Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [136]
Paul Gruchow wrote, "The Plains Indians said that everywhere is the center of the world and so it is." American restlessness is overstated. We all come from immigrants, but if we look far enough back in our family trees, we will find a farmer. In Grass Roots, Gruchow makes the point that the average settler wasn't in search of a new world to conquer, but of a refuge, "a place with a few cows, a garden, a house of one's own, as far away from trouble as possible."
Chapter 12
BUILDING a VILLAGE of KINDNESS
TWILIGHT IN THE SUNKEN GARDENS
After a hundred-degree day, the earth is cooling as the sun sinks below the trees west of the city. Women in hijabs and burkas gather in a circle on the grass, their long skirts tucked skillfully beneath them, their faces in shadow. Between mauve and white hibiscus bushes, the grasses are yellow, but the splash of a nearby fountain provides the illusion of water in abundance, of water to squander on beauty. Shouting in Farsi, boys in shorts and T-shirts splash in the pool below the fountain. Their mothers are absorbed in talking to their friends and only occasionally glance their way.
Near the women, a dignified man in traditional clothes and sandals walks alone. I suspect he is the husband of one of the women, perhaps appointed by the other husbands to make sure the wives are not disturbed. Near the fountain, an older man with sad eyes walks with his young wife. They are speaking Arabic, but they don't mesh with the other families. She wears makeup, capri pants, and high heels. They look lonely in this setting, their eyes searching for the face of a friend.
Two girls in long flowered dresses and head scarves argue as they ride their bikes. The taller one pushes the shorter one down and she begins to wail. The taller girl is rather plain and I wonder what happens to plain girls from the Middle East. Do they have trouble finding husbands? For that matter, what happens to plain girls here? It may be easier for this girl to find a life partner than it is for American girls. Her parents may help arrange a marriage. Families will be connected and decisions will be made by cool heads, uninfluenced by beauty.
The women pass a gallon jug of water and a package of dates around the circle. Two laughing women take photos of each other and their babies in strollers. No doubt their husbands are working second shifts or are at home watching news in their own language on satellite TV.
This scene could happen almost anywhere in the world. It's a very old scene, women and children outside under trees, sharing food and water at the end of the day, enjoying the cool and the company, speaking softly in their ancient languages. Crickets serenade a tableau of flowers, trees, and an orange sun sinking. The people gathered here for these old rituals are from Eastern Europe and the Middle East. But this is Nebraska, what William Gass calls, "the heart of the heart of the country."
Our Sunken Gardens, built years ago by our European city fathers, is now an oasis for women in burkas who spend their days assembling computer boards or cutting up chickens.
Nearby, the Rotary Club benches built in memory of departed loved ones sit empty. We Americans are too busy to lounge around in parks, and besides we have air-conditioning. So, the cicadas and crickets sing for our new citizens. The cars pass nearby on Twenty-seventh Street. Tonight the women talk of what they have always talked about—of their men, their children, and the price of rice. Starlings fly across the face of the setting sun.
WHAT REFUGEES TEACH US
I was a speck of light in the great river of light that undulates through time. I was floating with the whole human family. We were all colors—those who are living now, those who have died, and those