The Seventh Mansion Read online

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  He’s afraid Karen won’t show, Friday, in the library, but there she is, on time, her head bent over her notebook, the sleeves of her jacket pushed to her elbows. Fine red hair on her arms. Morning, she says, gaze even, as careful as he is not to betray embarrassment. He sits. Trying not to yawn. Morning. Karen scratches a bad pen against her paper, sighs, digs in her bag for a new one. Mascara thickening the corners of her pale lashes. Who does she put that poison on for? Or is it to hide something, like his hood, a mask, don’t look at me. She spreads her hands over her notebook and he sees that there are little white spots on the cuffs of her jacket where there used to be dark marks, the blue fibers frayed as if she had scrubbed them with a stiff brush. He looks at a textbook but his eyes won’t stay open; now that he knows she’s okay exhaustion hits him like a brick. Xie, she says. He straightens. Mm. Mouth dry. He rubs it on his sleeve. Did you get any sleep? A little, he mumbles. Palming the side of his face. Feels the hammer in his hand. Hammer a part of him. The smell of the woods on his clothes, does she notice? Karen taps his wrist with her pen. Drink some water, she says. He pushes up from the chair, drags to the fountain, drinks, comes back. They look at each other. So, she says. What are we doing today. He shrugs. I meant to bring that book FKK got me but I forgot it at home. Have you read it? Some of it, yeah. Well, when you remember to bring it I’d be happy to look at it with you. A silence. She rubs her neck. He puts his head on his outstretched arm and she nudges it with her elbow. He grunts, sits up. Why so sleepy, hm, she says. Busy, he says. With what? With stuff, he says, head tipped back to the ceiling, staring at the water stains there. Did you like school, he asks. Karen shrugs. In a way. It was something I knew how to do. Kind of the opposite of you. But did you believe in it? Believe in it in what way? That it was good or. Worth your time. She snorts. I would say it was an entirely amoral practice, Xie. It was what I could do so I did it. Xie looks at her. Smiles. Pretty lame coming from a teacher. Well, I’m the worst teacher and you’re the worst student, so. We’re even. They sit. Can we go for a walk? he says. Where? I don’t know. Shrugs. Woods? he suggests. What woods? He nods his head in the direction of the birch. She checks her watch. Sighs. Sure, why not. They leave their things on the table. Greg watching them go. She zips her jacket to the neck even though it’s sixty degrees out. Why are you always so cold? he asks, and she looks surprised. I’m not. Light wind lifting her hair. They cross the empty intersection and turn up the road that curves sharply toward the trees. You know I talked to your father, she says. I thought the school might do it eventually anyway and I just wanted to get out in front of it. They turn off the tarmac into the woods, stepping over the guardrail. He had pried the PRIVATE PROPERTY signs from the trees weeks before and the pale spots where the signs had been still show. He knows you’re doing good work with me, and he knows MacAdams isn’t seeing any of it. Their feet hit the soft earth at the same time. And there is P., stepping with them, not at Xie’s side but hers. Some animal darts from the hollow, brown body quick through the undergrowth. The school is going to want to meet with you at some point, and me, and your father. You don’t have to go. But they will expel you eventually. She looks up at the birch. He’s on your side, she says. Like me. Xie nods. The handle of P.’s sword taps her hip, that’s how close he is walking to her. She takes a baggie of celery from her pocket, offers it to him; he declines. Where do you go, he asks. What do you mean? Like when you want to hang out or whatever. She chews, thinking. I don’t know. I like being at home, I guess. I’m definitely not out in the woods, if that’s what you mean. But you grew up here, in the country, right? She shrugs. Yeah, but I guess it never really rubbed off on me, the whole outdoors thing. She peels a string off a piece of celery. Wipes it on her thigh. But you, you came all this way from the city. To live here. Of all places. You don’t think it’s beautiful? Of course it’s beautiful. But I always feel like it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Like it doesn’t want me. What doesn’t? Karen sucks the end of her celery, brows knit. Nature. She steps over a cracked branch, her hand steady on a trunk, following him. They walk. My dad doesn’t like it here, Xie says. No? No. I mean, I think he just, um. Misses blending in a bit more. Him blending in, or you? Both, I guess. Squinting. Well, it’s just been a couple of years, right? That’s not that long. It takes a while to find where you fit in. A little pause. She watches him. But this is your place, isn’t it? Yeah, he says. Quiet. Fern brushing his shin. But I don’t know if it’s enough. Enough for what? He shrugs. Doesn’t answer. She puts the baggie back in her pocket, swallows the last of the celery. Brushing the knee of her jeans. They are almost at the center of the woods. Light in thick ropes running between the trees, turning the dust in the air to gold. He watches her face as they approach the church, the abrupt limit of the woods giving way to grass. The strange sudden beauty of it in all that green. She stops, lips parted. Gazing at it. Weeds long against its sides. Bronze bell motionless in its little tower. You want to go in? he asks. She blinks. Deep breath. I guess, yeah. Gesturing for him to lead the way through the grass to the steps. Inside it is cool, damp, slight smell of mold. She looks around. The doors have been removed from P.’s case, glass restored, only the sword remaining inside. So this is where he was, she says, stroking the gold hinge. Reading the prayer on the paper tacked to the glass. I believe, Heavenly Father, all that Faith teaches, and in that faith I wish to live and die; O glorious St. Pancratius, I beg you, with all the affection of my heart, to teach us, especially the youth, with what courage we should flee from sin, so that, undefiled, I may live a holy life on earth and win eternal glory in Heaven, Amen. And below it, handwritten: Please pray for the return of our Saint. Karen looks over her shoulder; Xie follows her gaze. P. at the door. What? Nothing, she says. Just feel like we’re going to get in trouble or something. Scolded by a nun. Do you want to light a candle? he asks. She rubs her hands together, brisk. Yeah, let’s do the candles. She digs in her coat pocket, puts a quarter in the donation box beneath the altar. Taking a candle from his hand, screwing the taper into the iron holder. Strike the long match. Now what. I don’t know, he says. You don’t have to do anything. He stares at the flame. Remembers how there was always a candle here, lit, when he came. Karen elbows him. Are you praying? He smiles. No. No? I’m just thinking. About what? He shrugs. They look at their flames. If only he could say, There is this person I love. And he’s not even a person. After a moment Karen’s quick breath. Do we blow them out or. No, I think you just let them burn. She gathers her hair, twists it, lets it go. He sniffs, breaking off a little arm of wax from the altar. Do you think you’d want to come sometime. With me and FKK. To, um. A protest. Her eyebrows high. Me? He nods. Yeah, she says, immediate. I would. I will. Without thinking he takes her hand, pulls it. To his mouth. Quick kiss on the knuckle. She laughs, squeezing his fingers. They take one last look at the church, straight up at the ceiling, its prim painted arches. Beautiful, she says. They walk back through the yellow grass together, P. leading the way back to the road, his sword dragging behind him, drawing a line in the dirt.

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  He spends two hours making a lentil loaf, rolls, mashed potatoes, and homemade gravy. His father home late and Xie just waits, patient, the food cold but it’s worth it to see Erik’s face, full of surprise at the linen tablecloth and old china, cloth napkins folded beneath the knives. What’s all this. Shrug. Dinner. Looks nice, Erik says. Xie pouring water into tall glasses. Cheers. Cheers. Quick bite of the loaf dragged through the gravy. Eyebrows. It’s good. Yeah, it’s. From a recipe. What’s the occasion? Xie clearing his throat. I had something to ask you. Erik pauses, then resumes eating. Oh? What’s that? Xie pushes a forkful of potatoes from one end of his plate to the other. There’s this protest. A silence, as if Erik hasn’t heard, chewing. Then finally without looking up: A protest? Yeah, of. Um. It’s in Alabama and. It’s about. Mountaintop removal. They want to get rid of about, um, a million acres of. The land around there. So. A lot of peop
le are going to protest next weekend. Erik nods. I heard about that, yeah. Silence. Erik glancing up. And you wanted to spend how long there? Just a couple days. I thought you might come with us. Erik pauses. Reaching to brush Xie’s hair out of his eyes, flinching when Xie flinches. The girls are going? Xie nods. And Karen, I think. Erik ducking his head to his fork. Karen’s into that sort of thing? It’s not something people are “into,” Dad, all kinds of people are going, like thousands and thousands of people. These companies, they’re taking a hundred tons of coal out of the ground every two seconds, the land they want to use has the oldest and most diverse forests in the country. Erik splits a roll with his thumbs, packs in a knifeful of butter. You’re still on probation. Yeah, but there’s no rule about me going to a protest— Erik raising his hand. I’m just saying, you have to promise me it’ll be safe. He pauses. Takes another bite of bread. And that I can do the driving. Xie grins, slapping his palms on the table. Deal.

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  Everyone meets at Xie’s, Erik arranging their bags in the back of Jo’s car. He doesn’t say anything about the Jetta, or the bottles of oil thickening in the garage, untouched since winter. K, you got shotgun, Jo says. Karen’s eyebrow at the nickname as she gets in. It’s a good thing you two are fucking sticks, Jo mutters as she settles into her seat, Leni in the middle, thigh-to-thigh with Jo. Seat belts, Erik says. Jo passes her iPod up to the front. Erik’s dim smile as he sets it in the cupholder. Driver chooses music, he says. Mr. L, are you going to be a total Nazi for six and a half hours? ’Cause I don’t think I can handle, like, pure totalitarianism. Erik snorts. You’ll live. Karen unfolding a map. Erik starting the car. I know the way, he says. Karen pauses, then folds the map back up. Tom Petty on the radio again. All the trees slipping past. So tell us more about this protest, Karen says. Sounds like a lot of people will be there. Jo nodding. There are thirty-two groups involved, officially. Monday they’re going to start the mining, so some of the groups will stay in the camps, in between the land and the equipment. On the land that Century Energy owns? Karen asks. Won’t the police just remove them? Well, they’re going to be locked neck to neck, so it will take a really long time to get them all undone. Karen frowns. What do you mean? Jo leans forward, scrolling for a photo to show Karen on her phone. They use, like, bike locks? Literally they just lock themselves to each other at the neck and it takes forever for the cops to separate them in order to make arrests. That’s intense, Karen says. Yeah, well, it’s a million fucking acres of land, you know? We’re really glad you came, by the way, Jo adds. It’s cool that you guys would do this. Erik glances in the mirror. Xie made a compelling case, he says. Leni whispers something to Jo and Jo pulls her backpack onto her lap, unzipping it to reveal Tupperware filled with giant white squares. We made these last night, Leni says, passing the tub to the front. They’re vegan Rice Krispies treats. Karen offers one to Erik. God, he says, grimacing through a mouthful, and Jo scoffs. What, they’re amazing! Karen shrugs. I think they’re great. Erik’s elbow on the rolled-down window. Arm straight on the wheel. His close-cropped hair almost pure silver now. He was forty when Xie was born, already old. Karen starts a game of Twenty Questions. Leni keeps forgetting if it’s animal or vegetable and Jo yells at her to get with the program. They park at the motel, check in. Three rooms in a row. Xie and Erik, FKK, Karen on her own. Erik passing out the keys. Leni like a puppy, jumping down the hall, purple carpet on the walls. This place is a trip. Freaking out when Jo opens the door. You mean we get our own bathroom? and Jo saying, Leni, have you seriously never stayed in a motel before? Leni twirls. Nope. Jo rolls her eyes. Hillbilly. Erik asks what they want for dinner and FKK says, Pizza!! and when he looks confused Jo pulls a bottle of hot sauce from her bag and says, No cheese. They sit on FKK’s bed and when the pizza comes Jo demonstrates how to prepare it: a capful of garlic sauce, then a thick squiggle of hot sauce. Folding a slice for a huge bite. Oil dripping into her cupped hand. Erik skeptical but eats three pieces. Scanning the pay-per-view movies, to Xie’s relief no jokes about the porn options. They settle on Terminator and Erik sits in the chair, despite FKK’s protest. There’s room on the bed, Leni insists. I’m fine, he says. Karen at the very bottom, legs tucked, head on her arm. Xie in the middle. After the movie they play cards, Xie teaching the bastardized version of Rook he and his father invented. Leni yawning through the instructions. This is taking way too long. No, just pay attention, it’s worth it once you get it. Karen playing impeccably. Taking trick after trick. Erik exclaiming, Goddamn it. Her wry grin. Leni making piles of cards according to her own rules. Jo snatching them up, elbowing Leni to the corner of the bed. Let the grown-ups play. Some discussion about what Jo’s parents do, the business they own, water purification, Karen knowing someone who knows Jo’s dad. What do you want to do when you graduate? she asks. Jo shrugs. What I’m doing. Work for the environment. Tipping her bottle of natural cola to her teeth. So no water filtration sales for you? Hell, no. Erik tilting back in the chair, arms crossed behind his head, biceps hard below the sleeve of his shirt. Jo opening a window to smoke and Karen takes a cigarette from her, elbow to elbow as they tap ash down on the concrete below. Hips out. Erik catching Xie’s eye. Smiles. You almost ready for bed? Yeah. Gathering up the boxes and napkins. He had covered the body with branches, stones holding down the sheets, you just. Have to trust. That it exists and will go on existing. You get some rest, Erik says to the girls, and they nod. Night Mr. Lauridsen, night Xie, night Karen, night Jo, night Leni.

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  Long dream of the body, of that space between rib cage and spine, slightly electric when you enter it, feeling the bones from the inside; it always makes you come. Xie’s mouth wet against the pillow, Erik snoring in the bed beside him. Not yet dawn beyond the curtains. Sore all over from the soft mattress, he hasn’t slept so far from the floor in years. He rolls onto his back. Two hours before the alarm goes off. Imagine. The grid of the woods against the ceiling, your own dark head dead center. To make up for tonight, for the next night, you will do twice as many trees. Count them. Mark them now. You don’t lose track, you keep them all right there, in your mind, in their thousands, the only math that matters. You don’t even need the light from P. to see them. Your hands go from trunk to trunk without a single error. Even though they crack, splinter, groan, though it hurts them, you know how much stronger they will be. A drop of poison to hold back a sea. Bodies that can break blades, send the darkness running, cut the nightmare to pieces.

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  Xie takes granola and soy milk from the continental breakfast in the motel lobby. Leni looking longingly at a cherry Danish wrapped in plastic but Jo shakes her head: Devil, be gone. Jo’s hair done up in extra-stiff spikes. That’s a beautiful color, Karen says, admiring the deep green. Jo grins, elbowing Leni: This little chicken does all my dye jobs. Leni curtsies. Erik tucking their water bottles in a pack. They take a shuttle downtown, Xie’s eyes fixed to the window, looking for their stop. Is that it? Erik says as they step off the shuttle, a thin trickle of people turning into a half-empty square. Jo puts her hand on his shoulder. It’s that way. They go down two blocks, then turn around a corner and into a solid wall of bodies, an enormous crowd packing a boulevard headed by the capitol building. Karen exhales. Erik’s hand hovers at Xie’s back. Moving along the edges of the crowd Xie looks for E.A. shirts or stickers or patches but there are none. Prickle of uneasiness. I thought they organized this, he says. Jo looking straight ahead, little shake of her head, knowing something but it’s too late to ask what. Xie bakes quietly in his hoodie, the unseasonably hot spring day made even hotter by the number of bodies trying to push closer to what they assume is a stage at the front steps of the city hall. Erik’s jaw tight. Jo looking at her phone. So the speeches start at ten and then the march starts an hour after that. Lifting her head to scan for a place to sit or stand. A counterprotest crowd lines the sidewalks. COAL PUTS FOOD ON MY TABLE. WE SUPPORT JOBS FOR ALABAMA. SAVE A COAL MINER, KILL A TREE HUGGER. Leni sno
rts. Fucking CWA, she murmurs, and someone in the counterprotest catches her eye, as if hearing her, and she raises her middle finger. Erik gripping her wrist. Don’t. Already something unpleasant in the dry air; restlessness in the crowd, people only half listening to the speech from Greenpeace, talking among themselves, looking at their phones. Shouts from the street to the sidewalk and back. Police watching from horses, from barricades separating the groups. Full riot gear. Vans with cameras mounted on their roofs. Erik wipes his face with his hand. We stay together, he says. I mean it. Mute nods. They sit on a wall outside the post office, listening to a speaker call out the names of species threatened by mining. Karen scribbling on a piece of paper. Are you taking notes? Jo laughs. Karen makes a face. Jo, hush. The list is so long it takes the speaker five minutes to get through it. Xie trying to ignore the shifting in his stomach. Another speaker smiles at the CWA crowd. We don’t want to take your jobs or disrespect your need to provide for your families. We want to protect the vibrancy of this beautiful state and turn attention away from short-term economic goals and toward sustainable, efficient, and healthy options for all energy workers in Alabama and beyond. CWA heckling her. No one buying it, not even the people on her side. The woman’s smile so strained it looks as if it might break her wincing face by the time she’s done. Erik, arms crossed, hip against the wall, scans the crowd, mouth set. Sweating through the back of his white T-shirt. Karen in jeans, sneakers, hair in a ponytail. First time he has seen her bare arms, freckled from shoulder to wrist. Still writing in her notebook. Someone says over the microphone, We are all here to celebrate the wondrous beauty of these precious mountains. Scattered applause. Someone calls out directions to turn and start the march; there’s a mass shifting in the crowd but it doesn’t go anywhere, people jammed up against each other’s backs, increasingly airless. Why aren’t we moving? Leni wonders, and Erik lifts her by the waist so she can see over the top of the group. Holy fucking shit, she whispers. A mass of black-masked, black-clothed figures slowly press against the momentum of the crowd, like a drop of blood unfurling in a glass of water. Many hundreds strong. One of the figures throws a bottle toward the sidewalk, hitting a CWA man in the face, busting his nose open. Like lighting a match. Everyone immediately yelling, shoving. Xie reaching for Jo’s arm but there is more glass and then a sudden surge of bodies on both sides, some jumping the barriers, not enough police to maintain the line between the protesters and the CWA. Xie covers his head. A man reaching for Karen, blindly, why Karen of all people and she turns but there is nowhere to go, his hand is in her hair, brutal wrench of her head backward, her strangled yelp. Erik shouting, Hey, hey! Forcing his way between the man and Karen, Jo throwing a punch to someone’s mouth, spray of blood and Leni’s shriek and Xie a coward, eyes shut, body folded double. His father’s arms around him, hard, holding him up, saying something to Jo and Jo not listening but Erik roars JO MOVE NOW, pushing them backward through the crowd just keep moving. Brutal brunt of bodies no air endless smash of glass smell of smoke and black masks filtering through the crowd, striking back at the police with clubs, pepper spray, bottles, elbows, knees, knives, vicious twist of bodies wanting to do the worst to other bodies. Thick adrenaline sweat and Jo and Erik plowing forward to a side street where runners rush past, through a toppled barricade, breaking off from the mass. Behind a Target they stop. Breathless. Erik’s hands on Xie’s shoulders, Are you okay? Karen murmuring to Leni, who holds her hand, finger swollen, trying not to cry, I’m fine. Jo red-faced, spitting into the gutter. Motherfuckers. Everyone just take a second, Erik says, panting. Just take a second. Still the sounds from the street. A siren. Looking over their shoulders to make sure no one coming toward them. Karen on her phone, calling a cab. Voice steady. Sniff. Leaning into the street to see the signs. Xie reaching to pull her back. Her arm out to ward him off. Yes. There’s five of us. She hangs up. When their cab comes they squeeze in. Erik pure tension, Jo stroking Leni’s hand. Xie’s forehead against the glass. Karen rubbing the back of her skull. At the hotel Xie heads straight for bed, covers up, clothes on. Click of the door and Erik in the hall, with Jo. This is the second time, he says. The second time you’ve put my son in danger. What are you talking about, Jo says. Erik insisting: You said it would be peaceful. Of course I thought it would be, she says, but Erik stops her, voice rising just a step higher. Did you know that group would be there? What group? Jo, don’t play dumb. The kids with the masks. Why do you assume they’re all kids? Erik’s voice rising. So you did know. Erik— Don’t call me Erik. I’m not one of your friends, Jo. Jo’s quick blink, Okay, Mr. Lauridsen. I anticipated some tension but I didn’t know there would be a fucking riot, Jesus. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? Erik says. What do you mean? Look at your hand, Jo. You hit a man in the face. It took you a split second. So you tell me. Did you bring us all down here to watch you— Jo cutting him off, Hey, wait a second, I didn’t ask you to come, I didn’t ask anyone to come, okay, it was Xie— Erik snorting, Am I wrong? Is there someone else in charge here? Jo raises her hands. I’m not responsible for what anyone else does. I’m sorry it got crazy but that’s not what I intended and I certainly didn’t start anything. Sometimes people get hurt and that’s a risk we take. No, Erik says, it’s a risk that you took, that you decided was acceptable. How irresponsible can you be? And Jo’s frustrated inhale, chin trembling but she presses her lips together, hard, to stop it. We’re fine, she insists. Erik shaking his head. No, no, we’re not. Didn’t you see how he just folded up out there? He can’t protect himself, he won’t. You don’t know what he was like, before we came here, okay, you didn’t see him lying in bed day after day, ready to cut his goddamn throat because of all this shit in his head, he just takes it in and he can’t—he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you want him to keep shoving his face in it, when it’s—it’s enough! Staring at Jo, who stares back. Deep breath. Look, whatever you’re afraid of, whatever he’s afraid of, it’s already happening, okay? And he wants to do something about it. If there was some other option, some fantasyland where everything is going to be fine as long as we bury our heads in the sand, then believe me, I’d take it. But there’s not. Not for me and not for Leni and not for Xie and if you think you can protect him by denying that then you’re just—wrong. She holds Erik’s gaze; after a moment he nods, the first to look away. Goes to Xie, sitting on the bed, his hand on Xie’s flank. I’m going to order some food from the Mexican place. Xie nodding. Rice and beans and grilled vegetables in Styrofoam, he sits up to eat it. TV on. Erik on the bed beside him, gripping an enormous burrito. The protest on the news, a car on fire, a whole street of plate glass windows smashed, a line of ambulances beside a toppled barricade. Erik clicks past it. Xie eating only the vegetables, he can smell the chicken broth in the rice, the lard in the beans, but the onions are good, the peppers, cooked in fresh oil, salt, pepper, tender, he’s trying. Everyone is trying. Remembering the call he made from the jail. Can you come pick me up. Whispering into the phone, he had inexplicably lost his voice. Two a.m. His father instantly awake, Where are you? And closing his eyes to say it, thumbing the silver slot on the pay phone: Downtown. At the jail. Erik said nothing, just got in his truck and drove. A horrible noise when he saw his son’s face, streaked with blood, flesh darkening around his eye. Can you get him a goddamn bandage? Erik yelled, and a cop shuffled down the hall to show his contempt. Looks worse than it is, another cop said. You went up to that farm? Erik asked. You did what they said you did? Xie glanced at the cop. Then back at his dad. Nodded. Erik paid bail and cleaned his face and got him in the truck. They put them in cages, Xie said. Really small cages, and. I didn’t hurt anyone. I just let them go. Erik looking at the road, fingers over his mouth, not trusting himself to say anything. Then, as now, his father slept in his bed, curled on top of the covers beside him. Xie doesn’t brush his teeth, doesn’t pee, just stays where he is. You don’t feel anything. Just float to the ceiling. Stay there.