Laura paused to watch Indigo and the parrot on the lawn as they played tag; the parrot waddled after the girl with his wings outstretched and flapping for speed; then the girl chased the parrot as he fled with squawks and ruffled feathers. Shaded by the great lindens and oaks, they played and played; from time to time the parrot flapped his wings fast enough to lift himself so that for a few seconds Indigo scarcely felt him on her shoulder except where he held fast with his feet.
What a sweet child—they were fortunate to have adopted her, Laura commented as they paused in the shade. Hattie felt her cheeks redden and she tried to choose her words carefully. Oh no, they were not so lucky as that. The child was only placed with them for the summer. Hattie could not stop herself—she felt she must explain how the school personnel mistreated the child, that as soon as they returned to the United States they would go to Arizona to search for Indigo’s family.
Edward turned back on the path to rejoin them, although the path continued through another stone archway. He wasn’t interested in any more old gardens stripped of their ornaments; he preferred to see the hybrid gladiolus; even the crude artifacts of the old Europeans would be more interesting.
Laura glanced up at the sun to judge the time; she had more to show them before lunch. A stream diverted from the hills behind the house fed a stone-paved rill that emptied into a long narrow pool of dwarf papyrus and yellow lotus flowers. The water flowed from the end of the pool into another stone rill that followed the driveway to the edge of the woods; here the waterway abruptly disappeared into heavy foliage.
Two weathered stone pillars dappled with lichens were visible in the lush foliage that marked the entrance to the old woods where the stone figures were found. Laura led the way down the overgrown path. Indigo followed with the parrot on her shoulder, and Hattie and Edward came along behind. As they went deeper into the woods, the parrot settled quietly on Indigo’s shoulder, alert for danger.
The path was overgrown with laurel and myrtle but the coolness and the shade were inviting, and Indigo found a variety of lovely ferns and mosses growing between the stones of the path that gradually descended as it went deeper into the dark green pines and cedars with their bowers of box elders, chestnuts, and great oaks. Rainbow clutched her shoulder tighter and leaned forward, flapping his wings, his feathers ruffled with excitement as he looked at the forest all around them. They played a game—Indigo walked slower and slower, which caused Rainbow to lean forward, eager to go faster, and he flapped his wings harder as if to make Indigo speed up. Then Indigo pretended the breeze from his wings was pushing her along with magical power to make her fly. As she walked faster and faster, Rainbow squawked with delight, and as they raced past Laura on the path, Indigo laughed out loud.
Now and then Hattie recognized azaleas and rhododendrons among the overgrown holly and brambles; otherwise Hattie would have believed they were in a primordial forest. The others walked ahead, but Hattie was content to take her time to appreciate what became of even the most elegant gardens over time. She stopped to appreciate the natural effect accomplished with the lindens and elms with the plane trees of a lighter green; as she turned, she was startled to see a creature gazing at her through the twisted branches of a holly tree.
The life-size stone face and bare chest were human, but legs and body were those of a horse. In the foliage so close to the path it appeared almost alive and gave her a terrible start that left her heart pounding. She stopped to catch her breath, face-to-face with the centaur, his hindquarters partially buried in the eroded hillside. Just then Laura came back to rejoin her, while the child and her parrot went ahead with Edward.
They sat on a shady, lichen-covered rock near the centaur as Laura explained the dilemma she had faced: to free the figure of the centaur from his stronghold of earth-slide debris would have required the sacrifice of a young chestnut tree and a bower of azaleas and rhododendrons. The centaur was nicely carved but he was only a copy and was more interesting just as he was, emerging out of the earth. Hattie agreed; this way he was quite dramatic.
They sat in silence awhile; Laura glanced around at the old forest and smiled, then in a soft voice she told Hattie: On the eve of the battle, her husband deserted his army command in Eritrea. The following day, Italian forces suffered terrible losses against the rebels; at first he was feared lost or taken prisoner. It was this confusion that brought such embarrassment later—early newspaper reports called him a “fallen hero,” but weeks later army intelligence learned the colonel had fled to Cairo.
They both were silent for a moment; Hattie kept her eyes to the ground, but Laura patted her arm cheerfully and smiled; it was for the best, she said.
Laura pointed at the chestnut and oak trees and the bowers of laurel and bay choked with brambles and holly that grew between the boulders and big rocks of the earth slide. The deadwood and debris were removed, but she did not have the heart to disturb the rest. The old wood remained as it was; fallen trees were left to nurture the earth for seedlings. Repairs were made only to the little canal that brought the stream from the hills to the woods; otherwise, they scarcely trimmed the paths enough to allow one to pass.
The path turned sharply at a stand of silver birches and suddenly there was a marble head of Medusa as big as a cookstove where it came to rest at the edge of the path after it rolled down the hillside. The head was dramatically tilted back to face the sky; she was a giant but no monster. The baby snakes that covered her head were dreamy eyed and gracefully arched above her brow, as unconcerned about the fall as their mistress, whose expression was serene, not furious.
Indigo rejoined them. Well, what did she think? Hattie asked. Indigo’s eyes were wide as she slowly shook her head; she wished Sister were there because Indigo knew that when she told her sister later, she’d never believe the head was this big! Wait until she told Mama and Sister! They would be amazed! They’d all heard the old-time people speculate about giants and the offspring of men who had sex with mares or cows.
Now the path began to level out in the dappled shade of the great trees towering above them. Laura described the most recent discovery: A storm with high winds and heavy rain lashed the hills and a number of the largest trees were lost. A lightning-struck oak crushed the rill, and the old woods were flooded; the embankments of the old landslide badly eroded. The morning after, as Laura accompanied the hired man to survey the damage, she noticed odd stonework protruding out of the side of the crumbled embankment a few feet away: it was a hidden grotto!
Edward walked a bit faster and asked what was found; Laura smiled but shook her head. She did not want to spoil the surprise. The stone archway of the grotto was outlined by velvet moss of bright emerald green; inside, splashing water reflected light on the rough stone walls. On a pedestal near the grotto center sat a nearly life-size marble figure of a bald fat man, naked and shamelessly astride a giant land tortoise. Hattie hurried to steer Indigo away from the vulgar marble, while Edward stopped with Laura to examine the figure.
In the stone niche at the back of the grotto Hattie noticed an egg-shaped sandstone that appeared to be far older than the marble fat man, and more proper for a young girl to see. As they approached it, Hattie noticed the stone was engraved with what appeared to be an eye on its end or the outline of a curled snake. She was about to reach out to touch its edge when suddenly she recognized it was a human vulva!
She stepped back so suddenly she bumped into Indigo. The dank odors of the grotto closed around her—she must get to fresh air at once! Outside, the fresh air restored her instantly but Edward and Laura were concerned; Hattie insisted she was all right. Food was all she needed; she only had tea and a biscuit for breakfast. After a short rest and something to eat, she would feel just fine. They could see the other gardens when it was cooler, later in the afternoon.
As they walked back to the house, Edward asked about the “female fertility figure”; Laura smiled at his choice of words. The incised egg was from the fourth millennium i
n Macedonia; it was the first piece of her collection to be installed in its new home, and the only piece sited in the old woods. All the other pieces of her collection were in the terraced gardens they’d see after lunch.
Edward asked if she worried about damage to the artifacts from the elements. Oh, Laura laughed, we bring them indoors in the winter. Edward nodded, though he did not approve of such a careless attitude toward rare artifacts. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead; he was feeling the heat now. He slowed his pace, conscious for the first time of a bit of soreness in the leg.
Now Hattie walked with Laura, who explained the meanings of the symbols found on Old European artifacts: The wavy lines symbolized rain; Vs and zigzags and chevrons symbolized river meanders as well as snakes and flocks of waterbirds; goddesses of the rivers transformed themselves to snakes and then waterbirds. The concentric circles were the all-seeing eyes of the Great Goddess; and the big triangles represented the pubic triangle, another emblem of the Great Goddess.
By the time they reached the house, Hattie felt completely restored. At lunch her appetite returned and she helped herself to the bread while the wine was poured. Before Edward could stop her, the maid filled Indigo’s glass with wine; immediately he moved the glass next to his wineglass. The discussion shifted to the question of serving wine to children; Hattie acknowledged the prohibition came directly from their puritan forefathers. The wine wasn’t strong! Let Indigo take a sip! But Edward was firm; Indigo must not have wine because she was an Indian; even the least amount might have a shocking effect.
Hattie tried to wash down the embarrassment she felt by drinking the wine. It was such lovely wine—it went down as gently as springwater. A sip would have been harmless, even educational, for the child. Hattie finished her glass of wine and the maid refilled it. She felt the wine begin to calm her, and her irritation at Edward diminished.
Indigo helped herself to the delicious fig bread in the basket on the table in front of her. She loved the feeling of the tiny seeds breaking between her teeth amid all the sweetness. The figs tasted as sweet as the dates she and Sister Salt gathered from the palm grove. The first course was spaghetti with tomato sauce and basil, followed with fried lamb cutlets and peas with ham. Indigo smiled at the cork’s squeak when the maid opened another bottle of wine. Then came a warm bowl of stewed sweet red peppers with yellow squash. Indigo’s eyes widened at the sight of food she knew, and as she tasted the peppers she thought of them grown so far from their original home; seeds must be among the greatest travelers of all!
They ate lemon ice cream later, while Laura talked about her hobby. The hybridizing procedures were simple enough for the amateur, which is how she began—an experiment that she did not expect to yield results; but she was delivered seed pods the first year. Beginner’s luck, she said, and a good deal of effort; for weeks she went into the garden before dawn with her tweezers and paper bags to cover the selected plants to protect them from accidental fertilization.
After lunch, while the sun was too bright and hot to walk comfortably in the gardens, they went to their rooms to rest. Indigo took her notebook and color pencils to her bedding on the floor and began to try to draw Rainbow perched on the cage top. She decided to put all his colors on the page first and then take a black pencil to draw his outline on the colors. The tiles were so cool she stopped from time to time to press her cheek against them, and before long she let go of the pencil in her fingers and stretched out on the bedsheet over the cool floor and fell asleep.
Hattie did not feel the full effects of the wine at lunch until she got up from the table to go upstairs. A sudden rush of well-being was followed by the sensation her body was weightless; each step was effortless but left her giddy. She paused at the top of the stairs for Edward, who seemed a bit unsteady himself. She stifled a smile and took his arm in hers; a nap would be just the cure for their wine-tipsy condition.
As they removed their shoes and loosened their clothes Hattie praised the people and gardens of Tuscany, then Edward gaily interrupted her to praise the wine above all. They laughed together and Hattie felt a sense of camaraderie with her husband that filled her heart with passion. As he sat on the edge of the bed, she leaned over and kissed him ardently on the back of the neck. In the the glow of the wine they forgot themselves and the awkward moments and embarrassments of their previous attempts at sexual intimacy. This session took them quite far indeed, although they stopped short of the act. They lay side by side holding hands in silence, their clothing all askew. Edward listened to Hattie’s breathing, slow as she fell asleep, but found himself wide awake, his heart pounding. It was the Indian girl who stirred Hattie’s maternal instincts and caused her to change her mind; now she wanted to conceive a child; that was quite clear.
Later, as they dressed to go downstairs, Edward was quite talkative about hybrid gladiolus, as if he wanted to avoid any discussion of the earlier flailing and groping. Hattie planted a kiss on his forehead as he sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. She wanted to put him at ease, to let him know she was not embarrassed by their fling. It must have been the wine, she said with a smile; Edward nodded but did not look up as he tried to decide between a walking shoe and jodhpur boot for their tour of the terraced gardens.
He hoped to photograph the professoressa’s collection of artifacts, if she agreed; though why would she refuse? A few photographs could not matter when the artifacts were already exposed to the rain and the sun. He told Hattie he still found it difficult to believe. Was the entire collection displayed out of doors? Personally he found the Old European artifacts crude and unappealing; still, he was amazed their hostess, who called herself a scholar, risked rare archaeological artifacts simply to decorate a garden. Perhaps stone artifacts could survive display outdoors, but what about the ancient terra-cottas, exposed to the ravages of the sun and the weather?
Hattie smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him; she put her arm through his. She felt so much affection for Edward at that moment—more strongly than ever before—and she wanted to savor the affection she felt.
But Edward went on: here truly was an affront to science and scholarship! Hattie began to be annoyed by Edward’s criticism of their generous hostess. Aunt Bronwyn said the professoressa took great care with the installation of each artifact. Shouldn’t they see the arrangements made for the artifacts in the gardens first, before they condemned her? No, it was the principle of the matter; artifacts of the early millennia belonged in the hands of scientists and scholars, not in gardens! Edward felt confident in the glow of the wine and continued: a connection must exist between the absent husband and the exposure of the artifacts. Poor Laura must have suffered a breakdown! Hattie frowned; Aunt Bronwyn said nothing of the sort.
Indigo woke from her nap to a snapping, splintering sound of dry wood; for an instant she wondered what it could be; then she jumped up, her heart pounding, just as Rainbow took another colored pencil into his beak from the box. The black pencil that she used to outline and to write words was broken in half, so she could still use it; but splinters and bits of the silver and gold pencils littered the floor around the travel cage, where the parrot was perched on top. She felt lucky to wake up before he destroyed all the color pencils; she did not think she would have much use for those colors anyway. The gold and silver pencils left heavy, greasy marks. Please don’t do that again, she told him as he watched her shut the pencil box.
As they came downstairs, Laura greeted them; Indigo and her parrot were already waiting in the green garden. Even the shadows and the shade were green in this lovely garden. Indigo and the parrot raced around to each of the empty niches and pedestals they’d seen earlier.
The afternoon light was a lovely chrome yellow filtered through the great trees. Laura explained as they walked she made her decision carefully, over a year or more, after visits abroad to the most eminent collections of museums in Eastern Europe. The museums, public or private, were d
our and depressing, even suffocating; fortunately she met Aunt Bronwyn then, and only Aunt Bronwyn’s companionship and good cheer sustained her. The day she stepped out into the sunshine from a museum in Crakow, she made her decision: the figures of stone and terra-cotta must have fresh air and sunshine, not burial in a museum.
Edward set his jaw, determined not to betray his true feelings as their hostess explained how each winter when the first storm clouds gathered, the figures were wrapped in wool and placed in their boxes indoors. Birds of a feather, this woman and Hattie’s old aunt; this was what happened when irreplaceable scientific data fell into the wrong hands. What a frivolous woman! She seemed to have thrown over her study of the fourth- and fifth-millennium artifacts to take up gladiolus gardening. Little wonder that her husband was gone!
They stepped down four stone steps through an old stone gateway, and suddenly, everywhere Hattie looked, she saw tall spikes of black gladiolus flowers more densely planted than she ever imagined possible. Hundreds—maybe a thousand—of corms were planted, at heaven knew what cost, to crowd the entire garden with tall spikes of black blossoms—black-rose and black-red was even more amazing. Hattie thought gladiolus came only in pink, white, or yellow.
From the back wall by the gate, terrace after terrace, all the way to the lily tank in the center below, were tall spikes of black gladiolus flowers. Her first glimpse startled her because for an instant she thought something had burned or blackened the garden, before she realized it was a black garden. Here and there the garden of black was accented with scatterings of white, dove gray, and blossoms of mottled lavender and rose. Indigo looked up at Hattie and both their faces lit up with excitement and they exclaimed together: “Look!” Indigo’s eyes were wide and she did not gallop about with the parrot but remained next to Hattie. For just an instant when she first saw them, Indigo mistook the tall spikes of black flowers for a big flock of blackbirds sitting among green leaves, swaying ever so slightly in a current of air; in the afternoon light the blossoms seemed almost to glisten like black feathers. Indigo took a deep breath and exclaimed with delight. Smell them! These gladiolus are perfumed!