felt a little weak, but also to see how long she had to be missing before Big Candy noticed and sent searchers. They stopped a number of times to drink water, then to eat the last of the mutton jerky Delena bought in Yuma. How did she keep the dogs from going after the jerky in their packs? Good training, Delena said. Discipline is everything in an army—or a dog circus, she quickly added. The dogs hunted ahead of them and filled themselves with mice swallowed in one gulp; the occasional rabbits they caught caused all the dogs to fight until Delena stepped in to command them to stop. They weren’t upset with one another afterward; they seemed to enjoy fighting as a game. Although they were not big dogs, their strength and savagery with one another impressed Sister Salt; one dog must have nearly the strength of a man.

  They had almost reached the river when the dogs stopped, their ears and tails up in alert: immediately both women dropped to their knees. The jolt caused the little grandfather to stiffen with anger but he didn’t cry out. Someone was up ahead on the wagon road; they could hear the hum of voices and the jingle and clink of bits and steel-shod hooves. A number of horsemen were riding north; the cottonwood trees and river brush blocked them from sight. Whoever they were, they were headed for the dam too.

  Sister sat down while Delena and the dogs went to look at the tracks in the wagon road. She looked worried when she returned; soldiers—she could tell by the tracks and manure the horses were in military formation. Soldiers. The little grandfather twisted and kicked in his bundle; he didn’t like to be wet, but if she tore up any more of her skirt or blouse, she’d be naked. Her promise of a nice warm bath as soon as they got home seemed to quiet him.

  They avoided the wagon road by following the old path that wove through the tamarisk and willows on the riverbank. From time to time the dogs splashed and played in the shallow water; Sister felt her excitement grow as she anticipated Big Candy’s reaction to the baby. She didn’t show the baby to the dog woman so Big Candy could be the first to see his son. The closer they came to the construction site, the more the little grandfather twisted and turned in his bundle. Off in the distance to the southwest, Sister heard the rumble of thunder and smelled the approach of rain. At the sight of the tents, Delena called her dogs to her; she wanted to stay with them down the river a bit, where they wouldn’t be in the way. Despite the gathering storm, Sister didn’t press her to come stay at the tent because that many dogs might go after the meat in Candy’s barbecue pit or stampede the mule teams that pulled the earthmoving machines. As they parted, Sister thanked the dog woman again for the water, and promised to come visit soon.

  Business was booming as she reached the camp; horses she’d not seen before were tied to the willows and tamarisks all around the casino tent; there were workers, their faces streaked with grime, arms full of dirty clothes, lined up outside the laundry tent for warm baths. No more bottles of beer—Juanito dipped it straight from the barrel into the workers’ lunch pails. Soldiers in uniforms lined up with workers just off the day shift; overnight the number of customers for gambling and beer seemed to have doubled.

  Big Candy smiled and nodded when he saw her but he was striding in his very-busy-in-a-hurry walk, both hands full with decks of cards and the casino strongbox. He didn’t seem to notice the bundle in her arms, so she called out for him to come see, but he disappeared under the flap of the casino tent. In the line that formed outside the casino, the men who rolled dice on the sand while they waited stared at her curiously as she began to cry. The little black grandfather peered up at her intently from his cloth cocoon as she wiped at the tears with the back of her hand. She could tell he did not approve of his father’s bad manners.

  The old Mojave woman gave her a pail of clean warm water out of the back of the laundry tent without any questions. Carefully she unwrapped him on her blankets in the tent and gently wiped him down and dried him with part of a clean sheet she tore up for diapers. The thunder cracked and shook the ground, and raindrops clattered against the tent while the wind pulled at the canvas and rattled the cottonwood branches and leaves above them. “Good for you,” she told him. “Your rain cloud ancestors came to greet you.” If not properly welcomed, a baby that tiny might give up on this world and leave.

  The rain came in gusts that slapped and sagged the tent roof; she pulled the blankets snugly around them and listened to the creak and groan of the old cottonwood in the wind. Lightning flashed the inside of the tent and and shook the ground, but as long as the little grandfather nursed contently, she was not afraid.

  She left a lantern burning for Big Candy, but it was out of oil by the time he came to her tent. The wind and lightning had passed but it was still raining steadily. Big Candy shook off his hat and rain slicker—she felt some of the cold droplets on her face but said nothing. He fumbled to light the other lantern on the table, and put down the money sacks; they made heavy sounds on the table.

  “Business was booming,” he’d say if she were up now. Why didn’t she get up then and show him her surprise? No, if he hadn’t noticed something different by now, then she wanted to see just how long it took him to notice something was different.

  He went out again to get the beer and roast meat he liked to eat while he counted the money. The rich odors of the meat and beer made her stomach growl with hunger, but she did not get up. She listened to him chew and swallow to the jingle and clink of the coins he counted. He taught her gold pieces jingle but silver only clinks. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered his delight in teaching her these things before he got so busy.

  “There’s plenty of meat here,” he said, but she pretended to sleep. Finally he got up and stood over her.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you went to Needles with the twins.”

  The sound of his father’s voice right above woke the little black grandfather with a start; he pulled his head away from her breast and twisted inside his cocoon as he gave out a loud cry.

  “What have you got there?” Big Candy demanded as he knelt down next to her. He thought it sounded like a cat or bird, and at first couldn’t see what it was because the baby was so tiny.

  “Ohhh,” he said in amazement before his expression shifted into concern.

  “It’s so small.”

  “He—he’s a boy.”

  “He looks too tiny to live,” Big Candy said in a sad voice.

  “Don’t talk like that to him!” Sister Salt said in low, fierce tones. She wanted to say talk like that could kill tiny babies, but Candy looked so sad she kept quiet. He didn’t know the first thing about Sand Lizard babies. His ignorance was more apparent when he asked her to unwrap him so he could get a better look. She pulled the bundle closer and arched her body over it as she shook her head. Later on when she gave him clean dry wrappings, Candy could see him; right now it was important to keep him warm so he could sleep.

  Big Candy sat down at the table again; the beat of the rain against the tent was not as heavy now. He sat in silence and he didn’t touch the money. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted the child until he saw the baby was too tiny to live. He’d seen babies born too soon when he was a child—born to the housemaids, who brought them to the big kitchen to keep warm. He watched his mother help the women try to save babies born too soon—pitiful little things with legs and arms like sticks; they gasped like fish out of water for a day or two, then lay still. He had not thought about them for years, but now the tears sprang into his eyes and he choked up as he had each time the babies died. Poor girl! She doesn’
t know any better—she thinks this baby will live. He rubbed at his eyes hard with his fist and cleared his throat. He didn’t want to add to her hurt so he didn’t tell her what he knew.

  He’d be back soon; he just had to take the receipts to Wylie. What a mess in this rain! He pulled down the wide brim of his felt hat to better shed the rain, and turned up the collar of his denim work coat. If the rain kept up, the clayish mud would be knee deep and impossible for the machines and mules. Bad for the contractors, but good for beer sales and the casino, especially now the soldiers were in the area.

  Wylie was still wary of the presence of the soldiers. For now they might be there to discourage sabotage by disgruntled farmers downriver and slowdowns by workers demanding shorter hours; but the boss had information from his contacts in Prescott his enemies meant to put an end to his strict control of the gambling and beer at the construction camp. Wiley was already through a fifth of whiskey when Candy got there. He grinned when he saw the money sacks Candy put on the table were too full to tie shut.

  “They might close us down next week,” Wylie said with a grin. “By God we’ll make money hand over fist until they do!” He wasn’t worried. It was his job to control access to the job site to keep the work going smoothly—to keep the peace between the general contractor and all the subcontractors and their workers. He had to watch the federal inspectors who came from time to time, to make sure they didn’t become too cozy with the contractors.

  The Prescott businessmen had the hard liquor and the prostitutes in their wagon town within walking distance. Wylie didn’t stop them from running dice and card games outside the construction zone; if the men didn’t want to walk that far after work and preferred Big Candy’s barbecue, beer, and the casino tents along the river, well, that wasn’t Wylie’s fault. The construction zone and workers’ camp had to be kept in an orderly manner to prevent labor agitators and other safety risks. The only big complainers, beside the Prescott and Yuma businessmen, were the traveling preachers, who waved Bibles over their heads and condemned him to hell because he refused them access to the construction zone too. The wagon town suited the prostitutes, but the preachers wanted to reach the workers before they squandered their pay on beer and dice, or went to the women in the wagons.