by Gish Jen
Probably I should have had them both summarily removed for trespassing. Instead I impulsively invited the woman to dinner in the main house. It was dinnertime, and how were they going to cook, if I was using the kitchen? So I offered.
— Thank you, said the woman, rousing herself.
Her eyes—an unsettlingly clear blue, now that she’d woken up—seemed to scan me for hidden intentions. She was like a child herself in that she did not hesitate to look and look and look if she liked.
— We would be happy to dine with you, she concluded.
Grandly, astoundingly, she rose.
— Did you mean just now? she asked, once she was fully risen. — Or did you mean later?
She took a step; it was like watching an Egyptian temple being wheeled off an opera set. She was lighter in motion than I would have expected; her feet, improbably small. Her child too seemed somehow out of scale beside her, like a miniature child.
— Just now, I answered, mentally reviewing the contents of a cooler I’d brought.
— Very well then, she said.
And so we proceeded, the three of us, to the main house.
She was, as Blondie could have told me, Mr. Buck’s great-granddaughter. Her name was Sue. Her daughter was Ashley.
— And who are you? she asked.
I explained as I cleared the big table and set the food out.
— I remember your wedding, said Sue. You had a little girl.
— Yes, I said. Like yours.
— This is my girl, she said then. Don’t get any ideas.
— Oh, no, I said, setting out some stuffed grape leaves in a pickle dish. — Of course she’s yours.
Ashley sat on her mother’s lap. From across the table, I could see all the better now how overgrown and broken her small nails were, and how beyond detangler her hair. Her eyes too—a beautiful blue, like her mother’s—were crusted in the corners, her lips and cheeks chapped. Her arms and neck and face were bumpy with bug bites and scabs; she scratched so constantly that my skin itched in sympathy.
We ate. Sue’s pace was not abnormal, only the placid way she kept at it, eating and eating and eating. Ashley was less restrained; she stuffed things in her mouth, cramming and cramming.
How many times we had had to coax our girls to eat! Singing to them as they ate, reading to them. Cutting the sandwiches into bird shapes and heart shapes, cooling off too-hot foods in the freezer.
In contrast, Ashley. And how strange the woman and child looked, both eating at once, one above the other, in a bilevel arrangement.
I obligingly put out all the food I had brought. Food from the cooler—fish, shrimp, chicken. Lentil salad, orzo salad, tofu salad. Pad thai. Carrots. Kale. I had not wanted to bring so much food; but what if the situation took a few days to straighten out? So had asked Blondie. There was a greasy spoon in town, but it was anti–heart-healthy. Hence: broccoli soup. Tomato soup. Carrot soup. Salsa. Yogurt. And from my grocery bags, bagels. Crackers. Bread. Veggie chips. Tortilla chips. Rice cakes. Nuts. Fruit. Though I had brought beer, I left that in the bag.
Outside the window, the lake shone and shone, innocence itself. Every so often the surface stippled, then calmed. Tied up to the dock—a surprise—the bicycle ferry bobbed gently. It was missing, interestingly, its handlebars.
Sue and I talked. About the weather, the motorboats, the harbormaster, the town. But also about the house, which Sue believed belonged to her.
— Don’t go getting ideas, she said.
I assured her I would not.
— My family owned this island before the Baileys, she told me. My family owned this island before it became a school. My great-grandfather built this cabin. He built all these cabins. We gave the island to the school. Not to the Baileys, to the school.
— The school sold it to the Baileys, I said. Or not even to the Baileys, right? To my wife’s grandparents, who passed it on to my wife’s mother, who married a Bailey.
— Now you are living here.
— Just visiting, I said.
— You may, she said. So long as you don’t go getting ideas.
I passed her some veggie chips.
Across the way, the setting sun bisected the hills—the top half bright with sun, the bottom dark with shadow.
— We are going to take it back, she said.
— How very interesting, I said.
She lowered her protuberant brow.
— Not that I’m getting ideas, I said.
— Don’t be fresh, she said.
Ashley, finally full, wriggled off her mommy’s lap. Hovering by the edge of the table, she picked up a bagel and looked at me through the hole. I waved, then picked up a bagel too, and squinted through it. She smiled and threw her monocle on the floor, where upon I threw mine on the floor, like the monkeys in Caps for Sale—a book I hoped someone would someday read to her. She giggled.
— You’re getting ideas, said Sue.
— And here I’m not even a Bailey, I said.
— I can see that, she said. Don’t be obvious.
— I don’t know if it’s so obvious, I said. I could be a Bailey. I mean, someone who looked like me could.
— Don’t go getting ideas, she said.
The sun began to go down; the lake turned orange-pink. Rummaging for some candles, I asked Sue how long she had been living in the library.
— Forever, she said, pointing out the drawer with the matches.
And how long was she planning on staying?
— Forever, she said. This is our home.
— Not to be fresh, I said. But I believe the Baileys think this their home.
— They may think what they like, she said.
— Of course, I said.
That seemed the most acceptable thing I had said so far.
— This isn’t a great place for a child, I said, lighting a candle.
— Where do you live when you don’t live in the library?
— Elsewhere, she said. Don’t be stupid.
— Of course, I said.
I tried to ascertain whether she had a job, or health insurance, or a partner. Zero for three.
— Does Ashley have a doctor? I asked.
— Everything would be fine, said Sue suddenly, if we could stay here.
— Of course, I said.
— May I smoke?
— Of course, I said again, though the Baileys hated smoke and did not allow smoking indoors.
Sue produced a pack of Marlboros. Ashley and I were eating apples, crunching loudly at each other.
— I’ll make you a deal, I said. You can work as our caretaker if you bring your child into the clinic in town. I’ll arrange everything.
— Then we can stay here, she said.
— You should be seeing someone too, I said. Are there social workers up here?
— Don’t be ridiculous, she said.
Ashley cuddled in her lap, sleepy; I produced a bowl for an ashtray, half afraid Sue was going to drop burning ash on her child’s face. I offered her and Ashley beds in the main cabin too, but she said I was welcome to use them.
— I just had a baby myself, I said as she left. — That is, my wife did. Just have a baby. His name is Ellison Bailey Wong.
— Of course, she said.
— He’s so beautiful, I said. You should see how beautiful.
She threw her cigarette butt onto the ground outside the door when she left. The ground in that spot was perennially damp, as she maybe knew; condensation collected under the shingles in that corner. Still, when she turned the corner, I stomped on the butt to put it out.
BLONDIE / Carnegie did call the department of social services, and the local clinic, and the police when he got back. But by that time Sue and her child had left.
Carnegie began using the alarm again.
No one was breaking in anymore.
CARNEGIE / Now it was almost summer. Having survived the trial by white of winter, and the trial by brown of mud season, Lan and Jeb
were now enduring the trial by blackflies and Sue; for Sue was back. By their account, she was more solidly of this world than when I made her surreal acquaintance. Her hair was cut, and her clothes clean, and she seemed largely awake. Still, they were more afraid of her than they were of the bear family that regularly outwitted even their most ingenious garbage enclosures.
— The bears are not crazy, they said. Sue is crazy.
LAN / One day when we were sleeping Sue walked right into the house. That was how we first realized there even was such a person. That was how we first realized that she was living in the library, right next door to us. Jian guai bu guai, Jiabao told me—Do not be afraid of the strange. Still, I was scared.
CARNEGIE / We told Lan and Jeb not to kick her out. We told them that Sue was harmless, that she had a daughter. That if anything they might try to establish a relationship with Sue, so we could get her and Ashley some help. Lan said all right, but in a few days called again and said that there was no daughter.
— The daughter might come back, we told her. Keep an eye out. Sue is harmless.
LAN / After that we locked the door, but sometimes she came and stood outside the window. Of course we slept with the windows closed. Still we could hear her saying, This is my home. This is my home. We drew the curtains, but still could see her silhouette. And through those old windows, we could hear her. A man had come, she said. A man had brought her heavenly food, and told her to take care of this island. You are its caretaker, he told her. To you is given the care of all its buildings and all its plants, for as long as you walk on its ground. Or so she claimed. Sometimes she claimed too, My family owned this island. My family owned this island before it became a school. My family built the buildings that sit on this land. My family gave the island to the school. No one ever thought the school would sell it. To a family that did not even come! Who gave it away to foreigners! Where did they go getting such ideas? She said her great-grandfather had come to her in a dream. Check the contract, he said. The contract says we give this island to the school, a place for children to learn. If it is no longer a school, we take it back.
Now she chanted outside our window.
— We take it back, she said. Check the contract. We take it back.
— What contract? Jiabao said one night. He pulled aside the curtains and opened the window. I tried to stop him, but could not. He said: — If there is a contract you should Xerox a copy for everyone to see.
She did not seem surprised that he had opened the window and was talking to her. She just looked at him and said: — You are not even a Bailey.
— The Baileys sent us here, said Jiabao. This is their house and we are their guests. We plan to buy this house from them one day.
— Don’t go getting ideas, she said.
CARNEGIE / That was news to me. Jeb and Lan thinking to buy the house? But when I asked Blondie, she said she had indeed said they might. That she would talk it over with her father, yes. Seeing as she didn’t feel we could just up and sell it, even if it did belong to us.
— Most certainly not, I said.
LAN / After a while we weren’t so afraid. We felt sorry for Sue, especially when we found out her child had been taken away by the government. But why didn’t she find a way to help herself? Like Jiabao and me. Have you never heard of bootstraps? Jiabao asked her. We told her if she worked hard, she could have her child back. If she worked hard, she and her child could have a house, and food, and new clothes. Jiabao said she was mentally ill, but I thought she was lazy. I told her how Jiabao and I had winterized the main house with our own two hands. I explained to her how warm we were after we put the insulation in. We told her that any night she felt cold, she was welcome to stay with us. Because even in early summer, it could still be quite cold at night. Sometimes we saw frost on the ferns in the morning.
But Sue refused our offer, just as she refused, later, a job in the kitchen.
—Don’t be ridiculous, she said. How can I hold a job?
She was waiting, she said, for her daughter to come back.
Then the warm weather came, and with it, no daughter, but many friends.
Not only did people use the beach around the bend, they used the beach right in front of the house. And they stared at us, brazenly. Me especially, because I was a woman. Every time I stepped outside the house people stared and stared. As if I was on their property. Sometimes I hid behind the big pine tree that grew right beside the house. Of course, that just made people laugh. I was glad there were so many bugs; for a while, when the sun went down, the bugs drove the people away.
But when it got hotter, the people ignored the bugs.
By July there were more and more people. They began to make campfires in the evening, so they could have dinner on the beach. They liked to barbecue things. We could smell the barbecue from the house. Also the smoke, people said, drove the bugs away. Sometimes it seemed they were never going to leave at all. Jiabao and I could come home from the store at eleven at night and still find people sitting around their beach fires.
— That’s dangerous, I told them. You are too close to those willow trees. Those pine needles too are very dry.
But they just laughed.
It seemed that there were more fires all the time, and closer to the house too. Sometimes we would look out and feel as if we were si mian chu ge—hearing Chu songs on four sides. It was as if we were being held captive in the camp of a barbarian army.
We felt we could not leave our house. How endless, already, the summer seemed!
BLONDIE / I wished they had called us.
LAN / We did not think Carnegie and Blondie could help us anymore. Too busy with the baby, we thought. So we called the police. And when the police didn’t come we went to the mayor, who shook his head but then explained he was only the mayor. He said we should call the police.
CARNEGIE / If only the police did not themselves use the beach for their annual All You Can Eat pancake fund-raiser.
BLONDIE / The locals called it Sue’s Beach. They called the island Buck’s Island, and the beach, Sue’s Beach.
LAN / Sometimes Jiabao would yell at the intruders from the screened porch overlooking the best strip of beach. Sometimes he yelled: — Get off this property! Go away!
Sometimes he yelled: — This is not your beach!
One day he stormed out of the porch and down the front steps. I begged him to please stop, to please come back in.
— Ignore them, I said, in Shandongnese. Better to do nothing than to overdo.
But he didn’t listen.
Of course, the people answered: — Fuck you. This ain’t your beach either.
One of them was particularly loud, a big man with tattoos all over his body. Big ears too, like the Buddha. He walked over with a towel around his neck.
BLONDIE / Billy.
LAN / I begged Jiabao once more to come inside.
— Please, I said. I’ll rip up my green card. Please.
I said that because sometimes he believed I had married him to get a green card. Sometimes he believed I was going to divorce him as soon as I could say we had been married for two years, and have the conditions on my green card removed. It made him crazy, made him do crazy things.
— Come back in, I said.
— This beach is the town beach, said the tattoo man. It belonged to Sue’s family originally, and now she’s taken it back and given it to the town.
— This beach, said Jiabao, belongs to the Bailey family. According to the law. And America is a land ruled by law.
— Oh yeah? And what does that have to do with you?
— They gave it to us to live here.
— Oh yeah?
— Of course, we plan to one day buy it from them.
— Fucking foreigners, said somebody. Fucking foreigners are going to own our beach.
— Can you fucking believe it? said some other people. Fucking foreigners.
Most people went back to sunbathing then. They rolled over on
their towels and went back to sleeping or smoking or talking or drinking. Some people went in the water, or played with their kids. There were a lot of rafts in the water. People liked those rafts you could lie on, especially the ones with cup holders for their beer. Only a few people sat up. Still the tattoo man stood there.
— This is not your beach, said Jiabao. This is the Bailey family’s beach.
— This beach belongs to the earth, and the earth belongs to no man, said the tattoo man.
— You heard him, said some of the people watching. The tattoo man put up his hand, meaning ‘quiet.’ Then he went on: — Now, reasonably speaking, you must admit there is something wrong with the one beach on the whole lake, the one beach in the whole town, belonging to a family who doesn’t even come for the weekend. Who has their house all opened up but then decides they’re not sure if it’s worth the drive to come lie on their beach. You must admit there’s something wrong with their giving it to foreigners to use when the people who live here have no beach whatsoever. And you must admit there’s something wrong with its being offered to foreigners to buy without one person in town even knowing it’s for sale. Do you follow my drift?
— No, said Jiabao.
— It is plain unnatural, said the tattoo man. Because like I said, the earth belongs to no man.
— I thought you said it belongs to Sue.
— Sue’s family gave it to the children of the town. They never meant for it to belong to foreigners, said somebody else.
— Nobody, nobody ever intended it to belong to fucking foreigners, said a third person. That’s clear. The earth or the Bucks either.
— It was perhaps rude and unnatural of the Baileys not to think more of their neighbors from the beginning, said Jiabao. Perhaps there were laws beyond the law they might have considered. As for the earth, however, I must tell you: I do not believe the earth has an opinion.
At this, a boy on the beach laughed: — How could the earth have an opinion?
Others shushed him.
— Further, said Jiabao, if the earth does have an opinion, then no one can say, This piece of land is mine. No one at all. Neither the Baileys, nor anyone else. Does anyone here own land?