Soon after his arrival, the local residents observed that every morning and at sunset, Pete took long walks into the desert, carrying nothing else but his bag and flute. It was a strange rite that nobody understood or saw the purpose of it. For the locals, the desert had no attraction. It was all the same, devoid of life and full of dangers.
Not knowing where he went or what he did, they began to speculate.
For most, the desert was a place to fear, with colourful salamanders hiding under rocks and crevasses. Occasionally, round chubby cactuses, like wrinkle prickly footballs, appeared behind rocks. This was the only sign of herbaceous life in such a dry landscape. The rest were undecipherable prints all over the sand.
Old stories spoke of the moonlight bouncing on the dunes in the distance, and the shadows of never-seen creatures leaving tracks in the sand that no one could explain. These legends also mentioned mysterious night flowers that grew in distant corners of the desert and blinded those who dared to look at them. No one, however, had seen them and tales of their beauty and power were pure speculation. The only person, who locals believed could testify to their existence, was the oldest man at the end of the village. He, however, was of no use. Many, many years ago, he had lost his mind after coming back from spending the night lost in the desert. Some thought that Pete risked the same fate.
∞
This year, after the sudden eruption of yellow-green patches and early blooming trees, here and everywhere, everything seemed to take on a speed of its own. Soon after the first sun rays of Spring, Pete’s garden was full of noisy life every morning, with birds flying incessantly back and forth in a weaving frenzy, making intricate tiny baskets to hold the young to come.
A robin, always more audacious than the cardinals sitting on the highest tip of the tallest tree, decided to build its nest outside, just above the back patio door, a decision that caused stress for human and bird alike. As the bird flew away frightened every time Pete opened the door, Pete would jump in unison, scared by the abrupt flapping of the robin’s wings. It was like that almost every day during the first few weeks of Spring.
Feeling sorry for the many times he frightened the bird quietly sitting in a half-build nest, Pete made a point of leaving,strategically placed across the yard, piles of cotton he collected from a single cotton plant in the garden, and threads he pulled from old pants before throwing them away. These practices, noticed by his neighbours, gave them, once again, enough reason to follow each of his moves.
One day, a neighbour saw him placing balls of thread and cotton in a nearby bush. Not understanding Pete’s actions, the peasant thought that he was now decorating the trees as the town did at Christmas. Such puzzling behaviour was too much for her to make sense of on her own, so she ran to call others and to pass along the news.
When she came back with other curious souls, they saw Pete lining up rows of peanuts along the deck. What they did not know was that new baby squirrels in the garden were demanding food, and the peanuts were a treat.
As time went by, day after day, they observed Pete from a distance, moving his plants around, attending his fruit trees, and watering the rapidly growing plants. On one of those days, they saw him hanging a shiny bronze ring in a tree. Not able to contain their curiosity, they asked what he was doing.
Knowing how puzzled they were, his response left the group speechless,
“It is an amulet to attract garden fairies,” was his answer in the most serious tone he could muster, as he hid a smile. In fact, the ring was no more that a decoration received as gift a while back.
His answer was enough for the group to stop asking questions and move away quickly, half intrigued but now deep-down scared. They were sure that Pete was into something that was, in their simple minds, against the principles of nature as they knew them, and contrary to the teaching of the local priest.
∞
