“We have been busy. Yesterday there were so many. Two buses and other people coming by themselves, all day.”
Outside the door a bulky shadow fell. It was the lady from Chicago, reconnoitering on her own. Gin wondered if she had been walking into any of the houses without knocking; it sometimes had an oddly infuriating effect on the Indians.
“Oh, there’s Miss Arnold right at home in the middle of them. Come here, Eddie, here’s the cutest thing. I want you to take a picture of it. Look, here’s an Indian making a pot right in her own house. Isn’t that darling? Would you think that you were in the States?”
“Come in,” said Rufina. They stepped over the threshold and she sat back on her heels, smiling blankly.
“Oh, look,” said the lady loudly. “A baby too, right in Miss Arnold’s lap. Perfectly adorable. Miss Arnold,” she asked, whispering in a small shout, “aren’t you afraid of catching things? Her hair....”
Gin said that it was time to go back to the bus. She held open the door, waved good-bye to Rufina hastily, and went back to the marketplace. Eight of the dudes were back in the car, and Blake was waiting for her with a new purchase to show her, a turquoise ring.
“Let’s see it,” she said, and he took it off and handed it over.
“Why, it’s quite nice,” she said. “Did you buy it here?”
“Yes, that man over there was wearing it and I asked him if he wanted to sell. Is it really good? I liked the colour of the stone.”
“The green stones always look nice, I think,” she said. “Nice and old. They’re not the best, of course,” she added in low tones. “You probably paid more than he expected, but it’s good-looking, I think.”