Free Gardens in the Dunes by Leslie Marmon Silko Page B

always was there to care for them no matter what happened. Sister looked at the tiny figure on the old blankets breathing peacefully, and she realized, when the time came, Grandma Fleet intended to be buried there under her little apricot trees.
    Indigo was the first one up the path that morning on her way to wash at the spring. As she passed Grandma Fleet’s shelter, she called out, “Good morning,” but was not alarmed when Grandma did not answer; in recent weeks Grandma slept later and later. Indigo was washing her face at the pool when Sister Salt came running and cried out Grandma was dead.
    Indigo refused to help, but Grandma Fleet weighed hardly more than a big jackrabbit as Sister Salt gently shifted her body to wrap the blanket more securely. Indigo refused to scoop sand over the body. She sat flat on the sand, a distance away, with her back to her sister, too angry to cry, too angry to bury Grandma Fleet. All day Indigo sat on the same spot, with her back to the mound of sand, while Sister Salt tended the gardens as Grandma would have, pulling weeds around the squash and beans.
    Late in the afternoon Sister Salt came slowly up the trail with gourd bowls in both hands. She placed the bowl full of squash and bean stew on the grave, then filled the other gourd bowl at the spring and arranged it next to the bowl of stew. She did not disturb Indigo but went back to get the remaining stew for her and Indigo to share.
    At first Indigo refused to join her sister, who ate stew next to the mound of sand that covered Grandma Fleet. But the delicious odor of the stew finally won her over and Indigo, her eyes swollen and red, sullenly joined her sister. They ate in silence. Sister Salt watched the sun drop behind the sandstone cliffs and felt the breeze become cooler; the days were shorter though they were still quite warm, but the nights were already uncomfortable without a blanket.
    Sister Salt continued to follow all of Grandma Fleet’s instructions: as the beans and corn ripened, she dried them in the sun, then stored them in the huge pottery storage jars buried in the sand floor of the dugout house.
    Indigo refused to sleep anywhere but the shallow hole she scooped out beside Grandma Fleet’s grave. All day while Sister Salt toiled in the gardens, Indigo ignored her sister; Indigo had a favorite sandstone boulder next to the pool at the spring; here she spent most days, looking off into the distance, watching the trail to the big wash and the river because this was the trail Grandma Fleet used for her visit with Mrs. Van Wagnen, and when Mama returned, she would probably follow the same trail home.
    As the days became shorter and the nights cooler, Indigo spent all day on the boulder, where the sun’s heat felt delicious. She carried on imaginary conversations with Mama and with Grandma Fleet to pass the time. She told them how she and Sister Salt worked to put away the harvest, and she imagined how this must please them and the words of praise they would give if they were there. Sometimes she made up stories to amuse herself; she imagined that a golden eagle mother flew down and lifted her by the back of her dress, off the boulder, high into the sky. From so high up Indigo saw the entire world. She saw the river but it looked like a child’s belt, thin and green on the edges and muddy red down the middle; the giant dunes glittered like big glass beads. Indigo searched for signs of the Messiah and his followers, but the mother eagle flew too high for Indigo to see human beings.
    At night Indigo rolled herself tightly in her blankets and slept next to Grandma Fleet’s grave and the apricot seedlings. She was not afraid because Grandma Fleet was right there even if Indigo couldn’t see her, and she would protect Indigo from harm. Some nights Indigo heard voices by the spring, people speaking in happy tones with laughter; she knew she must not listen too closely or she might want to join