Jane Mendelsohn - Burning Down the House

—

Sitting next to Felix on his bed, Neva felt the glide of wheels beneath her. She would go on. She kept a constant vigil in her mind to go on. Nothing felt final, only endless.

I’m going to miss Dad, said Felix.

Of course, said Patrizia, who had just walked into the room, taking his hand.

We all will, said Neva. And we will never forget him.

Felix lay his head down in Neva’s lap.

—

Remnants blew through her mind. The singed debris that drifts on the wind after a ruinous catastrophe. She stood in memory in his study that was empty now. Where once she’d watched him handling the sharp glass trophies, the deal totems, on his desk, holding them lightly in his enormous hand. Where she’d placed her fingers on his back when he’d stood with his hands on his knees, coughing, with weeping eyes. The amber light pierced her memory. My heart, my heart. Her eyes did not weep.

—

Miranda walked slowly down a hallway to use the restroom. Her ballooning belly preceded her, covered in a thin black tunic that fluttered around her thighs. The hot breeze through an open window, insisting on summer. Jonathan, uncharacteristically gallant, asked her every now and then if she needed anything. His face was pinched, and for the first time in his life he looked confused, thought Alix. He kept walking from the living room to the library to the kitchen, wandering around the huge apartment, pressing numbers into his phone and hanging up, checking messages which she didn’t entirely believe existed. He could not inhabit the world without their father. She could, but Jonathan would flounder. She stepped out onto a balcony to get some air, to breathe in the city fumes, to check her messages, and realized that she had not told Ian. He deserved to know.

—

When she heard his voice she started crying.

It’s a nightmare, she said, as she explained. We’re all in the apartment together for some reason. Really a nightmare.

It must be, he said.

I hate to admit it, but I wish you were here with me.

I wish that too.

Apparently, Dad left instructions in a safe in his study. He wants to be cremated. I keep picturing his ashes blowing around and rising up into a gigantic gray version of him telling us that we’re doing this all wrong. He scared me.

I know. He could be scary.

She kept crying.

He was even scarier in my mind though. Why was that?

People are not just who they are. They are histories, feelings, mistakes, what we imagine them to be.

Thank you for saying that and not just saying he was a monster.

They were quiet. Cars honked from below. Ian said:

Can I ask: How is Poppy handling it?

Poppy isn’t here, Alix said, wiping her face with a tissue-thin scarf, sliding it up underneath her sunglasses.

Isn’t there? Where is she?

We can’t reach her. She was at a friend’s house and isn’t picking up or answering.

Well, who’s out there looking for her?

Patrizia’s assistant is on it.

On it? What the hell is she doing?

She’s making calls.

Has she called the police?

Ian, don’t get hysterical. You’re like an overprotective father.

No, you guys are crazy. You’ve abandoned her. As usual.

Hey, that’s not fair. We’re a medicated, barely functioning disaster here. Just trying to make it through this.

That’s what you always say.

Fuck you. My father just died.

Maybe it will force you to grow up. Where is Neva? Is she with the boys? Can you put her on? Put her on.

—

Alix got Neva and Ian explained how to trace Poppy’s cell phone. He knew it had a locator app. They traced it to someplace in New Jersey. The phone had been on a winding itinerary, from way out in Queens, to Brooklyn, to Staten Island, and the last spot they could locate was in New Jersey. He told her they should call the police.

You do that, Neva said. And I’ll go myself.

What? he said. That’s not a good idea.

She quietly ended the call.

—

She did not want to alarm Patrizia, Felix, or Roman. She calmly explained that she had news from Poppy and that she would go and collect her. Felix lifted his head, bleary. He said: Yes, please, get Poppy. Patrizia asked: How will you do that? And then turned her attention to something else, and Neva left the apartment and went to the garage. She knew the attendant.

She held the keys and sat in the driver’s seat. She said out loud: I will never forget you. She started the car.

—

Would you save her if you could? Go back to the worst moment and rescue the foundling you, the orphan, the girl? Of course you would. For you, to know and to act are the same thing. For you to go on, to continue, means to save her and, by saving her, save yourself, save them all. For you the whole world exists on top of that mountain, clouds turning, fire sparking, voices low. Go back to that moment and the clouds reverse their course, the fire quiets, the voices stop.

—

It begins with a child.

ON THE HIGHWAY she had not gone far when she started thinking about what might have happened to Poppy. There was no point in not imagining the worst. The problem of Poppy was an extension of the worst, as it unfurled, leaden, gray, like the highway itself. Cars pulled ahead, fell behind — mostly behind because she was speeding — some colorful, like occasional toys scattered along the road, odd moments of macabre joy on the journey. The joy did not take away the pain, and the pain did not take away the joy. There was some comfort in that. Some.

—

Along the sides of the highway the green trees blur and it always seems that there is something hidden behind the screen of color, some magnificent estate, some gleaming sculpture in a garden, some last idyllic tree behind the trees. Its bright fruit glistens. Its leaves dangle down. The rushing of the green gives the illusion that there is another world, and maybe there is, but as soon as you stop the car and get out to look for it the rushing ends, the trees separate, and you cannot find this garden.

—

The traffic gathered and slowed as she approached the bridge. Cars drifted like dead bodies on a river. The bridge loomed, at once majestic and ordinary. The water below, as she crossed the bridge, flowed molten and ferocious, forging on, implacable. Stalled in traffic she checked the GPS for directions to the spot in New Jersey, the gray circle where the app had last located Poppy. Neva knew that Poppy would not be there anymore, but she would probably not be far away. She would find her.

How are you going to do that? a voice in her head asked.

The same way I have done everything.

How is that?

By not worrying about myself.

You’re very brave.

No, I’m not. I’m just determined.

Or out of your mind.

No, I’m in my mind. Very deeply in my mind.

—

She followed the line on the little screen. Watched it curve and turn and imitated its movements with her hands on the wheel. First she encountered tall apartment buildings, some houses. Factories, machinery. An endless road. Was this the Pulaski Skyway or the New Jersey Turnpike? She hadn’t driven in so long. Angel had always done the driving. She could feel his presence as if he were in the seat beside her. Angel’s daughter had asked to visit Neva and the boys. Her mother was too distraught to play with her anymore. Neva and Felix had entertained her with games and a walk in the park. She’d ridden the carousel. Saddled up on the orange pony with a turquoise bow in her hair, the bobbing and circling an outsize distraction, a celebration. She’d visited the sea lions, watched their bulging shadows as they leaped. She’d wondered at their muscular, flexible necks. Felix had taken her by the hand and they had marched, happy soldiers, underneath the turning clock with the bronze animals.