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Queen of the Night
By JOHN BROBERG Fables of a fabulous flower of the desert — night-blooming cereus.
LONG ago, an aged Indian woman v;hose body was as dried and twisted as the trunk of a pinon, asked the Great Spirit to make her beauti' ful. The Great Spirit, knowing that death stalked close at her heels, felt compassion for her and granted her wish. Wherever he touched her, delicate white blossoms burst forth, and her ugly body was changed into a thing of great beauty.
Such is the legend of the night' blooming cereus, a species of desert cactus. Each spring, usually in June, the plant blooms for one night, then closes its petals and is again changed into the dried and withered plant that resembles the old Indian woman of the legend.
This amazing spectacle occurs about eight o'clock in the evening. The .blos' soms are white, very large, and open their petals but once in the bright, ghostly desert moonlight. They send forth a fragrance that hangs in the air for a whole day after.
The Indians call the plant "Queen of the Night," and many tribes observe the blooming with strange, secret ritual. All night they dance about the pale ghostflowers, gesticulat
ing wildly to the moon, exorcising devils that may lurk in the dark shadows. As they dance, they chant Vv-eird incantations to the night spirits.
When the first weak rays of sun touch the blossoms at dawn, they droop their heads like sleepy fairies and close their petals. These blooms are large — often six inches deep and nine or ten inches wide — and open so rapidly that their movement may be seen with the naked eye. They reach their fullest perfection of beauty an hour before dawn.
The Indians never pick the beautiful blossoms. Perhaps it is the deep respect they have for the mysteries of nature that keeps them from doing so. Most tribal taboos, however, can be traced to superstition. To less civilized peoples, they serve as a sort of moral code, a law of conduct. As they are handed down through countless generations, they come to be folklore. Invariably they are based on great wisdom and truth. The moral of the night blooming cereus is meant for the haughty and the vain. Here is the v/ay it goes:
Once a beautiful