Wanderer Of the Wasteland (1982) (42 page)

One morning, as he finished his camp tasks, he missed her. Upon searching, he found her flat on the grassy bank of the stream, face downward, with her thin brown feet in the air. He wondered what she could be doing, and his heart sank, for she had often said it would be so easy and sweet to lie down and sleep in the water.

"Genie, child, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Look! the bees--the honey bees! They're washing themselves in the water. First I thought they were drinking. But no!...They're washing. It's so funny."

When she looked up, Adam thrilled at sight of her eyes. If they had always been beautiful in shape and colour, what were they now, with youth returned, and a light of the birth of wonder and joy in life? Youth had won over tragedy. Nature hid deep at the heart of all creation. The moment also had a birth for Adam--an exquisite birth of the first really happy moment of his long desert years.

"Let me see," he said, and he lowered his ponderous length and stretched it beside her on the grassy bank. "Genie, you're right about the bees being funny, but wrong about what they're doing. They are diluting their honey. Well, I'm not sure, but I think bees on the desert dilute their honey with water. Watch!...Maybe they drink at the same time. But you see--some of them have their heads turned away from the water, as if they meant to back down...Bees are hard to understand."

"By the great horn spoon!" ejaculated Genie, and then she laughed.

Adam echoed her laugh. He could have shouted or sung to the skies. Never before, indeed, had he heard Genie use such an expression, but the content of it was precious to him. It revealed hitherto unsuspected depths in her, as the interest in bees hinted of an undeveloped love of nature.

"Genie, do you care about bees, birds, flowers--what they do--how they live and grow?"

"Love them," she answered, simply.

"You do! Ah, that's fine! So do I. Why, Genie, I've lived so long on the desert, so many years! What would I have done without love of everything that flies and crawls and grows?"

"You're not old," she said.

"It's good you think that. We'll be great pards now...Look, Genie! Look at that humming bird! There, he darts over the water. Well! What's he doing?"

Adam's quick ear had caught the metallic hum of tiny, swift wings. Then he had seen a humming bird poised over the water. As he called Genie's attention it hummed away. Then, swift as a glancing ray, it returned. Adam could see the blur of its almost invisible wings. As it quivered there, golden throat shining like live fire, with bronze and green and amber tints so vivid in the sunlight, it surely was worthy reason for a worship of nature. Not only had it beauty, but it had singular action. It poised, then darted down, swift as light, to disturb the smooth water, either with piercing bill or flying wings. Time and again the tiny bird performed this antic. Was the diminutive-winged creature playing, or drinking, or performing gyrations tor the edification of a female of his species, hidden somewhere in the overhanging foliage? Adam knew that some courting male birds cooed, paraded, strutted, fought before the females they hoped to make consorts. Why not a humming bird?

"By your great horn spoon, Genie!" exclaimed Adam. "I wonder if that's the way he drinks."

But all that Adam could be sure of was the beautiful opal body of the tiny bird, the marvellous poise as it hung suspended in air, the incredibly swift darts up and down, and the little widening, circling ripples on the water. No, there was more Adam could be sure of, and Genie's delight proved the truth of it--and that was how sure the harvest of thought, how sure the joy of life which was the reward for watching.

One morning when Adam arose to greet the sunrise he looked through the gap between the trees, and low down along the desert floor he saw a burst of yellow. At first he imagined it to be a freak of sunlight or reflection, but he soon decided that it was a palo verde in blossom. Beautiful, vivid, yellow gold, a fresh hue of the desert spring. May had come. Adam had forgotten the flight of time. What bitter-sweet stinging memory had that flushing palo verde brought back to him! He had returned to the desert land he loved best, and which haunted him.

Genie responded slowly to the Spartan training. She had been frail, at best, and when grief clamped her soul and body she had sunk to the verge. The effort she was driven to, and the exertion needful, wore her down until she appeared merely skin and bones. Then came the dividing line between waste and repair. She began to mend. Little by little her appetite improved until at last hunger seized upon her. From that time she grew like a weed. Thus the forced use of bone and muscle drove her blood as Adam had driven her, and the result was a natural functioning of physical life. Hard upon that change, and equally as natural, came the quickening of her mind. Healthy pulsing blood did not harbour morbid grief. Action was constructive; grief was destructive.

Adam, giving himself wholly to this task of rehabilitation, added to his relentless developing of Genie's body a thoughtful and interesting appeal to her mind. At once he made two discoveries--first, that Genie would give herself absorbingly to any story whatsoever, and secondly, that his mind seemed to be a full treasure house from which to draw. He who had spoken with so few men and women on the desert now was inspired by a child.

He told Genie the beautiful Indian legend of Taquitch as it had been told to him by Oella, the Coahuila maiden who had taught him her language.

When he finished Genie cried out: "0, I know. Taquitch is up on the mountain yet! In summer he hurls the lightning and thunder. In winter he lets loose the storm winds. And always, by day and night, he rolls the rocks."

"Yes, Genie, he's there," replied Adam.

"Why did he steal the Indian maidens?" she asked, wonderingly.

Genie evolved a question now and then that Adam found difficult to answer. She had the simplicity of an Indian, and the inevitableness, and a like ignorance of the so-called civilisation of the white people.

"Well, I suppose Taquitch fell in love with the Indian maidens," replied Adam, slowly.

"Fell in love. What's that?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you why she married your father?"

"No."

"Why do you think she married him?"

"I suppose they wanted to be together--to work--and go to places, like they came West when they were sick. To help each other."

"Exactly. Well, Genie, they wanted to be together because they loved each other. They married because they fell in love with each other. Didn't you ever have Indians camp here, and learn from them?"

"Oh, yes, different tribes have been here. But I didn't see any Indians falling in love. If a chief wanted a wife he took any maiden or squaw he wanted. Some chiefs had lots of wives. And if a brave wanted a wife he bought her."

"Not much falling in love there," confessed Adam, with a laugh. "But, Genie, you mustn't think Indians can't love each other. For they can."

"I believe I've seen birds falling in love," went on Genie, seriously. "I've watched them when they come to drink and wash. Quail and road runners, now--they often come in pairs, and they act funny. At least one of each pair acted funny. But it was the pretty one--the one with a topknot that did all the falling in love. Why?"

"Well, Genie, the male, or the man-bird, so to speak, always has brighter colours and crests and the like, and he--he sorts of shines up to the other, the female, and shows off before her."

"Why doesn't she do the same thing?" queried Genie. "That's not fair. It's all one-sided."

"Child, how you talk! Of course love isn't one-sided," declared Adam, getting bewildered.

"Yes, it is. She ought to show off before him. But I'll tell you what--after they began to build a nest I never saw any more falling in love. It's a shame. It ought to last always. I've heard mother say things to father I couldn't understand. But now I believe she meant that after he got her--married her--he wasn't like he was before."

Adam had to laugh. The old discontent of life, the old mystery of the sexes, the old still, sad music of humanity spoken by the innocent and unknowing lips of this child How feminine! The walls of the inclosing desert, like those of an immense cloister, might hide a woman all her days from the illuminating world, but they could, never change her nature.

"Genie, I must be honest with you," replied Adam. "I've got to be parents, brother, sister, friend, everybody to you. And I'll fall short sometimes in spite of my intentions. But I'll be honest...And the fact is, it seems to be a sad truth that men and man-birds, and man-creatures generally, are all very much alike. If they want anything, they want it badly. And when they fall in love they do act funny. They will do anything. They show off, beg, bully, quarrel, are as nice and sweet as--as sugar; and they'll fight, too, until they get their particular wives. Then they become natural--like they were before. It's my idea, Genie, that all the wives of creation should demand always the same deportment which won their love. Don't you agree with me?"

"I do, you bet. That's what I'll have...But will I ever be falling in love?"

The eyes that looked into Adam's then were to him as the wonder of the world.

"Of course you will. Some day, when you grow up."

"With you?" she asked, in dreamy speculation.

"Oh, Genie! not me. Why--I--I'm too old!" he ejaculated. "I'm old enough to be your daddy."

"You're not old," she replied, with a finality that admitted of no question. "But if you were--and still like you are, what difference would it make?"

"Like I am! Well, Genie, how's that?" he queried, curiously.

"Oh, so big and strong! You can do so much with those hands. And your voice sort of--of quiets something inside me. When I lie down to sleep, knowing you're there under the cottonwood, I'm not afraid of the dark...And your eyes are just like an eagle's. Oh, you needn't laugh! I've seen eagles. An Indian here once had two. I used to love to watch them look. But then their eyes were never kind like yours...I think when I get big I'll go falling in love with you."

"Well, little girl, that's a long way off," said Adam, divided between humour and pathos. "But, let's get back to natural history. A while ago you mentioned a bird called a road runner. That's not as well known a name among desert men as chaparral cock. You know out in the desert there are no roads. This name road runner comes from a habit--and it's a friendly habit--of the bird running along the road ahead of a man or wagon. Now the road runner is the most wonderful bird of the desert. That is saying a great deal. Genie, tell me all you know about him."

"Oh, I know all about him," declared Genie, brightly. "There's one lives in the mesquite there. I see him every day, lots of times. Before you came he was very tame. I guess now he's afraid. But not so afraid as he was...Well, he's a long bird, with several very long feathers for a tail. It's a funny tail, for when he walks he bobs it up and down. His colour is speckled--grey and brown and white. I've seen dots of purple on him, too. He has a topknot that he can put up and lay down, as he has a mind to. When it's up it shows some gold colour, almost red underneath. And when it's up he's mad. He snaps his big bill like--like--oh, I don't know what like, but it makes you shiver. I've never seen him in the water, but I know he goes in, because he shakes out his feathers, picks himself, and sits in the sun. He can fly, only he doesn't fly much. But, oh, how he can run! Like a streak! I see him chase lizards across the sand. You know how a lizard can run! Well, no lizard ever gets away from a road runner. There's a race--a fierce little tussle in the sand--a snap! snap!--and then old killer road runner walks proudly back, carrying the lizard in his bill. If it wasn't for the way he kills and struts I could love him. For he was very tame. He used to come right up Ito me. But I never cared for him as I do for other birds."

"Genie, you've watched a road runner, all right. I didn't imagine you knew so much. Yes, he's a killer, a murderer. But no worse than other desert birds. They all kill. They're all fierce. And if they weren't they'd die...Now I want to tell you the most wonderful thing a road runner does. He'll fight and kill and eat a rattlesnake!"

"No! Honest Injun?" cried Genie.

"Yes. I've watched many a battle between a road runner and a rattlesnake, and n,-Arly all of those battles were won by the birds. But that is not the most wonderful thing a road runner does. I'll tell you. I've never seen this thing myself, but a friend of mine, an old prospector named Dismukes, swears it's true. He knows more about the desert than any man I ever met and he wouldn't tell a lie. Well, here's what it is. He says he saw a road runner come upon a sleeping rattlesnake. But he didn't pounce upon the snake. It happened to be that the snake slept on the sand near some bushes of cholla cactus. You know how the dead cones fall off and lie around. This wonderful bird dragged these loose pieces of cactus and laid them close together in a circle, all around the rattlesnake. Built a fence around him Penned him in! Now I can vouch for how a rattlesnake hates cactus...Then the fierce bird flew up and pounced down upon the snake. Woke him up! The rattlesnake tried to slip away, but everywhere he turned was a cactus which stuck into him, and over him the darting, picking bird. So round and round he went, striking as best he could. But he was unable to hit the bird, and every pounce upon him drew the blood. You've heard the snap of that big long beak. Well, the rattlesnake grew desperate and began to bite himself. And what with his own bites and those of his enemy he was soon dead...And then the beautiful, graceful, speckled bird proceeded to tear and devour him."