“You can see what a good cook I am,” he told them the first time they met him, as he showed off his big stomach. After that, even when he was too busy to come himself, he sent his bundle of dirty laundry along with little gifts — leftover cake or pie saved from Mr. Wylie’s table. The black and Mexican construction workers were the only ones who acted friendly or tried to talk to the Indian girls. The churchgoing Indian girls ignored them and refused to look them in the eyes because the minister warned them every Sunday about the dangers of Negroes and Mexicans.
In the beginning Sister Salt talked to Big Candy only to practice her English, but he made such funny jokes about himself she found herself laughing as she had with Indigo and Grandma Fleet. Still, Sister was surprised Candy tried to follow her along the river, where his bulk and the tangle of tamarisk and willow made tough going.
“The churchgoers say all you want from us is adultery,” Sister Salt said, idly swinging her club by its handle, still gripping the stone blade. Candy brushed the dry leaves off his overalls and pulled twigs from his hair. He smiled and shook his head slowly.
“That’s all those churchgoers think about.” He looked Sister Salt in the eyes. He seemed relaxed as he sat there on the ground looking up at her. Sister Salt threw down the club and sat on the ground not far from him. She rubbed the stone blade carefully between two fingers to test its edge and waited for him to say something; she and the Chemehuevi girls always laughed at him because he liked to talk so much. She cleaned the dirt from under her fingernails with the tip of the blade, stealing sidelong glances at him. The churchgoers said don’t get near the black men or your babies will be born with monkey tails, but Sister didn’t believe anything the churchgoers said because they were wrong about Jesus Christ. They claimed he died on a cross long ago, but Sister saw him with her own eyes last winter.
Candy stretched out on his back and looked up through the willow and cottonwood leaves at the sky. He was so big he looked like a hill lying there. The man who liked to talk so much didn’t have anything to say. Good, she thought, I have nothing to say either. She began to play with strips of willow bark, weaving it into little rings; when she looked over at him, his eyes were closed and his mouth half open; he was asleep, so she left him. The following day when Sister Salt went to the cottonwood tree along the river she found a paper sack with four hard licorice drops. She shared the candy with Maytha and Vedna and they laughed at one another’s teeth stained blackish brown with licorice juice.
Even when he could not meet her, Sister Salt found his little gifts to her under the cottonwood tree — gumdrops, a candy cane, or licorice. His given name was Gabriel — but he told everyone to call him Candy because he always had a little sack of penny candies. Sometimes he brought her a piece of red ribbon or an agate marble after a trip to Needles or Yuma, where he went to buy delicacies, fresh eggs, and butter for Mr. Wylie’s table. Maytha and Vedna agreed Candy seemed like a nice man, but they didn’t think Sister Salt should risk having babies with monkey tails. The first time Candy touched her breast, they were lying on the river sand in the cottonwood’s shade; Sister Salt pulled away and sat up. She asked him if it was true what the preacher said, that their babies would have monkey tails. She thought he might laugh at her, but he didn’t. His expression became thoughtful, even a little sad, and he shook his head slowly. Sister Salt regretted her question and scooted closer to him on the sand. She didn’t really believe it; anyway, people said much worse things about Sand Lizards.
“No, don’t waste your time with talk like that,” Candy said, stroking her hair away from her face. “The army used to warn us about disease and Indians,” he said with a smile, “but my grandma was a Baton Rouge Indian.” He laughed. “Don’t trust the things the churchgoers say.”
Sister Salt was suspicious at first, but for weeks Candy was content just to hug her close and kiss her and touch her breasts without intercourse. What was he waiting for? Later Maytha and Vedna asked what it was like to lie down with such a big, such a black, man.
Ummm! He smelled so good, and his skin was so soft and smooth — more smooth than brown skin and way more smooth than white skin. Dozing on the sand under the cottonwood tree he reminded her of a great black mountain she wanted to climb, so she just jumped on his chest and belly while he was dozing; he didn’t startle so he must have been watching her from under the brim of his hat. She laughed at the sensation of this mountainous man, wide and soft as a bed mattress, then stretched herself out on top of him so her face reached the center of Candy’s chest.
Afterward they dozed side by side on the sand until the mosquitoes came out at sundown. Candy talked about his plans for the future. No more work boots or overalls — he would wear a fine suit, a different color every day with the shoes to match, as he greeted the patrons of his restaurant in downtown Denver. He had lived his whole life in hot climates, first Louisiana, then Texas and southern Arizona. If not Denver, then Oakland or Seattle; the farther north a colored man went, the better off he was.
He was lucky to learn to cook from his mother, in the big house outside Baton Rouge. As an infant, his mother sat the cradle in the corner of the big plantation kitchen. Almost as soon as he could hold a paring knife safely, Candy helped his mother in the kitchen. His mother’s cooking made the dinner parties of the plantation famous throughout Louisiana. Now that his mother had passed on, no one knew how to cook fowl and game birds the way Candy cooked them. Even out here, Candy bragged, he could take quails or doves he shot and bake them into delicious pies. Mr. Wylie wanted Candy to return to Los Angeles to cook for him and his family, but Candy wanted a restaurant of his own. He planned to have the money he needed without the job in Los Angeles. Candy did not want to waste time. A man had to work most of his life if he wanted to have anything to call his own; he wanted his restaurant now, while he was still young enough to enjoy the fine food and pretty women that he’d have there.
Would she be one of the pretty women? Sister didn’t know what to say — she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she talked about Mama and the other dancers who followed the Messiah. She dreamed of finding them high in the mountains. Candy shook his head from time to time as she described the four nights of the dancers along the river at Needles.
“I could cook for that many people if I had to,” Candy commented, chewing the end of a piece of rice grass.
“I want to go look for her up north.”
“See, that’s a good sign right there! We both want to go the same direction!”
Before long, the Indian school superintendent received complaints he overcharged for his laundry service and learned of his competitors right under his nose. He was outraged at the cheek of these young “squaws” and ordered a review of purchase orders for soap at the school laundry. Furious at their treachery, the superintendent ordered Sister Salt and her accomplices arrested for petty theft; the federal magistrate in Yuma sentenced them all to three months in jail.
During the months Sister Salt and the Chemehuevi sisters were jailed in Yuma, Candy drove the company wagon down to Yuma for supplies twice each month. He pulled the wagon around back of the old jail’s thick adobe walls and parked right next to the narrow barred window of the women’s cell, where he could sit on the back end of the wagon and be at eye level with Sister Salt. He pushed licorice drops between the bars and cheered them with reports on the sales and profits from the home brew he sold, and the dice and card games he ran. Mr. Wylie took his cut, of course; that was the cost of doing business.
Candy told Sister Salt to put her ear close to the window bars and he whispered the news: he’d paid off the rest of her fine and now they’d let her out of jail. Tomorrow he was coming to take her to live with him at the dam site. To hell with the reservation and the school! Business was growing faster and faster as more workers arrived to dig the big ditch to Los Angeles; Candy was falling behind with all the work. As Sister Salt was led from the women’s cell, Candy called to Maytha and Vedna; he said he would pay their fines too if they wanted to come along, but they were too shy to answer him.