I found that speaking aloud actually helped me to concentrate. It kept me focused on what I was doing, rather than letting my mind wander through possibilities. I went on.
“The carpet doesn’t seem to have anything hidden in it, so I’m shifting to the wall. Amazing the variations available in even an apparently monotone scheme. The least bit of color gets picked up and becomes the focal point for the design. Interesting.
“Trying the closet door. Amazing. The natural irregularities in the wood makes it look like a parquet pattern. That hint of gold from the bedspread becomes an intersticial note.”
Domingo’s voice spoke, so close that I jumped. “Do you see anything different. Anything you can’t account for?”
I moved the teleidoscope around, occasionally checking to make sure my memory of what was there and what was not was correct. Things were distorted, sometimes almost beyond recognition, but I never found anything I couldn’t find the original for somewhere in the room.
“Try another teleidoscope,” Domingo suggested, “one you haven’t looked through for a while.”
I agreed readily, lifting one from the end of the row that I was pretty sure I hadn’t looked through since my initial day of discovery. Except for the patterns being varied from the one I had been using—this one seemed to be a four mirror design—I found nothing new.
Even when I fell quiet and tried to let my mind slip into the cracks between the areas of the mandala figures, I didn’t see anything unusual. Nor did I see anything other than the expected mandala patterns when I tried several others. Eventually, my head began to ache a little, and I set the teleidoscope aside.
“Maybe you didn’t see anything unusual,” Domingo suggested, “because there was nothing unusual to see. Remember, Colette took the teleidoscope away from Phineas House to use it—and you don’t remember her roaming around the House peering through one, do you?”
I giggled at the idea, and some of my headache eased. Tension , I thought. I’m trying too hard.
“No. You’re right. She didn’t, at least that I remember. Of course, there was a lot of time she spent away from me.”
“Still,” Domingo persisted. “That the teleidoscopes would have been most useful away from the House makes sense in a way. You told me that you think both the teleidoscopes and the kaleidoscopes are in some way related to Colette’s obsession with mirrors, right?”
“Right.” I set the teleidoscope down and tried to join into Domingo’s reasoning, finding enthusiasm as I did so. “And from what I can tell—at least in folklore—images in mirrors, other types of reflections, and shadows are all treated similarly—as versions of reality, tantalizing because they are alike yet not alike.”
“Good,” Domingo said. “Now, this liminal space, it exists between, right?”
“Right.”
“Between anything?”
I nodded. “It’s the ‘between’ in and of itself that’s important It can be a matter of spirit—like the state of an initiate between childhood and adulthood, but it can be physical, too. Thresholds are liminal. Windowsills are. Ladders, too. Certain types of terrain. I think mirrors create liminal space almost automatically. I keep think of Alice Through the Looking Glass, where the looking glass was a door to Wonderland.”
“So,” Domingo said eagerly. “Colette filled this house with mirrors—can we assume this was her doing?”
“Why not?” I agreed. “I should look to find some old photos for confirmation, but it makes sense.”
“Colette filled the House with mirrors, creating perhaps, a great deal of liminal space, but when she went away from Phineas House she could not do this, so she used the teleidoscope.”
“Possible,” I said, “but I don’t think that could be all of it. There’s something else about mirrors, a trait they don’t share with shadows.”
“Oh?”
“Mirrors are associated with divination, with scrying … with fortunetelling … .”
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” Domingo chanted.
“Exactly my first thought,” I agreed. “But when you start looking in folklore compendiums, it’s amazing how many types of fortunetelling or clairvoyance rely on reflections. Pools of water are really popular, but so are polished shields, bowls of blood, or oil.”
I pointed to the righthand drawer again. “See that line of kaleidoscopes, where each one has a different planetary symbol on the case? I did some checking and, although I can’t be sure without taking them apart, I think they’re weird versions of the seven fortunetelling mirrors mentioned in cabalistic magic.”
Domingo looking interested, but he shook himself away from temptation. “You must tell me more, maybe quite soon, but for now I will take your word on this. So you think that Colette was using the mirrors for divination rather than something to do with liminal space?”
“I think,” I said, shaping my thought as I spoke, “that she was doing both. Have you ever really thought about Phineas House?”
“All the time,” Domingo said simply. “Until recently, when I had a new distraction.”
Was he flirting with me? As with cabalistic magic, I didn’t think this was the time to explore that matter.
“Well, I think that Phineas House is somehow designed to exploit properties of liminal space. Think about it It’s got rooms going off at odd angles, thresholds all over the place, windows galore. Moreover, think about where it’s built. Las Vegas, New Mexico, is set in liminal space itself. It’s where the mountains meet the plains. It has had, for heaven’s sake, two separate governments within a few miles of each other. It has two major languages: Spanish and English. Two populations that won’t blend. It has a madhouse: sanity and insanity. There’s got to be more, but I can’t believe it’s coincidence. From what Paula Angel said to me, my ancestors had a reputation as sorcerers. I think they chose this place because it was conducive to whatever form of magic it is that they do.”
“Interesting,” Domingo said. “There are other dualities you haven’t mentioned. One is greatly related to another thing you have mentioned … water. Las Vegas has a very confused relationship with water—even for the American Southwest, which is notoriously confused.”
“Child of a rainless year,” I said aloud.
“What?”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you in a moment. Tell me about Las Vegas and water.”
“Drought and flood,” he said simply. “We have had both, and not after the fashion of dry spells and flash floods, but of crippling droughts and destructive floods. But it goes beyond this—just in case you think I exaggerate. Can you believe that Las Vegas once tried to establish a water carnival?”
“Here? Where rainfall is so unpredictable?”
“Here,” Domingo affirmed. “I told you a little about the Hermit of Hermit Peak when we were driving. Did I mention that one of his miracles was that he was said to have created a spring?”
I shook my head. “Then there are the hot springs, too. So much in this area has been done because of those springs being here.”
Domingo nodded. “They are a duality in themselves—natural water is usually cold. This is hot, bringing the core of the earth to the surface. Would you be surprised to learn that not far from the hot springs is a pond where ice was once harvested?”
“I see what you mean,” I agreed, rubbing my temples. “Dualities with water.”
“Now, what was that you said about ‘child of a rainless year’?”
“It was something my mother used to say,” I replied. “She claimed there was no rain the year she carried me, the year I was born. Sometimes she called me that—child of a rainless year. It was as if she was proud of it, but she never told me why.”
“Very strange,” Domingo agreed. He looked as if he was about to say something, then he looked more closely at me. “Mira, you look very, very tired. I think all of this—not to mention the adrenaline rush from nearly falling off a ladder—has worn you out. Are we done with your experiment?”
“For tonight, I think so,” I said, realizing he was right. I felt nearly too tired to reassemble the secret compartments. I did anyhow. I felt safer when I did.
I walked Domingo downstairs, even though what I really wanted was to tell him to see himself out so I could collapse into bed. As we walked through the kitchen, the coffeepot had been washed, the crumbs from dessert wiped away. The kitchen was spotless.
Domingo looked right to left, taking it all in. His gaze when his eyes met mine held wonder and just the tiniest bit of healthy fear.
“Silent women,” he said. “I see. Good night, Mira. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Domingo. Thanks for everything.”
He paused, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but he must have decided a gentleman did not take liberties on an overwrought and exhausted woman. Or maybe it was my imagination.
Instead, he gave me a little bow of his head, whistled for Blanco, and strolled off into the late-summer darkness.
20
Color is emptiness, emptiness is color. Color is not emptiness, emptiness is not color.
—Sarah Rossbach and Lin Yun,
Living Color
INSIDE THE LINES
The next morning over breakfast, I tried to apologize.
“I’m sorry I flaked out on you,” I said. “It wasn’t until I was turning out the light that I realized it was only nine-thirty.”
“You needed to rest, Mira,” Domingo said. “I think these things take more out of you than you realize—or maybe than you admit. Perhaps you should take a day or two to rest. Go to Albuquerque and visit your friend Hannah, maybe.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” I teased. “Maybe so I won’t be here to smear buckets of paint down the sides of the House? Seems to me that I managed to set us back from whatever progress having the crew work Saturday might have managed.”
This morning, even with the quick clean-up the crew had done, it did look as if some gigantic bird had tried to shit down the side of Phineas House.
Domingo shook his head. “Never, Mira. If you wish to play pigeon on your own house, who am I to complain?”
“You’re sweet,” I said. “In all honesty, I want to kick myself around the block. Why shouldn’t you? But, Domingo, I don’t want to go anywhere. I have a sense of urgency. Maybe it’s the fact that the monsoons never came and now it looks like that little bit of rain we had was just a taunt.”
“Child of a rainless year? Mira, you aren’t responsible. The southwest always has periods of drought. Ask any archeologist. And it rained when you were a child. I know I’d remember if nine years passed without rain.”
“Still,” I said stubbornly. “It’s a feeling, and except for a few words from a ghost and Aunt May’s journals, feelings are about all I have to go on. I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t.” Domingo sipped his coffee, staring out over the roses. “Do you plan to look at those kaleidoscopes again?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“May I be with you when you do? I think it would be a good idea if you had someone with you. I’ve been thinking about stories I’ve heard about crystal balls and magic mirrors. They aren’t always safe. The more I think about them, the basic teleidoscope reminds me of some sort of weird crystal ball.”
“You’ve watched too many horror movies,” I said, trying to be brave. “But, well, why not? Last night’s bull session really helped me put things together.”
“Maybe not in the right order,” Domingo agreed, “but certainly we made a pattern from what we had. It may not be all the right pattern. We may be missing a key piece, but still, there is something.”
“Then this evening shall we look at the kaleidoscopes?”
“This evening or sooner,” Domingo said. “You forget. Today is Sunday. No painting today.”
“I had forgotten,” I said. “That’s what not having a job does to you. Makes you lose track of the days of the week. What are you doing here? We don’t usually have coffee on weekends.”
Domingo grinned. “I saw you when you went to bed, Mira. I thought you might forget, and decided to take my chance.”
“For a free cup of coffee,” I pretended to grouse. Hoping he’d say more. He only smiled.
“Have it your way then. I wanted to see what kind of coffee spirit women make. Did they make this?”
I stared at the cup in my hand. “You know, I think they did! I was too tired to set up the coffee last night, and this morning I turned on the machine without thinking. This is a first.”
“They anticipate your needs,” Domingo said. “Or maybe they didn’t want you to break the carafe by turning the heat on under it while it was empty. You did say they were House proud.”
“I did.” I stared at my coffee cup, then decided to finish the contents. It was at least as good as what I made, probably better.
“I don’t think I’m quite ready to deal with the kaleidoscopes right now,” I admitted. “Why don’t we do something dull? Walk around the yard. You can tell me what you’re planning for the State Fair.”
“That might be a good idea,” Domingo said.
He cocked his head to one side, birdlike, listening. I listened too, and realized that I could hear cars on our quiet dead-end street.
“Your friend Chilton’s article is bringing visitors,” Domingo said. “It must be a slow day for news. Phineas House is featured in a little box on the front page, and then the full article is inside. We should put a sign on the gate, I think, or you will be running to the door all day.”
I lettered two polite notes, one in English, one in Spanish, on a couple pieces of poster board. They stated that this was indeed Phineas House, that it was a private house, and there were no tours. People were invited to take pictures from outside of the fence, and have a nice day. Domingo hung them on the fence.
This stopped most of the potential visitors, but it was amazing how many still came in and knocked at the door. Finally, Domingo chained the gate shut, and, as the fence was waist-high, that stopped the visitors. The flow tapered off by late afternoon. Domingo’s sister, Evelina called to say she’d seen the article, and wasn’t that exciting, and did her brother and I want to come over for dinner?
We did, leaving Blanco to protect the yard from intruders. Later, when we were on our way home, I turned to Domingo.
“I think I’m ready now. I think I can handle looking at the kaleidoscopes.”
“Bueno,” he said, and his foot got heavy on the gas peddle. “I’m with you.”
We went upstairs to Colette’s room side by side on the front staircase where—just possibly—my grandfather had been pushed to his death by his own daughter, or worse, by a house his daughter controlled.
I tried hard not to think about this aspect of Phineas House. I was coming to love the place. In the months that had passed it was subtly becoming mine, not Colette’s, and I didn’t want to consider what the House might have done under my mother’s rule.
It’s a little like having a boyfriend you knew had a steady or ex-wife he was crazy about and wondering what he did with her. The whole situation just feels twisted.
I gave Domingo a sidelong look, remembering how I’d thought his relationship with the House was a little like a love affair.
So, great, I thought. You have a thing for a guy—admit it, Mira, you do—you have a thing for a guy who you think might have a thing for your house. You can’t help wondering, “Is he doing this because he’s my friend or because I’m Phineas House’s owner?” If he is flirting with me—and a couple of times I’ve been almost sure he was—then is he flirting with me because I’m me or because I’m a single, middle-aged woman who happens to own the House he’s crazy about, and if he hooks me, he’ll finally be a co-owner. Is New Mexico a community-property state? I bet it is. Well, before I sign any marriage certificate, I’ll want a pre-nup making sure Domingo can’t take Phineas House if we split.
I was unlocking the door to C
olette’s room as these thoughts spilled through my head, and I wondered if she had ever had similar thoughts. In her time it was even harder for a woman to keep property—kids, she could have, but the valuable stuff, well, the courts seemed to figure a man was better at handling money and stocks and all that. Maybe that was why Colette had so many lovers. She wouldn’t let anyone get their hooks into her—into the House.
So who was my father, then? A one-night stand somewhere? Somehow, I just don’t think so. Colette was too calculating for that. If I’m sure of anything, I’m sure she knew precisely who my father was.
I walked across the room and started taking things out of the right-hand drawer where the kaleidoscopes were stored. Domingo reached to help me, and I snapped at him.
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