Claudia Casper - The Mercy Journals

I took them out to the hallway where a narrow window looks onto the outhouse. Two copies of our parents’ will. Everything looked standard, everything going to Leo and me fifty-fifty. The door to the outhouse slammed shut. There was a letter paper-clipped to the front of the second copy.

May 28, 2018

My Dear Sons,

I love you both so much. The times ahead are looking like they will be very tough and I want you both to know that your father and I have always hoped Nirvana could be a refuge for you and your families. You can always make do living here together, with the well and enough deer, waterfowl, shellfish, and firewood to last ten-thousand lifetimes. Your dad would be very happy at the thought.

Love

Mom

Leo clomped up the stairs. That stupid gun weighed down his coat pocket. I felt like smacking him just for taking the gun with him.

Why did you hide these from me?

You were in my room?

You were reading them last night.

I raised the hand with the papers. You should have shown them to me right away. We should have read them together. They’re our parents.

There aren’t any rules anymore. And stay the fuck out of my room.

I felt like strangling him. And where are Mom’s ashes? I didn’t see a container anywhere.

What do you think, I hucked them all over the place when the world was collapsing around me? A little backpack for Mom’s remains, through thick and thin, carrying them with me, the good little son, through rain and shine, hurricane and drought, to sprinkle them on the ground here? I emptied them out at Fisherman’s Terminal where the mini-ferries used to run. They floated out, like your fish food, and finally sank after half an hour. I can still smell the creosote.

I turned to leave, taking the will and the letter with me, the image of Mom’s ashes in the filthy water shattering my heart.

Our parents. Our parents, he said bitterly to my back. You were right about one thing. Those papers don’t make any difference.

I went into the old bathroom, which was the only room with a lock on the door, sat on the old flush toilet, and finished reading the will. It was all predictable except for the end. In the event of irreconcilable conflict between Leo and myself, the will stipulated that Nirvana, the land and the buildings, should go to me, while all remaining possessions should go to Leo. The reason given was that Leo’s material resources far outweighed mine and therefore he had less need. I could just imagine how he’d loved reading that.

I missed Ruby intensely at that moment. I wanted to pack up and paddle back to the city. I wanted to be in her arms and hold her in mine and stare into her eyes and hear the throaty growl in her voice when she laughed. I stood up from the toilet and looked at myself in the mirror. The claw mark on my cheek, the patch of white folded skin and missing lip in the corner of my mouth, the raised pink scar near the hairline, the patchy hair — my face was a true testament to nurture over nature, though it looked more like nature than nurture. I don’t recognize myself in it anymore.

I am deeply unsettled. I don’t know what to do about Leo.

The next day Leo left early. He didn’t tell me where he was going. All day the tension coming off Griffin was intense. Leo returned as we were sitting down for dinner.

So, Dad, Griffin spoke with a sarcasm lit by rage, were you ever going to tell me my sister was dead?

Leo looked at him through his hair. He took another bite.

I touched Griffin’s arm. What?

Griffin stared at Leo, but addressed me. Parker knew my sister Anne from summer camp. She saw her in Victoria just before she came up here. Anne was looking for our mother, who disappeared a year after our sister died. Amanda died in Seattle in ‘42. Anne told Parker that that was the last time she saw her father. At the burial. Griffin enunciated each of the following words clearly: Piece of shit.

Leo continued to eat. Griffin reached across the table and grabbed Leo’s forearm to stop the motion of fork to mouth. I’ve lost my daughters? Blood matters? Nothing matters to you.

You, Leo answered finally with contempt, don’t know anything about me.

She was my sister! Griffin screamed at him. My sister! Griffin stood, pushing the table into Leo and me.

Leo looked at his fork, like he didn’t know what to do with it, then threw it at the sink and stood.

She was my daughter! My daughter! You call me a piece of shit? You little fucker?

Griffin glared at Leo, but then sadness seemed to fill him and he left the room, followed by Parker. Leo got another fork and finished his food, then went to his room.

Today we worked on creating a primitive irrigation system for the field. There are only about three weeks during the summer when irrigation will be necessary, but they’re important in the growing cycle. Some of our plants are turning brown. I feel weak and hot this morning and I have the beginnings of a mother of a headache. Leo and Griffin aren’t speaking. Leo is monosyllabic with me.

Seeing Parker and Griffin together irritates me. They’re discreet but it feels like they’re making a show, even of their discretion. I almost understand why Leo keeps making a play. I yearn for Ruby and my alchemy with her. I don’t want to die without making love with her again. I’m going to get this situation sorted and I’m going to paddle back after the baby is born and find her. I’ll take Leo with me and we’ll leave Griffin and Parker the harvest.

Griffin came to relieve me of shepherd duty and sat down beside me, saying that Leo had headed out with a daypack.

What makes Leo such a dick and you not?

Good question.

I mean, you come from the same family.

I looked across the field at the goats chewing grass. Actually, we didn’t. I grew up in a family with parents who loved me. I’m not sure Leo did.

Because he was a dick.

I laughed and looked up at dark clouds scudding across the sky. Chicken and egg, I said.

An eagle turned, coming by for another look at the goats.

What was Leo like? As a stepdad.

I was always glad he wasn’t my real father. Griffin picked up a conifer cone and started to pull off the scales. He said all those stupid things like, “While I’m still paying for the roof over your head.” I didn’t give a shit, but Mom did. I guess he was paying for the roof over her head too. I used to provoke him. He was an easy target. Griffin made a neat pile of cone scales at his feet. I moved out to spare Mom more grief. He was making her choose between him and me.

We looked at the goats. The new kid, whose birth we celebrated a week ago just after the other one was killed, butted its mother’s udder, then tugged hard on a teat.

Griffin took a big breath in, covered his eyes, and pinched his temples. I really hoped they’d be here, he said. This is the only place we all knew. He tossed the shredded cone into the field. Do you think he knows anything about my mother?

I thought about all of the deaths — they were like mushrooms in the forest. I didn’t answer. Eventually I said, Amanda is lucky to be remembered by you.

Do you think Leo’s dangerous? he asked.

Aren’t we all, I thought. I answered, I don’t know. I should get back though.

I entered the house through the basement door instead of the back porch where I usually come in. I heard a creak and a scuffle from above, as though someone were dragging a dog a short distance or they were losing their balance and regaining it with a quick movement of the feet. I closed the door carefully and listened. The floorboard creaked again.

I crept upstairs, bringing my fake foot down slowly, quietly. I emerged into the kitchen, smelled a soup cooking. I looked around the corner down into the hallway.