Simon's Mansion

by William Poe

  “My head hurts already,” Thad said, holding his palms against both temples. “As a boy in Idaho, my parents railed about the Campbellites. If you asked one of them, they’d tell you they belonged to the only true Christian faith and that my atheist parents were blaspheming apostates.”

  “Listen to you.” Simon smiled. “Blaspheming apostates. Who knew you were such a theologian?”

  “Theologian! Never in a million years. It’s just that I heard that kind of stuff when I was a kid. Apostate means believing in the wrong things, doesn’t it?”

  “I didn’t mean to make fun of you, Thad. You said it perfectly—believing the wrong things. Christians talk about grace and a lot of noble ideas, but in the end, they fall back on the exactitude of one’s beliefs. What a person believes matters more to them than the way someone behaves—it divides Catholics from Orthodox, Baptists from Methodists, and subdivides people within those churches. Everyone tells everyone else they’re going to hell. It is going to be a crowded place, that hell of theirs!”

  Thad sat on the edge of the bed, paying more attention than usual to Simon’s philosophizing. “I hate this,” he said solemnly. “Vivian would be so sad if she thought her family couldn’t stand each other long enough to mourn her death. When I was alone with her at the mansion, while you were in classes or out in the barn painting, she never once asked what I believed or if I went to church or anything like that. She worried whether she could ask me to stake the goat around the yard, knowing I didn’t like to do it. The Bible wasn’t the reason she cared about people; she cared about people because she understood how they felt.”

  “You make Vivian sound like a saint. Trust me, she had her failings.”

  “The way she treated me is what I’ll remember, though. Your sister and brother-in-law use their beliefs to justify their bad feelings toward people. Vivian wasn’t like that. She tried to be kind, even if she wasn’t perfect.”

  “Lenny mistreated her from the moment they were married,” Simon said. “Sometimes I wished she had fought back, but I guess putting up with Lenny made her an even more compassionate person.”

  “It’s strange, but going through that ordeal with Emilio, David, and Irene changed my viewpoint on a lot of things, and before working for Howard, I never realized how porn stars separate their emotions from their sex lives—and how sad that makes them. You and I don’t just have sex, we make love. Oh my God, I sound so old fashioned!”

  Simon and Thad lay on the bed beside each other. The chandelier threw rainbows across the ceiling and walls as dangling crystals caught the broken rays of sun streaming through the wisteria and the opaque glass of the aging window.

  “Sometimes, when I look at that gaudy thing,” Simon commented, pointing at the ceiling, “I wonder what it’s seen over the years.”

  Thad rose from the bed and opened a dresser drawer, lifting a pile of underwear under which he had seen Simon place the copy of El Amigo Rico. He brought it to the bed and showed Simon an image on the back, a young man on the receiving end of anal sex. “That guy shot heroin right after the director took this picture.”

  “What are trying to tell me, Thad?”

  “That these videos murder people’s souls.” He pointed again to the young man. “This is Esteban. He kept telling me he wanted to be in adult films because it made him feel in control. Then I’d watch him shoot drugs after the filming stopped. Doing porn didn’t make him strong; it killed his emotions, just like heroin. Emilio’s chauffeur started out making porn, then became a bodyguard and a hitman if they asked him to knock off someone.”

  “Hitman?”

  “He’s the guy that took the Serbian boys out to sea. He’d come back; they wouldn’t.”

  Simon held Thad’s hand as he came back to bed.

  “That video will be around a long time,” Thad cried. “Men will jerk off looking at it—looking at me! They won’t know I was forced to do it. They won’t know about my love for you!”

  “Can this be the same Thad who left when I was sick with hepatitis?” Simon immediately regretted his statement. “That was cruel, Thad. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, but you’re right, I was a dick. I didn’t realize how I felt about you until after we split up, and then I didn’t think you’d take me back. When I brought your things to the mansion from the Silverlake house, I never thought we’d stay together.”

  “I wish I could burn every copy of El Amigo Rico. But I guess only gay guys will see it—and they’re not going to judge you.”

  “You’d be surprised who watches those videos,” Thad sighed.

  “Look at it this way—it adds to your mystique. And if my friends see the video, they’ll be jealous.”

  “I am a stud,” Thad said, laughing mischievously.

  “My blond hunk of burning love!”

  “Kiss me, Simon.”

  “All night, my love.”

  The next day, before leaving for Magnolia, Simon called Arthur to catch up on the classes he had missed. Arthur, always current on gossip, reported that Blaine had gone from the rehab center to a halfway house. After returning from Vivian’s funeral, Simon planned to visit—taking Thad along with him.

  Connie suggested that Simon and Thad join Derek, Cheryl, and Victoria on the ride, but Simon chose to be alone with Thad in the Pontiac.

  “Your uncle Jared sound like a jerk,” Thad said after Simon recounted the events of the family reunion he had attended with Vivian.

  “Uncle Jared wasn’t so bad when I knew him as a boy. His sons and I used to play together whenever we visited my grandmother. I even stayed in Magnolia during the summer a few times. I can still smell the pine needles that kept the underbrush from growing in the woods but made them seem like a carpeted wonderland—so different from the swamps around Sibley. My cousins and I fished with bamboo poles and caught box turtles that crossed the roads early in the morning. I’m sure Uncle Jared was just as narrow minded back then, but I never crossed him, so he had no reason to show his cruel side. I didn’t start challenging people’s beliefs until high school. By then, we rarely visited Magnolia, and the family there didn’t come to Sibley, not even when Mandy died. I’m sure there’s history that I don’t know about. Maybe they objected to Aunt Opal—the word heathen comes to mind when I recall family conversations, but as a little boy, it didn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Will Vivian’s service be in a church?”

  “That’s why we had to dress up in suits. I wouldn’t have had us bother for a graveside ceremony.” Simon stuck a finger in the neck of his shirt to free his Adam’s apple, then checked his watch. “We’re cutting it close timewise. I’ve only been to their Baptist church once, when an aunt of Vivian’s died. Funny, I don’t remember Lenny ever going to Magnolia.”

  “We just did graveside services in Idaho—family and friends standing around the grave, each paying their respects. Nothing religious or anything.”

  “Arkansans are big on church funerals. Vivian would have preferred a graveside service, but after we die, it’s all about what the living want, isn’t it?”

  Derek led the way to the church once the two cars arrived in Magnolia. They parked at the end of a row of cars on a patch of gravel where the asphalt-paved lot ended. Simon pulled alongside, noting the change from the smooth surface to the crunching sound of rocks beneath the tires.

  As Derek, Connie, Cheryl, and Victoria entered the church, Simon and Thad got out of the car, straightened each other’s ties, and shook their legs to straighten out their slacks—delay tactics, since neither wanted to go inside. Simon looked in the rearview mirror on the driver’s side door. “I wish I had brought a camera. Who knows when we’ll dress in suits again? We make such a handsome couple.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t bring a camera! I don’t ever want to see a picture of me in a suit.”

  They walked toward the church and fell under the shadow of its tall steeple as they climbed the steps toward massive bronze doors.

  “Do v
ampires feel this sick about entering a church?” Simon joked.

  Thad brashly planted a last-minute kiss on Simon’s cheek. “Let’s just get it done, for Vivian.”

  Simon pushed open the heavy door. Slowly his eyes acclimated to the mustiness of the dim sanctuary. The auditorium was not large, making it easy to see past the pews. Between volumes of white chrysanthemums crowding the casket, made bright by a track light, heavy cosmetics made Vivian’s face glow with the waxy sheen of a mannequin.

  “Close that fucking casket!” Simon screamed before he could stop himself.

  “Let’s go, Simon,” Thad urged. “You paid your respects at the nursing home. Vivian knows that.”

  Derek glared at Simon over his shoulder. Connie trembled. Victoria looked confused. Cheryl knew of Vivian’s wish not to have an open casket but had not protested when she realized what the family had done. Derek raced toward Simon and Thad, but not before Uncle Jared, the tails of his suitcoat flaying to the side as he rushed forward, came face to face with Simon.

  “How dare you blaspheme in the house of God,” Uncle Jared yelled. He stood in the frame of the church door with Simon just beyond the threshold.

  “And how dare you disrespect Vivian’s wishes,” Simon shot back. “She never wanted to be seen like that.”

  The arteries on Uncle Jared’s neck throbbed as he clenched his fists, clearly itching to pound Simon into the ground, and his bloodshot eyes fixed on Thad in a deadly stare. “Remove your ungodly selves from this property. I curse you in the name of Jesus Christ. Get thee behind me, Satan!” Uncle Jared took a small Bible from his inside coat pocket and held it to the sky as if summoning God’s wrath before thrusting the book at Simon.

  Simon slapped away Uncle Jared’s hand with such force that the Bible flew into one of the evergreen trees lining the steps, slipped through the limbs, and landed on the ground.

  Half a dozen relatives, many of whom Simon knew only by sight, filed from the church. Simon felt a tug and realized it was Thad, urging him toward the Pontiac.

  “Let’s go, Simon. Vivian would not want this.”

  “But Thad!” Simon cried. “Vivian’s body is in there, exposed to the world, and damn it, Derek and Connie just sat there like it didn’t matter.”

  “I know,” Thad consoled, placing his hand on Simon’s forearm. “I know. But more than the open casket, Vivian would never want her funeral to be a source of conflict.”

  Derek and Connie, followed by Cheryl, with Victoria close behind, rushed down the steps between the crowd of relatives and approached Simon and Thad.

  “Let’s go home, Simon,” Derek said in a controlled voice. “I heard what Thad said to you, and he’s exactly right.” Derek turned to Uncle Jared. “Forgive Simon, but he’s right. You knew Vivian’s wishes.”

  Uncle Jared pointed an accusing finger at Simon and then at Thad. “Don’t you think I know what my sister really wanted? Viewing the deceased is our church’s tradition.”

  “This is a day to respect Vivian,” Derek said firmly. “She told us many times she didn’t want people to see her in death.”

  “Vivian was foolish. This is a day to acknowledge the corruption of flesh and praise the inheritance of God’s kingdom.”

  Uncle Jared’s elder sons, whom Simon had played with as a boy, echoed their father, one adding venomously, “The Powells are devil people! You put ideas in her mind.”

  Simon and Thad managed to slip away, secure within the protection of the Pontiac. The youngest among his cousins pummeled the cars with gravel, and the adults watched without scolding them.

  Simon couldn’t shake the image of Vivian’s body, her face so white and pasty under the garish spotlight. He wanted to turn around, rush into the church, and slam the casket lid shut, but, outnumbered by the rabid clan, he knew he’d never get that far.

  “If only I could drive this old car through the front doors of that damned church,” Simon fantasized aloud.

  “Please don’t,” Thad pleaded.

  “It’s as though we were in a Frankenstein movie, pursued by villagers.”

  “Pretty much,” Thad agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Simon did his best to spray gravel on the crowd, who continued to stone them as he floored the accelerator and sped away.

  Derek had driven from the parking lot first and was idling the car at the street, waiting for Simon to proceed around him after he motioned through the driver’s side window. The two vehicles escaped the city limits and reached a heavily wooded stretch of highway after crossing the county bridge at Franklin Creek. Derek flashed his headlights so Simon would pull over.

  “Let’s drive to the mansion,” Derek suggested as Simon approached. “We should be together and share memories. We’ll have our own memorial.”

  “That sounds nice, Derek. I know we’ve had differences over the years, but thank you for standing up for Thad and me.”

  “We all have much to learn about the will of God. I knew what Vivian wanted, but I didn’t have your boldness to speak up.”

  “Okay, Derek.” Simon nodded. The language of religion made Simon uncomfortable, but after the events of the day, he tried to find more acceptance of Derek than he’d been willing to consider in the past.

  For the remainder of the drive, Simon stayed a car length behind. As darkness fell, the headlights of both cars cast cones of brightness onto the stands of oak along the roadside, which transitioned as they neared Sibley, first to long-needle pine and then to a mix of sweet gum, elm, and catalpa.

  Turning off the main highway onto the narrow road leading to the mansion, the Mercury and the Pontiac struggled to find enough shoulder to pull over as fire trucks came roaring from behind. Narrow streets had always posed a problem in the area, making navigation difficult for emergency vehicles trying to reach the fire lanes carved into forests prone to catching fire from a lightning strike or, more often, a cigarette butt casually thrown out a car window. The road became exceptionally narrow in the vicinity of the mansion as it wound along the top of a levee built to prevent flooding from the Saline River.

  About a half mile from the mansion, Thad spoke up. “Oh my God, Simon, do you see that glow above the trees? The clouds are lit up pink.”

  Simon leaned forward and stared at the sky. Derek slowed so quickly that Simon almost rear-ended his car. In the distance, crimson lights from what must have been a dozen fire trucks flashed like a psychedelic aurora. That many trucks would include some from Little Rock, adding to squadrons from Benton.

  Derek pulled off the road behind the truck farthest from the blaze and leaped from the car. Connie raced forward to join him. Simon found a place to pull over. Thad jumped out before the car had stopped. Simon slumped over the steering wheel.

  Connie and Thad spoke to a man who, according to the identifying label on his coat, was the fire chief. Thad stood transfixed beside Connie as Simon made his way toward them. Connie held out her arms to take Simon into an embrace. Cheryl and Victoria had not left the Mercury, transfixed by disbelief, only leaving the car when Derek motioned for them to join the family.

  Everyone faced the smoldering ruins of what had been the mansion, now a collection of blackened beams falling crossways in a desolate heap. Embers drifted upward with crackling noises into the night sky, fretting the earth’s majestical roof with golden fire. Some volunteers tended a generator pumping water from the pond, while others worked in pairs to hold aloft hoses soaking the trees near the mansion’s remains as well as the lawn where Ferdinand strained on a rope to get closer to the woods.

  Simon ran through thick smoke that drove through a persistent wind, hoping beyond hope as he came within view, but nothing remained of the barn. Firefighters had arrived soon enough to move Ferdinand from the corral, staking him by the creek where a fallen tree had once formed the bridge that allowed Ernie a way to visit. Ferdinand’s neighing provided a soundtrack to the horrific scene, as if the devil himself were commenting on the tragedy.

&nb
sp; Simon had once set fire to his art as a sacrifice to God—a choice made of his own volition. Who had decided to destroy generations of remembrances? Simon wished there were a God, some being upon which he could heap cosmic blame.

  A fire had consumed the mansion like a ravenous, uncaring beast. The gallery of ancestors, the esoteric books once owned by Aunt Opal, the wisteria that Ernie had climbed to join Simon in forbidden rendezvous—ashes. The empty look in Simon’s eyes drove Thad to hold him firmly around the waist, frightened that Simon, in a panic of despair, might throw himself on the red-hot, glowing remains.

  Connie fell to her knees, defeated, sobbing. Cheryl was a statue, eyes transfixed by the dying embers. Victoria held her hand, two sisters facing an unknown future, watching traditions they had wanted to believe meant nothing disappear before them, the family legacy, the repository of memory, vanishing in an orgy of flames. Derek broke free of his stupor and crouched beside Connie, even as he kept a watchful eye on his daughters.

  The fire had not touched the hangman’s oak where the pious JT Powell had died, nor had it reached the sweet gum that Simon as a young boy had planted with his grandmother Mandy. The fire had not crossed the road to where Aunt Opal’s granite angel seemed to bear a message of grief as it stood sentinel in the cemetery.

  Simon and Thad walked toward the street, barely aware that the others followed. The family stood hand in hand in the same order as when they’d surrounded Vivian’s bed, gazing now on tombstones engraved with the names of ancestors, some long forgotten and some who remained in vivid memory.

  “It’s gone, Aunt Opal,” Simon said, a four-year-old boy addressing the funny old woman with the frizzy hair, the aunt who’d given him a lucky quarter.

  Simon knew the others felt as he did, that they had witnessed the end of a history handed down to them—the nobility of the hanged JT, the endurance of the ridiculed Aunt Opal, the sacrificial legacy of Bartholomew, who’d proclaimed the family motto that it is better for one family to sacrifice than for many to do without. Bart’s motto had been a source of pride when Simon had left home to build the kingdom of God on earth. Had Simon brought this devastation upon the family through denial of the new messiah? Was this merely an accident? Arson? Could it be payback from the unholy trinity for absconding with Thad and Felipe? Was it the will of God?