Chang-Rae Lee - On Such A Full Sea

And what a tree! was the thought their visitors had as they entered the large circular space beneath its immense canopy, the sunlight filtered by the vines so that there was a cool glow of jade upon everything, like the color of newly sprouted leaves. The scent of the air was richly herbal and of clean, slightly dampened earth. Loreen asked what kind of tree it was and Mrs. Nickelman said a live oak. It was of extraordinary scale; the trunk was massive, indicating a specimen of a couple centuries’ age, and when Quig questioned how it stayed alive with the normally choking vines, Mr. Nickelman explained that the vining wasn’t as invasive as it looked, as they were constantly pruning it back to allow the tree’s own leaves enough air and light, the intertwining complete but not stifling. The vines offered them extra cover, however, from the weather and bad people, and whenever it did storm, the Nickelmans unfurled circular tenting — like a circus top, in fact — from the middle of the tree to both shed and catch the rainwater. Whenever it got too cold in the winter, they let the tenting out, too, and kept warm under that, using electric space heaters running off a diesel generator outside; though, of course, it rarely got too frigid anymore, and then never for very long. The space under the canopy was partitioned by waist-high walls of plyboard into sleeping and living areas, the kitchen just a simple worktable and unplumbed laundry sink and an electric cooktop with two burners. There were a few axes and machetes and pruning clippers for clearing brush. There wasn’t much in the way of possessions, a few plastic storage tubs for pantry items and for their clothes and shoes, and then a big screen for watching the vids Mr. Nickelman took of every performance, which is what the children were doing now, the older ones stopping and starting the vid to analyze their moves and transitions between routines.

Fan was enjoying the vid as well as their serious and thorough discussion, but she had to use the outhouse and one of the girls practically leaped to her feet to accompany her, crying out that she had to go, too. Her name was Hilton and she was maybe nine years old with corkscrew curls and dark brown eyes and reminded Fan of little Star, back in the Smokes. It was obvious she already had a crush on Fan, who was very different from anyone she’d ever seen, plus oddly grown up in the way she held herself but still closer to Hilton’s size than anyone else. She took Fan’s hand and led her back out to the clearing, and when they were halfway to the outhouse, the breeze turned and carried its stink to them. Fan, who was feeling funny, had to halt and bend over and throw up on the ground, her body feeling as though it were turning itself inside out. It was the whole wonderful supper, now wasted, and she thought it was probably because of the fresh vegetables, which she wasn’t used to in such abundance. But she felt instantly better. Hilton said Gosh and that she still had to go and so they went to the outhouse, Fan waiting while Hilton relieved herself, which seemed to take a long time but was filled with the girl airing her wishes about Fan staying the night and maybe living with them for a while or from now on and, of course, performing, too. This was when Fan learned that some of the children were adopted, including Hilton, who was only a baby when she came to them.

While Hilton was prattling on, Fan noticed the dog, which was now in a pack of five or six other large, muscular dogs, all of them pushing and growling and madly lapping about the spot where she’d gotten sick. It was a repulsive sight and she turned away, drifting toward a flagless metal pole with beaten-down grass all around it. This part of the clearing was much messier than the rest, marked by loose piles of surplus junk like PVC piping and chicken wire, large rusted bolts and fence spikes. And a smell that was faint but squarely awful now rose, very different from the outhouse stink, like something rotting and drying up rather than foaming and fetid. It was then she was drawn to something bright in the weeds. It was a bone, long and pitted and bleached white from the sun, scarred and gouged down its length by chew marks. She figured it was the dog’s plaything and picked it up, surprised at how heavy it was, when she realized that she was standing in a veritable field of bones, most of them tiny and broken, like bits of branch or stone, with only some of them as large as the one she held.

Hilton stepped from the outhouse with a wide skewed smile, which was not for Fan but the rest of her family, who were now out in the clearing and heading toward them in a pointed mass, Mr. Nickelman at the front, the brass whistle in his mouth. The biggest boys carried machetes. He blew the whistle and the dogs magically aligned onto the family’s formation, trailing them. Shuffling in their midst were Quig and Loreen, who appeared to be clasping hands but were, in fact, secured by their inside wrists and ankles with locking plastic ties. They walked most unsteadily from whatever they’d been given, their eyes glassy but lightless against their pale faces, and before Fan could run, Hilton embraced her from behind with startling strength, a furious but loving hug that would surely never let her go.

I won’t let it happen! Hilton shouted. I just won’t!

Don’t worry your sweet head, Hilly, Mr. Nickelman said, cupping her chin as well as Fan’s. His hand was dry and cold. She’s going to be one of us from now on. She’s just right.

You promise?

I promise. You want to be part of our family, my dear? Why not, right? You’ll have lots of fun.

The entire family was expectantly nodding as though she were simply deciding on whether or not to go on a trip to the mall. And although we can’t be sure exactly what was crossing her mind at that moment, we do know about Fan’s character, which never wavered through her many trials. Was she an especially moral person? That’s difficult to say. She was consistent, is how we will put it, ever the same and same and same, which we suppose can be seen as a kind of integrity that is all too rare these days.

Okay, she said. But why not all three of us?

There was a communal groan and Mr. Nickelman scratched his head, saying, That’s really not in our plans.

That’s right, the old man concurred.

We’re a bit crowded here, Mr. Nickelman said. You’d fit in easily enough but not two more full-sized people. The missus and I are getting full-sized enough, to be honest.

Oh, Philip!

I’m just trying to explain things to Fan. She’s a very capable girl, I can tell. A special girl. We figured out a long time ago what the best way for us was. Others will go about their living differently — he glanced at Quig and Loreen — and that’s neither here nor there. But we choose to live as simply as we can, as sustainably as we can. It’s a wonderful feeling when things are in balance. We feel liberated but we’re not afraid because of our liberty, as most people out here are compelled to be. And we are as free as anyone in a Charter or where you used to live. Maybe more. Sometimes we have to buy or trade things, of course, but we’ve become pretty good at gardening and cheese making and raising our beloved animals, and I’m sure you could help us in that regard. The main thing is, we strive to be completely independent. Certain times that’s impossible, especially in the winter. But each year we always get by and we gain that much more know-how, and we hope some wisdom, too.

And if I don’t want to stay? Fan asked.

But we know you do! Hilton cried, who was now holding her hand, if just as tightly.

That’s right, Mr. Nickelman said, though not quite sounding so nerdy anymore. He blankly regarded Quig, who was clearly not of his own mind and trying to hold back the mud-black tide surging behind his eyes. But he was failing, failing, and maybe finally giving up.