The Seventh Mansion Page 12

  * * *

  But in the morning he panics. Dreamed all night about. Screams and. No air. His father asleep and. Might die. I might die. He gets out of bed, heads for Karen’s door, breathless knock. She opens in a second, brushing her teeth, green eyes sharp on his. Can I come in? Nod, steps aside, shutting the door with a quiet click. He sits on the edge of her unmade bed. Head in his hands. Trying to breathe. She moves quick to the sink, spits, wipes her mouth on the towel. Sits beside him. Hand on his back. Xie, just take a deep breath. But. Can’t. Some sharp sense of death. Too close. Eating up all the air in his chest. Pain in his arms, hands, tingling to the tips of his fingers and his head. Eyes wide on his knees, which are shaking so bad, am I. Coming apart. Her head bent to his. Hair against his shoulder. It’s just anxiety, Xie, you’re okay. You’re okay. Her bag on a chair. Bra and nightshirt and old underwear. Bottle on the nightstand, half full. Karen takes his hand, puts it beneath his T-shirt where. The medal is. He grips it, along with the cross. Eyes squeezed shut. Chest easing up, breath smoothing out. Karen looking at him. Okay? He swallows. Nods. Yeah. Sorry. Swallowing again. Drinking the water she offers, plastic cup from the bathroom, water like metal in his mouth. Don’t worry about it, she says. A knock at the door; Erik there, looking from Karen to Xie, the unmade bed, Karen’s bare legs. Good morning, Karen says. Xie needed some aspirin. I guess we’re all a bit shaken up. Still. Erik’s slow nod. Yeah. How is your head? he asks. Fine. Thanks. Going to her bag to get a bottle of Advil. Puts it in Xie’s hand. There you go. Erik taking a step back. Hand on the door. Xie follows his father out. No breakfast. An hour later everyone in the car, quiet. Erik hands the iPod back to Jo and she scrolls through, puts on jazz. Leni sleeps against Jo’s shoulder. Mouth open. Jo scratching the blue polish from her nails. Deer, horses, fields. Cracking the window for some air. They don’t stop to eat, just drive straight through, and then they are home. As soon as they are inside Erik takes Xie’s chin in his hand. Look at me. You okay? Xie pulling away. Dad. I really don’t see the point of going down there, Erik says. Do you? Xie shrugs, exhausted again. I’m going to lie down. Erik calling out. Some people got hurt, Xie. It could have been one of us. Up the ladder. Layer of light over the entire floor. He walks on it. Pulls the branches from the body, clears away the stones. Slipping the sheet from the skull. A leaf ground to dust beneath his knee. Gather the body to his chest. P. swells into the room; the hammer on the floor. The light beyond the window. The birch aglow. Beloved. He puts the body down. Picks the hammer up.

  * * *

  E.A. was all over Alabama. Not just where he thought they would be, on the edges of the camp, contained, but more deeply embedded in the state than anyone could have guessed. The protesters in the city were only a distraction, planted to incite the exchange with the CWA and to set up the dummy camps clustered at the base of the mountains while the real center of the group, led by Alias, was hiking in from the north, from West Virginia and Kentucky, to converge at night in the foothills. Xie and FKK gather at Jo’s to watch the video: a chain of protesters sitting cross-legged on the land marked by surveyor’s flags, arm in arm, locked neck-to-neck. Everyone in black, no logos. The hair on Xie’s arms standing up as the camera pans down the line, endless, he tries to count but loses track after a hundred, two hundred, the camera keeps marching on and still there is no limit. A huge banner held up with poles driven into the dirt, white on black, WE WITNESS THE RAPE AND MURDER OF MOTHER NATURE. The line snakes up the foothills, protesters chained by the waist to trees, black bandannas covering their mouths, their heads. The video goes on for ten minutes, fifteen, no sound, and then suddenly cuts to Alias pinned by his shoulders to a tree, three men holding him there as the jaws of a bolt cutter clamp down on the lock around his waist, snapping the metal in half. Alias arching like a fish fighting for water, a constant hoarse bellow as a cop in riot gear rolls him over, knee in his back, Alias’s cheek scraped deep on a stone, blood against the dirt. Xie touches his own face. Leni crying into the neck of her shirt. You can’t take it, Alias screams, over and over. You can’t take it. A boot hits him in the ribs once, twice. Fuck, Jo breathes, scrubbing her nose with the heel of her hand. The video cuts to a report about five million dollars’ worth of clear-cutting equipment sabotaged in Guatemala, the E.A. sign painted in red on the side of a truck. A warrant for Nova’s arrest, her face on camera, maskless. Founder of an international terrorist organization. Jo shuts the lid of her laptop. Xie’s heart pounding. Leni curled on the bed. Did you know there would be so many of them? Xie asks. Jo still staring at the closed computer, mute shake of her head. I can’t believe they’re calling them terrorists, Leni says into the pillow. They’re the fucking terrorists. Jo pushes the laptop beneath the bed, goes to the bathroom, shuts the door behind her. Xie just sits. He remembers what Nova said, about people like them always working in the dark; and now Nova and Alias and all the rest there, in the light, the most dangerous place to be.

  * * *

  Guess that was our last field trip, Karen says, tired smirk. Both of them late to the library, meeting on the steps to walk in together, ignoring Greg’s stare. Yeah. Sorry it didn’t turn out how—how I thought it would. If I’d known— She shrugs, dropping into her chair, brushing bits of eraser from the table with her arm. Wasn’t your fault. Things happen. My mom saw us on the news, he says. Us? Really? Yeah. She screamed at my dad for like an hour. Karen groans. Poor Erik. Are they still arresting people? He nods. Yeah. He looks out the window. Quiet. Karen crossing her wrists on the table, click of her small watch against the wood. I finished Interior Castle, she says. He makes a face. I don’t know why I asked you to read it. I was happy to, Karen says. I thought you liked it. You marked almost every page. I know, I did like it. But. I think I got it wrong. How so? Xie twisting his lip between his fingers. The whole thing is just about being in love with God and that’s all she talks about, like, it’s not even about being a Christian, you know, doing things, I mean at least Jesus wanted to help people but she just thought. Like. Praying was the best thing you could do. Like that was going to change anything. She was a nun, Xie, the book was written for other nuns, cloistered nuns, not people like you and me. Their job was pretty much to do exactly what she’s writing about. But, so? Why should anyone be a nun? The words more bitter than he means. Karen spreads her fingers on the table. I think she was trying to help people. She wanted them to experience the pleasure, the joy she thought was possible. Don’t you think that’s generous? Or good? Xie shakes his head. It just seems. Like a waste. Wait, being in love is a waste? If you think that’s the most important thing, like, that that’s the point of being alive, then … yeah. She thought the world was evil but she didn’t do anything to change it, it’s like she thought the best thing to do was just wait to die so she could be in heaven and everything would be perfect for her and fuck everything else, you know? Come on, Xie, that’s not what she was saying. The book is called Interior Castle, it’s about what’s going on inside a person, that’s the whole point. She wasn’t writing a political manifesto. Yeah, well, maybe she should have. Karen shrugs. Maybe you’re right. But I think you’re being a little too hard on her. Quiet. In the corner of the library a little boy karate-chops a stack of foam blocks. Do you think she was crazy, Xie says. I mean, that’s what she was, right? Karen blinks. How do you mean. Like if I said. The things that she said, then. You would think I was crazy. Right? Does it matter if she was? Karen asks. Of course it does. Why? Because then it’s not true, he says. What’s not true? Everything. Look, Karen says, if she was insane, then so are all religious people. So is everyone who believes in something that most other people don’t, whether you can prove it or not. Facts don’t convince people. Faith does. Xie scoffs. You think that’s a good thing? No, she says, sighing. But it’s a thing. Quiet. I saw something once, Xie says. Leaning over the table. Hair in his face. Karen goes very still. He presses the eraser of his pencil into his forehead, closes his eyes. I keep seeing it. Her hand on his hand
. What is wrong with you, he thinks. That you want only bones, how are you any better than Teresa, than all the ones like her, saints, martyrs, mystics, people who fought only for the right to forget the world, to forget the flesh. And yet. The body belongs to the earth. It is the earth itself. He opens his eyes. The sun pouring in through the windows, hot yellow squares on the carpet, on his back. Let’s just do the stupid algebra, he says, and Karen stays close for a moment, leaning over the desk. Fuck algebra, she says, looking him in the eye. Xie chuffs. If you want to fuck algebra we’ll fuck algebra, he says, and she laughs, loud, head back, there is gold in the air when she does it, not coming from P. but from her, and he almost says, Look.

  * * *

  Jo at graduation. They all go. Even Erik. Sit in the stands with Leni, Jo’s parents on their left, curt hellos. It will never stop being a surprise. How much people dislike you. Sit there and don’t look at anyone. Let your father brush the hood back from your face. Smile so wide when you see Jo in her blue cap and gown, her hair brushed straight back over her head, clean, shiny. You don’t believe in any of it but. Believe in her. Clap. Whistle. Leni screaming, WE LOVE YOU, JO! Jo dropping a heavy curtsy, shaking the principal’s hand, 4.2 GPA. Leni always said she didn’t even have to try. But she tries at everything. Proving something. That she can be what she wants, an outcast and a nerd and a rich kid and an anarchist and a credit to her school and a threat to her nation. James Moore’s shoulder next to hers as they stand for a class photo. Turning afterward to shake her hand. The sun so strong. Erik kissing her cheek. Proud of you. She smiles. Why, thank you, Mr. Lauridsen. I’m proud of you, too. Flinging her cap in the trash, ruffling her hair, Fuck, let’s get out of here.

  * * *

  Dark club to celebrate. Forty-five minutes in the car, some crazy music blasting. Xie yelling, What is this? What? What is this! he screams again. The Knife! Leni yells in his ear, fishnet top and tiny black bra, concave thighs in a skirt cut from something longer, frayed uneven edge against her bare skin. You didn’t dress up, she complained when she saw him but Xie smiled, coy, Yes, I did, and she shrieked, seeing the eyeliner traced along his lashes. Jo’s hair spiked so high it rivals even P.’s helmet in its glory. Smoking in the car with the windows up, Xie recalling the time in Jo’s room, crawling along the carpet, a lifetime ago. Doesn’t put his mouth on the joint when it is passed his way but holds it for Leni, her lips barely touching his fingers. Roads and roads and roads. Avoiding the interstate. At the edge of the university town an abandoned building. Unlit street. Code word and no IDs, Leni looking over her shoulder at Xie with a grin. Inside a room the size of the library, concrete pillars painted black and graffiti everywhere. Blue light and so hot, a DJ in the corner and kegs of beer, a shelf nailed to one long wall to serve as a bar, stacked with plastic cups. Jugs of water. Stenciled on the wall: STAY SAFE. Absolute crush of bodies. Sea of heads. Like a protest but better. Jo and Leni get beers and he drinks water. Refusing the new joint Jo lights. Leni cutting right into the dance floor after her first drink, arms up, rhythmless. Jo’s last deep inhale, brow furrowed, smoke packed at the back of her throat. You want to dance? Yeah, in a minute, I. Just have to. Get used to it. After a long critical look Jo says, You have a thing. About crowds. He snorts. News flash. All right, but you are fucking dancing tonight, so. Drink your water and meditate or whatever you have to do before I drag your ass out here. Xie nods. Yes, sir. Jo going after Leni, folding into the mass of flesh. Nice that for a while no one is noticing him or expecting anything of him, he can just. Stand here. Do nothing. All these young people. Not angry or sad or making plans or. Anything. Just get out of your head. And even against the wall it feels good. To be here. Lose track of time. Eventually Leni iridescent with sweat struggling through the crowd to put her hand on his wrist. Come on. No patience for the split second of his hesitation: If you don’t drink and won’t smoke and won’t dance you’re not going to enjoy yourself. He shrugs. I’m enjoying myself. She wipes her forehead on her arm. Come on. Her hands on his wrists. Jo coming over, What did I tell you about this fucking hoodie, Xie? Grabbing the bottom and yanking it over his head. Oh my god, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your arms. Gripping his biceps. All of them grinning. Jo flipping up the end of his black T-shirt and whistling, Oh, but baby doll’s almost got a six-pack! And high-fiving him, his hoodie balled on the counter along with the beers, a song from the album in the car repeating in the club and this time he goes with them, pushing to the center of the dance floor, he doesn’t know what to do but everyone seems to be more or less jumping so they, too, are jumping, in time to the blue strobes, all these bodies around him, screaming the chorus. Sweat and sticky floor and smell of yeast. His arms flailing, Leni’s hair hitting his shoulder. Jo’s lateral thrash, cleavage to her chin, and he laughs, breathless, why did he never even imagine. Dancing. And P. there, every time the strobe flashes on, moving through the crowd, until. Behind Xie. If only he could lean. Back into him, be held, for once, among others, be held so others could see. Song bleeding into song. Jo and Leni with their arms around his neck, the three of them in a huddle, heads bent to center where P. stands, gold glow against the blue. Panting through their smiles. He can’t feel his legs they just. Keep moving. A Cure song comes on and he sings with everyone else. Dumb off-key voice. Sweat stinging his eyes. No way to move without touching someone but somehow it’s. Okay. No one here afraid of being hurt by the other bodies. No one afraid of being caught even though everything about this place is illegal. Leni grinning, her face seized with joy. Xie’s hair sticking to his face, his neck, a burn licking his lungs. Coming down so hard, again and again, on the concrete floor.