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Chapter 14
What the fuck was she doing? She’d come into the bathroom, done her business to considerable relief, washed hands, and now stared at her face in the mirror. She hadn’t slammed the door, thank God, but she had slid the lock, a little surprised there was one. He lived alone. But of course, he hadn’t always. She knew so little of his life, a mere tenth of his years, and even those had excluded Thursdays, the main of him. She had learned this. For a time, a long time ago, he’d lived here with his dying wife. She’d seen it, felt it, knew it. Through powers, hers or Lijah’s.
And therein lay the crux of the matter; what had her barricaded in the bathroom for the last 15 minutes. Ignorance, fear, annoyance, embarrassment. He’d asked if she had something consequential to tell him, and she did, but instead of doing so, and getting some answers, a stupid argument derailed the moment.
Maybe he already knew, her big reveal, that she’d read his profound disappointment, read him as Feeler. If that’s in fact what happened. He could tell her one way or the other. He might have felt her reading him. Or read her back. Do Feelers do that, read reciprocally? She didn’t know, had so little experience, not just as Feeler, but with powers generally. She felt at a gross disadvantage.
She put her hands on the mirror, overtop her face, wishing she could read herself, sort out her thoughts and feelings. Of course, it wouldn’t work. There was nothing there but an image, not an actual person. Why had no-one ever taught her about powers? Not that her mother would have, even if she could. The very notion would have been too rebellious and risqué for her mother to consider. Elsa couldn’t fathom it. But Granny? Granny. Her eyes locked with her those of her reflection and she knew, with a flash of images and startling certainty, that Granny could have told her all about powers. Not just told her about powers, she could have taught her how to wield them. She’d chosen not to. She’d purposely kept that knowledge from her.
Elsa dropped her hands and shivered. She tried a smile, but her reflection came back too wane and uncertain to be of comfort. She made a face at herself. As far as flights of fancy went, that had been disturbingly dark, especially in contrast to the bright, crisp light streaming in from the window. She tried to resurrect what she’d seen, but like any daydream the thread unraveled and the glimpses: Granny gloveless, something hidden, they dissipated like fog in sunlight. The menace, though, that persisted.
Elsa splashed water on her face and concentrated on the rough, plush feel of the towel against her hands and face. Another smile at the mirror showed modest improvement. She left the bathroom. Lijah still stood by the window, but at ease and collected, his usual self, having used the time to regain his equanimity.
“Lijah? Can you read yourself? As if you’re another person?”
Lijah, turned to face her, hands at his hips, brow furrowed. “Explain.”
“I mean literally, lay hands on yourself, and use your powers to learn something previously unknown, I don’t know, something blocked or hidden.”
Lijah glanced back and forth between her and the open door to the bathroom. “What just happened?”
“I don’t know, something, nothing. That’s the problem, isn’t it. You have me questioning everything. Like before, when we were touching, and I saw the color bleed and you didn’t. I felt your pain, Lijah. And not just pain, like a thing I understand and sympathized with, but pain, in all its shades of disappointment and envy and bewilderment. I think I felt it, as Feeler, right? Which would be incredible. You’d be right, and, like,… wow.”
Lijah crossed the room in three long strides and pulled Elsa into a tight embrace. He rested his chin on her head. She breathed into him and for a moment she lived in that place of possibility.
“But. Maybe not. We know each other really well. Well enough to intuit each other’s feelings, no powers necessary. I just don’t know. I have no experience, no gauge, no metric. You want this so badly for me. And I want it for you. Maybe what I experienced was nothing more than wishful thinking. Or, fearful thinking. Or…”
When he spoke, his tone was gentle. “What happened in the bathroom, Elsa?”
“It’s silly.” She shuddered, folded into herself. Lijah continued to hold her. He felt solid as an oak: rooted, steady, permanent.
“I put my hands on the mirror, on my face, the reflection. And I had this thought, like something I knew but hadn’t realized, and it was dark, and paranoid and conspiratorial.”
Lijah waited.
“I think my grandmother knows about powers, powers like yours. I think she shares them, uses them, and has kept what she knows from me, purposely, for some nefarious purpose.”
Elsa caved at the word she’d used. Nefarious. Out loud it sounded overblown, ridiculous. And yet, she couldn’t shake it.
“So?” asked Elsa. “What’s your assessment? Giants or windmills?”
“I think your powers are extraordinary.”
Elsa leaned back to study his expression.
“I’m Feeler, you mean. And people can read themselves.”
“Of the former I have no doubt and am glad you’ve begun to recognize it. The later? I confess, I don’t know. I’ve never tried. It’s never occurred to me to try. But yes, I think it’s highly likely that people can read themselves. Because I think you did. I think it’s an ability you have. And…”
Elsa held her breath, stared intently.
Lijah quirked an eyebrow, “And, I have to go to the bathroom.”
Elsa blinked. Was he teasing her?
He nodded to the bathroom. “Come with me?”
She could see it now in his expression. The eagerness of a little boy, itching to try the mirror trick, hopeful, optimistic. All in a rush, they made a beeline for the bathroom, smiling, laughing.
“Where do you want me?” asked Elsa, urgent, excited. She’d meant the question innocently, as in, next to you?, by the door? sitting on the toilet?, but the way Lijah stopped short, seemingly startled by the room and her in it, had her blushing.
He looked between her and the claw footed tub that dominated the room. “Promise me you’ll ask that again at a more opportune moment.” But then he was all business, eyes darting, scanning the room, deciding how best to conduct his experiment. He took her shoulders, guided her backwards, and had her sit on the rounded edge of the tub. He stood at the sink, glanced in the mirror, and had her slide down closer to him. He retested his reflection.
“Better. Seeing you behind me might be a distraction.”
“I could wait in the other room. Make it easier for you to focus.”
He considered it and shook his head. “No. I want you close.” Eyes on his reflection, he straightened, spoke more formally. “I’d like you to observe. Your careful observations often prove useful. Scientifically speaking. In the context of… science.” He grimaced, relaxed. “Let’s try it this way first. We can amend as needed.”
“Sure.”
He drummed his fingers on the side of his leg, staring. He looked stuck.
“Nervous?” she asked.
He took a step back and bent over the sink, hands planted to either side of the basin. “Preposterous, isn’t it.”
It would be to him. He was a scientist. This was an experiment. Experiments weren’t about outcomes, but rigorous and objective inquiry. She could hear the lecture. He epitomized the standard. Lijah the scientist was bold, resolute, and fearless. That he quailed at the threshold of discovery spoke directly of his recent setback, that like Elsa’s colors, this too may be closed to him. This was personal; he was human. Understandable to her but to him, cowardly, self-indulgent.
For once she didn’t push or argue. She stood up and held him from behind, hoping to bolster his resolve, while remaining out of sight in the mirror’s reflection.
Lijah took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then leaned forward slightly to put his hands flat onto the mirror. After a time, he asked, “Like this? Elsa?”
She peered around him. He’d placed his hands strategically, trying to cover as much of his reflected face as possible. “Um, no,” she said, stifling a giggle. “Not how I did it. My hands were wider, fingers spread, most of my face was visible.” She resumed her hidden position, arms wrapped below his chest around his torso.
Half a minute passed. “This is a very odd thing to do. What possessed you?”
“I wanted to feel the mirror, you know, not read it, just touch it, for the tactile experience.” Not the whole truth but close enough. She hadn’t really expected to be able to read herself through the mirror.
Lijah absorbed this information silently.
“Are you reading anything?” she asked.
“Yes and no. I’m reading the mirror. It’s older than I guessed. There’s a surprising amount of variation in the thickness of the reflective backing. It seems it hung for years on the wall by the front door, sideways, it’s long edge parallel to the floor, and it was straightened a thousand times over, mostly by our housekeeper, probably because each slam of the door knocked it off kilter.”
“That’s incredible, that you can read all that, down to who touched it.”
“And irrelevant. I’m reminded of my early attempts at meditation, when the harder I tried to still my thoughts, the more insistently they intruded.”
“I wasn’t trying to use my powers, or still them, I was just thinking.”
“Powers require volition, Elsa. Ironically, it is that requirement that has allowed us to be so successful in suppressing them. Think about it. Enlightenment could never have happened if powers could be expressed against our will or randomly, without intent.”
“How does that work, Lijah? How do I intentionally use a power I am unaware of possessing? That I am unaware exists?”
“How does a child start to walk or talk? Willfully. They try. They act as if.”
Lijah dropped his hands and loosened her arms, which she realized, had tightened around him like a tourniquet. She shifted to the side, so they faced one another by way of the mirror.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’re trying to give it a go and I’m squeezing you for information.”
“No, don’t be. The questions are valid and illuminating. When I tried to read my reflection, I got derailed by the more familiar exercise of reading an object. But when you read your reflection, you weren’t trying.”
“Well, maybe a little. But you’re saying, you tried too hard.”
“I’m saying,” said Lijah, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “I’m saying I tried to walk by first crawling, instead of walking, as if I already knew how. It’s what I’ve been saying to you all along. Suspend disbelief. Just pretend. Trust that you can. All variations on a theme. Exercising our powers is act of volition. It requires willingness and willfulness. Awareness comes later. Act as if and our powers will be revealed. Elsa, this is helpful. Let me try again.”
Elsa opted to perch tub side while Lijah once again positioned himself squarely in front of the mirror. His smile grew wider and wider, until it burst in a bark of pure excitement and glee. He turned to Elsa, grasped her head like a basketball and landed a kiss on top of her head. Just as abruptly he took up his place back in front of the mirror. His cheeks twitched with barely contained excitement. He shifted in place, scrubbed his face, and straightened his shoulders.
“Elsa. You said, not trying, just thinking. What were you thinking about?”
Oh geez, what had she been thinking. She resurrected her train of thought as best she could and while she spoke, he raised his hands and placed them palms flat, fingers spread, crossing his face while spanning the width of the mirror. The longer she spoke the more distant and absorbed he seemed. Faint vines started to emerge on his hands, isolated and temporary, a snaking tendril across a pinky, a leafing branch on the other hand’s knuckle. She kept talking, about how ill-equipped and unprepared she felt, how unfair her ignorance, how she resented her mother’s limitations, how futile the feeling. By the time she followed the winding trail of thoughts and feelings to arrive at her grandmother and the surety of being purposely lied to, Lijah’s hands were covered in a richly colored jungle of vines.
She rose to her feet to get a closer look. They were a marvel, intricate, brilliantly hued, and aligned in such a way that the vines appeared to jump the gap between fingers, linking one hand to the other. She was almost sure they’d grown dimension, that she could work her fingers in amongst them. Without thinking, she tried just that but felt the back of his hand, no vines, just skin and sinew. Lijah stepped back abruptly and shuddered. He looked at his hands as the vines rapidly faded. He looked terrible, ashen, his exuberance from before obliterated.
“Thank you for stopping that,” he said and shuddered again. “Excuse me.” He left the room.
Elsa didn’t know what to do. He looked stricken. She wanted to comfort him but feared, that like before, he’d take umbrage and refuse her. She took a rag and wiped the fingerprints from the mirror. Her experience had been distressing too, but brief. His had been prolonged and, guessing from the evidence of the vines, his powers at their height, concentrated. She hung up the towel, turned out the light. She found him in the recliner facing the window, the one where he’d first kissed her.
“I don’t wish to discuss it,” said Lijah without looking at her.
“Okay.” After a moment’s indecision, she pressed the back of the chair, simultaneously reclining it and raising the footrest.
“Elsa…”
“Shh,” she cut off his protest. Slowly, and carefully so as not to upset the balance, she climbed all the way onto the chair and gently wormed her way in so that they lay wedged in together, snugly side by side. She ran her free hand along his neck and tangled her fingers into his hair. Nothing more.
They stayed like that, smushed together, quietly breathing. Time passed, ten minutes, twenty. She listened to the wind outside, the crackle of the fire and tracked dust motes as they winked in and out through rays of sunshine.
“What you experienced,” said Lijah at long last. “About your grandmother. You feel confident it was knowledge unlocked, a fact, as opposed to fear or suspicion.”
“You’re asking whether I read myself as Knower or Feeler?”
“I’m asking for your impression of the experience to corroborate mine. My powers are blended. I don’t perceive them as segregated into discrete abilities.”
“My impression was… fleeting. At best. Yours far more involved. You’re the expert. I rather hoped you could explain to me what happened.”
“Please, Elsa. I’m fighting my own conclusions.”
Fighting. Not questioning. She slid her hand to his face and cupped his cheek. She meant to comfort him but instead felt swamped by aching grief, horror and fear. God, she felt his pain from the inside. She experienced his emotions as viscerally as he did, but somehow without confusing his for her own. His pain, her empathy were separate but concurrent, as though, in touching his check, she felt both the rough stubble against her hand and the smooth warmth he felt against his cheek. Amazing.
Odd though, that the event itself was opaque to her. Perhaps the awakening of this new power, or maybe the sheer intensity of the feelings, drowned out her Knower power, unpracticed as it was. She’d consider that later. Right now, she felt an urgency to help, and, given that she felt precisely what he did, she knew intuitively what to do. She squirmed for leverage, sealed her mouth to his chest, and exhaled hot breath through his shirt, overtop his heart. Inhaling deeply, she repeated the action to that one tight spot, stoking the heat like bellows to ember, pressing love and comfort deep inside him. Once. Twice. Three times.
Three times Lijah exhaled heavily, making space, trying to release what ailed him.
She waited, poised for another round, until he met her gaze. He smiled wanly, gave her a perfunctory squeeze, then went limp. She’d given him a modicum of relief – that much she could tell – but he chose to remain inside himself, locked away. She wormed her way back into position, deep in the seat alongside him. If she couldn’t reach him with affection, she’d do it the old-fashioned way, with discourse.
“My impression,” she said, as if they sat in his office. “It felt like facts falling into place. Only… unintentionally.”
“Meaning?”
“Have you ever seen those block puzzles, where each side of the block is a piece of 6 different pictures, and you have to turn each to the correct side and fit them all together? It felt like that, except I wasn’t trying, I didn’t know it was a puzzle, not until the pieces were in place and they resolved into a picture.”
“Yes, like that,” said Lijah. “Known information, turned and rearranged, reflected back, seen differently.”
Elsa waited while he considered.
“Did you experience it as an actual picture? A snapshot of some past occurrence? Or something abstract, a color?”
“No. Definitely not a snapshot – nothing so concrete. And no. I don’t recall a color, which is curious. It was quick, Lijah. I experienced it as a flash, a realization, facts snapping into place. I definitely read myself as Knower.”
“Hm,” he said curtly.
She raised an eyebrow, which of course, positioned as they were, he couldn’t see. “You disagree. Or your experience was different. Makes sense. You were at it a lot longer. And as you said, your powers are blended.” God, she wished he would tell her what he experienced, but he seemed determined not to prejudice her impressions.
“Before,” said Lijah. “You said, nefarious. That your grandmother’s secrets had some nefarious purpose.”
And she continued to stand by that assessment. It was as clear to her as the knowledge that Granny not only knew about powers like Lijah’s but possessed them personally. Secrets weren’t by definition bad. People kept secrets for all sorts of reasons. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t convince herself that Granny’s purpose was benign, or even less likely, benevolent. She had a feeling. She couldn’t shake it.
“I wonder,” said Elsa. “If I should try again.”
“No. Absolutely not, Elsa. I forbid it.”
Whoa. Okay. He was out of his mind. Even if his reasons were sound, he would never in his right mind utter the words ‘Elsa’ and ‘forbid’ in the same sentence. She pretended not to have heard him.
“I wonder, just like you, why nefarious? I’m convinced of it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But do I know it as Knower or Feeler. Or is it a conclusion I’ve drawn after the fact, a sort of premonition.” To her the questions were salient; did she understand nefarious intent via powers or extrapolation, and if via powers, did she read it as fact or feeling. Reading as Knower lent credence to her, although she hardly knew why, she’d so seldom practiced her power. But to trust in her ability as Feeler, or worse, premonition, felt even less certain. “Try to understand, Lijah. I have a foreboding that I feel sure of but don’t have enough information to justify that belief or act accordingly.”
“Nevertheless, I stand by my caution. I didn’t think. I just rushed in without pause, never considering the consequence of reading the secrets we hold deep inside us. We shouldn’t repeat the exercise, not without considerable forethought and caution.”
Good, he’d mellowed his tone, advised caution without a command. And not just her, both of them. Elsa wondered again what had upset him so; the thing he learned or, as he suggested, the consequence of knowing it. Elsa didn’t like what she learned from herself about Granny. But she didn’t regret the newfound knowledge. Newfound. That’s how it felt, not like a secret she’d kept herself from acknowledging but like new information.
“I don’t know, Lijah. Secrets or blind spots? Because I’m thinking secrets are something you know and conceal, from others, yourself, whatever. It’s intentional and there may be good reason. This felt different. Like flicking on the light and discovering a stranger in your bedroom. You came home, had no idea, no reason to suspect a break in. It’s a horrible discovery, but not your fault and valuable information.”
“Yes, I see what you’re saying. It’s a meaningful distinction. Although the knowledge lay dormant within us, we may not be complicit in keeping the secret. Helpful, Elsa. Comforting. And perceptive.”
“Not only, not your fault, Lijah. Reading ourselves gives important information…”
“Importance is relative,” said Lijah, his tone rigid, academic. “And unexpected information difficult to interpret. What if you flicked on the light and saw one person, when in fact there were many gathered for a surprise celebration? Or, found the room empty – does that mean no-one lurked in the closet? We should be leery of random revelation – how we learn something – premise, context, bias – they can be as important as the discovery.”
“I get it. Unexpected findings can be spurious. You’re suggesting that Granny’s secrets aren’t nefarious, that I’ve jumped to a conclusion.”
Lijah sighed. “No. No I’m not.”
Elsa repositioned to show him her face and raised an eyebrow.
“Did you truly never suspect your grandmother of keeping secrets?” he asked.
Elsa lay back down, her head on his chest. “Well, sure. Granny’s nothing but secrets. She’s like the original international woman of intrigue. I just, um, I don’t know, always thought of her as an ally, that whatever intrigue she was involved in didn’t have anything to do with me. But then I flicked on the light and there was Granny, standing gloveless, in my bedroom.”
Elsa paused and thought. “You know, being gloveless, I’m practically inured to the concept. That Granny has powers like you and Nona and Peter isn’t so very surprising. I mean, who else other than the international woman of intrigue would have those sorts of abilities. The shocking part is that I caught her in my bedroom. It’s personal. She’s keeping secrets relevant to me, from me, for her own purposes. I didn’t know that before, but I see it now. Her purposes are contrary to my own. I’m sure of it. Or I was. Now you have me second guessing.”
“No, Elsa. It’s my own conclusions I object to. Not yours. Don’t let me undermine your conviction.”
“But you’ve made a fair point. I have a foreboding. It feels as real as fact, but there’s nothing to rule out paranoia. You said as much from the start – a fear or suspicion.”
“Your grandmother tried to remove me from the department.”
“What?” Elsa again maneuvered to look him in the eyes.
“From the department. From the university entirely. The term before you matriculated, she paid a student to accuse me of promoting heretical and incendiary ideology.”
“You just learned this, with the mirror?”
As soon as she asked, she rejected the idea. Granny wasn’t his relative. The effort had obviously been unsuccessful. He’d have been angry, indignant, irritated by the distraction, but nothing close to the depth of feeling she’d read when she touched his face.
Which meant he’d known all along. Elsa clambered up and out of the recliner.
Lijah dropped the footrest and swiveled to face her. “I discovered your grandmother’s role almost immediately. It was a clumsy effort, easy to deduce and deflect. There had never been a serious threat to my position.” His tone was disgusted. Not by Granny’s half-assed effort, she thought. But because he’d been forced to admit to keeping another secret.
“Granny doesn’t do clumsy. You’re sure, though, I can see that.”
“Quite sure. And it was clumsy.” He enumerated his points, thumb, pointer, middle finger. “She picked a feckless accomplice. She left a trail easily traced to her personally. She failed to anticipate that I record every student interaction.”
“You what?”
“So clumsy, in fact,” said Lijah, ignoring the interruption, “to have been intentionally transparent; a warning to me that Constance Wright was paying attention. I feared there had been a breach in my security until that first day of term when her precious granddaughter, little Elsa Wright, stormed my classroom.”
“Little Elsa Wright?”
“Stormed my classroom. You might recall, you treated office hours like a call to holy inquisition. It took quite some time to sort out whether you were an active threat sent by Constance, an unwitting shill, or just vehemently curious, playing devil’s advocate. By the time I concluded devilishly curious, I’d become quite enamored of our discussions. And of you.”
Lijah exhaled long and loud, releasing with it the last of his tirade. When he spoke again, his tone was frank. “Your grandmother made her point. I retained my seat. Telling you would have brought her between us. Your attachment to her was clear. I would have lost you.”
Elsa lost her rancor. Mostly she felt weary. “There’s no end to it, is there? All the secrets. You’re no better than she is.”
“No different, perhaps. But I am better. She tried to keep us apart, Elsa. I’d call that nefarious.”
“How did the situation resolve?”
“With a cup of tea and a packet of tissues. The student confessed both to being bribed and her dream to open a bakery. I promised to write her parents in support of her chosen career path in exchange for her promise to retract her allegations. As far as the university is concerned, the student acted under her own malfeasance in retaliation to being forced into academia by her family.”
“How tidy. And ironic, given that your ideology is, in fact, both heretical and incendiary.”
“Depends on your perspective,” said Lijah.
Elsa walked away. There was, indeed, no end it. No end to the truths she’d been blissfully unaware of. No end to the secrets stacked up around her. No end to the tug of war she found herself in the middle of. No end. The words keep banging at the inside of her skull along with a deep, dull timpani of self-pity.
In the kitchen she considered the coffee machine, but she’d already had too much. Likewise, she rejected alcohol. So soon after breakfast, self-pity didn’t transition as readily into self-destruction. Maybe tonight, at home alone, she’d drink herself silly.
Not that it would help. She understood the choices Granny and Lijah had made. She didn’t approve of their choices; she hated, in fact, that they’d chosen for her. But from their perspective she saw the logic. Granny, to try to preempt Lijah’s corrupting influence. Lijah, to bide his time, challenge her thinking, but not her loyalty to family. If he’d been forthright at the time she’d have rejected him. Only over scones could see the terrorist as revolutionary. Given where she stood now, Granny had been right to worry.
Perspective… It all depended on perspective… Her perspective was her own…
Elsa reentered the room to find Lijah right where she’d left him.
“Lij, I’ve had a thought. What if reading ourselves is the only way to acquire some information? No, wait, hear me out. If I had read Granny directly, instead of myself, I’d have learned about her hidden powers, right, but not necessarily about her nefarious intent. I mean, she’s not evil, per se. More like, from her perspective, her purposes are bigger and take precedence. Reading yourself gives you both information and a point of view from which to draw conclusions.”
“Bias.”
“No. Not bias. At least not in the sense of prejudice. I’m thinking, point of view. Bias is a filter, point of view is a… a point, a place, a direction. I’m not being clear.” Elsa tapped her foot, gathering her thoughts. “Bias sits between you and the world. There’s no deduction, no discovery. If my bias is that red berries are poisonous, then every red berry I see is poisonous. I don’t question, or put it to the test, because I think I already know. Compare that to point of view, an interaction between you and the world. I see a red berry. Is it poisonous? A bird eats it to no ill effect. I taste it, and puke. From my point of view, it’s poisonous. Not to the bird. Possibly to no-one else. Reading ourselves admits possibility and applies perspective – the berries prove poisonous to me.”
“You’ve learned your grandmother is poisonous. I’m sorry.”
“No.” Elsa grimaced, tilted her head side to side. “Yes. To you, certainly. To me, maybe she’s just bitter? Regardless. I had a blind spot and now I don’t. You can take credit for introducing me to possibilities I hadn’t known were there – stripping the filter as it were. But what I learned came only from reading myself. Not you, not Granny, me. That’s mine, deduced from the interaction of information, an openness to possibility and my unique point of view.”
For the longest time, silence.
“Lij?”
“The caution stands. We will not repeat the exercise.”
He surprised her. Lijah consumed information like breathing. Whatever he learned in the mirror, he didn’t want to know. He was grasping at straws; spurious, incomplete, biased. Any explanation to counter what he read to be true.
“Tell me, Lijah. Just tell me. What did you read? Why are you so eager to deny it?”
“Death. Elsa. I read conspiracy and death.”