When Women Were Dragons(82)

For example:

In East Los Angeles, a young woman celebrating her quincea?era in the backyard of her aunt and uncle’s house was just about to cut the cake when a dragon the color of seafoam landed lightly on the roof of the carport. The music stopped. The girl dropped her plate on the ground. Several elderly women shouted at the dragon, in both English and Spanish, ordering her to leave the premises at once. The dragon didn’t move. She kept her eyes on the girl. The girl stepped forward. Her uncle told her to go inside. The girl did not. She couldn’t look away from the dragon. There was frosting on her left hand. She smeared it lazily across her filmy skirt. The dragon drifted to the ground. She stood perfectly still, her lovely neck outstretched, her paws pressed against her heart. The assembled family and friends gave her a wide berth. The girl began to cry. Several witnesses agree that her eye makeup smeared and her nose ran. The dragon said nothing. Instead she bowed to the girl and set a pair of very pretty high-heeled shoes at her feet. The dragon kissed the girl’s hands, lingering for a moment. And launched without a word.

In southeastern Montana, two smallish dragons arrived at a midsized sheep ranch and immediately made themselves useful. They tuned the trucks and rotated the tires and put a new roof on a grain shed. They dug up a new plot for the summer’s vegetable garden and dredged the pond. The rancher, an elderly widower who wasn’t known in town for his conversational skills, quietly built a pole barn behind his house where the dragons took up residence. As it turned out, the dragons were excellent with sheep.

During services at the Good Shepherd Missionary Baptist Church in Cullman, Alabama, two little girls in their Sunday best, with multicolored ribbons tied in their hair, peered out the east side window and gasped. They were, of course, immediately shushed, and services continued for another two and a half hours. The girls knew better than to speak up—everyone would see it soon enough. It was customary at Good Shepherd to follow services with a meal, which was to be followed by a Bible study and hymn sing. This was normally organized by the women in the congregation, who had already anticipated a fine midday and planned to serve the food out of doors. But when they exited the church side door, they found the meal already set up and ready to be heaped onto plates. A dragon stood next to the long table, three aprons tied together and looped around her wide middle. She clasped her taloned hands together. “Good day to you, sisters,” the dragon said tentatively. “It’s nice to see you again.” They hesitated, but only for a moment. There was a meal to be served, after all.

In Kansas, a group of three dragons got wind of an older farm couple who had suffered a stroke (the husband) and a broken leg (the wife), and so the dragons worked ceaselessly (it appeared that they do not sleep) to finish the harvesting of the winter wheat. The wife, with her leg in a cast, sat on the front porch and watched. Her skin had a permanent sunburn and her mouth had a permanent scowl. She did not speak to the dragons. When they finished, one approached the old farmhouse. It was an onyx dragon, with emerald eyes. She stood by the porch, her posture excellent, her fingers interlaced as though praying as she had been taught, and her breath in her throat. The wife stared at the dragon for a long time. She said nothing. She grabbed her crutches and hobbled inside. The dragon left in tears.

On the North Carolina Outer Banks, an early-season hurricane laid waste to a sleepy fishing town on the water. Four dragons arrived with tools and lumber (no one knew where they got them) and quickly built a shelter. Five more scoured on and under the waves and retrieved thirty-two lost fishing boats, rigging and all. No one spoke to the dragons except one elderly gentleman, who hobbled close to a bright yellow dragon with quills all up and down her back. The dragon held very still as the man approached. The man had dark skin and white stubble and eyes that could take in the whole ocean at a glance, and often did. He stood in front of the dragon for a long, long time. He brought his hands to her face. She closed her eyes. He laid his cheek to her cheek. “Welcome home, child,” he said.

In Chicago, a group of dragons arrived in the nick of time at an orphanage that had gone up in flames after a kitchen fire had gotten out of control. It was an ancient, flimsy building with terrible wiring, and the one exit had been blocked by burning debris. The dragons went in like a conquering brigade, saving every child before the first fire truck arrived. Two children, both girls, and three young nuns dragoned that very afternoon, in the back garden of the church next door, just as neighbors arrived with food and blankets and plans for caring for the displaced. It happened in a flash, the dragoning—a shock of heat and mass and light and energy. And then, as one, the dragons flew away.

Around the country, dragons could be seen along roadsides, in abandoned lots, or simply strolling in the parks. They were alone, those dragons. Or in pairs. Or in small groups. In all my research, I never encountered a group of more than five, despite some of the wilder rumors at the time of entire towns being suddenly overwhelmed by an invading dragon population. There were dragons who took it upon themselves to assist migrant populations living hand to mouth in tin shacks in the fruit fields of California and dragons who forced their way into sweatshops in Queens, threatening to burn them down during the night if working conditions didn’t improve immediately, and dragons who walked alongside marchers in Nashville and Atlanta and Birmingham, simply using their quiet presence as a dare to anyone who might wish to make trouble.

There were dragons who showed up in ladies’ sewing circles.