“James, can you read your list to me?” I feel like I might pass out.
James looks pretty calm for what seems like another impossibility. “Let’s see. Wrongdoings: ‘I gambled away my money. Thought I slept in a cave but I woke up at home. Stendhal syndrome at art museum. Pulled house inside out.’” I watch him read. He presses a finger to the wall to follow along, but I can’t reconcile the marks with the words he’s speaking. “‘I repaired everything again. I saw a double of Julie in the guest bedroom. I interpreted children’s play as threatening. I spied on our neighbor, Rolf, and let myself into his home. I quit my job. I nearly drowned myself.’ That’s all I’ve got so far.” He looks at me expectantly, nervously.
It takes me a moment to emerge from my terror at not being able to read his words. “You quit your job?” I register surprise and loss, not anger.
He looks away. “It wasn’t the right place for me.”
“When?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“But you leave the house every day. Where do you go?”
“I go to the library to look for new jobs. I wanted to have another lined up by the time I told you. I knew you’d be mad.”
“Yes! Yes, I am! First the gambling, and now this? Are we in this together or not? Do I know you?” My lips smile, a forced consolation. I refocus. “James, why are all of those things listed under Sins? You’re not responsible for all of that.”
“I don’t want to believe that I’m not in control, Julie. I want to believe that I can resist it. I have the power to stop it or at least not help it along. Maybe that’s why I quit the job. I want to take charge again.” His eyes well up and he looks away.
“But do you have control now? Or are you just taking your chances?”
He gulps and grabs hold of his reason. “If something bad is going to happen, I’d like to believe that I’m not a part of it. If I’m doing something wrong, I think I’m culpable for everything else that goes off the rails.”
“James, we are not responsible for this.”
“You just said we were. That our bad behavior was causing spirits to act out.”
“Right, but not all of it is us,” I say, bereft.
“I think it is, Jules. I think we’re haunting ourselves. We’re pulling ourselves apart. We’re noticing gaps and stepping into them instead of avoiding them.”
I shake my head violently, landing my face in my hands. “What what what what what what what what are you saying? What the hell are you saying? What the fuck, James? I thought we were on the same page. Because I can’t control what’s going on. Maybe you can, but I can’t. Maybe this is all you then, James. Maybe you’re the one I need to leave behind. Is that it?”
I am not accustomed to seeing hurt register on James’s face. “Julie, it’s both of us. We’re doing it together. It’s like a closed circuit. We’re destroying ourselves.”
“No.” I tear the pages down and ball them up, and the ends of the black tape stick to my palms, but I free myself and whip the balls of paper at the wall. “No, that is not it.”
66
JULIE AND I sleep in different corners of the house. We form an anagram of our regular nights. I curl myself on our bed. Julie sprawls her body across the sofa. In the middle of the night, I go down to the living room. I sit on the arm of the couch.
Julie rouses. “How long have you been there?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I believe you and trust you, but so much of this situation is unbelievable. If I can’t imagine I’m in control of at least myself, where do we end up?”
She sighs. She asks me to get her a drink of water.
“I think you should probably get it yourself. By the time I bring a glass to you it’ll be full of mold.”
She walks to the kitchen. She skips the glass entirely. She turns on the faucet and holds her lips to the stream of water. I flip the light on. Julie spits. I go to the sink. I see the greenish slime still sticking to the steel basin. The water coming out of the faucet looks clear. I wonder if a moldy clump loosened in the pipe. Is the water reacting to some catalyst in Julie’s mouth? I ask if the mold might be growing inside us.
“Everything feels wrong,” Julie says. “I can’t even recognize a mistake anymore, you know? When everything feels so out of sorts, I can’t recognize what it is that’s tipping the balance. Everywhere I look, I’m trying to figure out how I’m being fooled. I’m suspicious of everything. It’s exhausting.”
“I know.” She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my chest, and I stroke her hair and lean my lips down to her hairline. “If we believe it’s us, I know how to change myself, you know? If it’s something else, I don’t see a way out. Even if we leave, it’s following us.”
“I hear you.” Julie squeezes tighter.
67
“AND THEN SOMETIMES I think, ‘What if it’s all a prank?’” James says.
I release my grip. “What?”
“It’s hard not to consider: What if you’re messing with me? Or it’s like a Scooby-Doo episode where the angry villain who lives next door is trying to force us out and he’s rigged these elaborate illusions?”
I feel near tears. “James, are you saying this has all been a hoax?”
“I’m sorry, no,” he says. “But I guess I wish it was. Imagine.”
Something shifts in my mind, and James looks unusual, like my husband is being played by another actor, like swapped-out kids in a sitcom series. “You’re in on it,” I say, and he looks at me with concern in his eyes. “Whatever is going on here, it’s talking you into believing it and spreading its doctrine.”
“Julie, what are you talking about? That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying, we’re making it up without intending to, not that we’re trying to manipulate one another.”
“You just said you’re the one making this happen. Why won’t I listen? You have control over all of this. It makes sense now. Most times, I don’t even feel like I’m talking to you. I feel like I’m speaking with something you’ve been convinced of. But I don’t know where you are. I can’t trust you.” Only after I’ve said these words do I feel how true they sound, and my breath leaves, my sight disappears, returns.
He swings his head back and forth rapidly, as if he’s trying to get rid of something, erase a thought. I can almost see his train change tracks, avoiding my accusations. “Well, why should I believe you? You’ve acted out as much as I have in the past few months.” He counts on his fingers. “You keep passing out. You started dreaming of bodies covered in fingers. You say you haven’t been doing the drawings, but why should I trust you? And then all of this business with Rolf missing. You probably know where he is!”