myth for desert gourd

The baby had no name yet. Pearl called him all sorts of loving nicknames as she sat by the fire scheming.

Pearl had seen enough to know that she would not be able to run away again from the shadow which would untie itself from the fibers of the black bat flower, back into the form of her pursuer. No matter what she did, the man would return, she could already see the trembling in the stem as the man began to unknot himself from the dark twines Rebecca had bound him in.

It was not like she didn’t make an effort and get rid of the flower. But try as she might, she could not throw it into the fire or smash it under her foot. It wasn’t a physical thing - it was simply the absence of light. This, of course, wouldn’t stop him when he took form again from taking her baby as he promised.

She had to approach the shadow differently now that she had this little one to take care of. Rather than running away from it as she did so many years before, she knew that she would need to shine brighter than it. She remembered when she left her home in the mountains. Sweat collecting at her forehead - her heart pounding in her ears as the sound of screams echoed outside. She was used to the smell of blood in the streets, not just on her clothing - as all women are.

Her aunt’s hands trembled. There was not enough room in the boat to carry everyone. They had saved the seeds in hopes the plants would grow fast enough to bloom and fruit before November. But it was already July and there were only enough gourds for Pearl and her siblings. Nonetheless, she gave her aunt some of the seeds, so her aunt might try planting more — and she saved some for herself.

Water lapped on the sides of her vessel.

Now, in the chambers of the house by the limestone quarry, Pearl reached into the pockets of her rabbit skin cloak and felt the seeds - smooth as a summer’s day and sturdy as coins. Pearl would transform, from eating char by the hearth, from a life without sleep or routine or meaning at all other than servant to the fire. She would become the flame, every bit as terrible. She would carry it in her hands, she would protect the little life with all the power she could imagine. And in Pearl’s mind, there was nothing so powerful as fire.

She planted them and the season turned and they bloomed and fruited. When the gourd was big enough, she gave the insides to the soil, which was so nutrient poor is nearly wept at the gesture. She placed her baby in the gourd and created an elaborate necklace so she could always keep him with her, the baby warm and kept by her chest.

It did not take long for one of the grass men to notice her and her stunning jewlery. She wore gourd lanterns in her hair. She was so - unavoidable. Men are not attracted to beauty. They are attracted to fire. And so she married the man and moved to the largest building of the grass people where she kept her baby in secret. Not even the grass man knew about the baby. She kept a room of gourds, so as the toddler grew, she could keep it always with her - safe - as she emptied more gourds and made even larger necklaces and chatelaines. So that when Pearl was awoken by a cricket at the foot of her bed, and saw the shadow man breathing, she laughed. “Run away shadow, I am the very fire, I am the very brightness of day. You see those shining and yellow fields? They’re mine. You have no right to my son.”

The crickets only chirped louder. But she rose in her brilliant golden robes and shooed them away like dust mites.