THE TRUE HEIGHT OF GOD’s BIRD by Christine Ottoni

Father, Mother. Always you wrestle inside of me.
– Jack, The Tree of Life, Terrence Malick, Fox Searchlight Pictures, 2011

The last baby born on the farm was named Joseph. He stuck to Crystal’s insides for two days. Iris and me had to help do the birth. We’d never been there for a birth before. We were used to waiting at the bottom of the stairs with the rest of the kids.
Crystal screamed and sweated up the bed. I was scared. Iris spoke in soothing tones and stroked Crystal’s hair. She said, Okay, push, push. Crystal jerked and spat and said, Fuck. The birth room was hot and wet. It was almost the end of summer.
When the baby came he slipped out across the sheets, twisted and blue. He gasped and died right away like a golden-scaled fish caught fresh from the old pond, throttled in the air and heaved up slippery onto the bank.
Crystal sat up to check between her knees. She didn’t have to ask. She didn’t want to touch the baby so Iris had to name him. Lots of Mothers used to let Iris name their babies and that’s how the little boys got their beautiful names. Gabe and Liam and Emmanuel. That was back when we had more Mothers. Not just Crystal.
Iris named the dead baby Joseph.
An old man’s name, she said.
Because he’ll never be old, I thought.
Iris washed the baby in the sink. She was sixteen and older than me and somehow knew what to do. You name the baby then you wash the baby. I realized then that I shouldn’t have been calling the baby the baby. Something more like Joseph’s body, something that didn’t move. Like a leaf that changed and fell from a tree or an egg that never hatched open.
Iris wrapped Joseph’s body in a yellow pillowcase. She took the bundle out into the hallway and I followed her and shut the door behind us so Crystal couldn’t see. Casper was waiting.
He died, Iris said.
She handed him the bundle. Casper nodded. Iris’ hands hung there for a second, like she didn’t really expect the baby to get taken away, and now that he was she didn’t know what to do anymore.
You were brave, Casper said.
He took the bundle downstairs and stepped over the three little boys on the landing. Their faces were solemn, their hair matted and dirty from the days left on their own, without Crystal or Iris or me to take care of them.
Casper went out the front door into the sunny yard and Iris and me went to watch him from the big window in the hallway. The little boys came up to watch too. They tucked themselves tight in between us and held onto our legs. Gabe slipped his hand in mine. They didn’t ask about the baby. On the farm, you ended up learning early that things didn’t always make sense. Babies could die and Mothers could disappear in the night. Bad things came and went away for no reason.
Casper crossed the yard with the yellow bundle tucked under his arm. His feet kicked up low, dusty clouds. He shielded his eyes from the sun and made it to the Wall. It was thick and made of stone. It looped wide around the farm, the yard, the fields and the barn, edging against a dense piney forest surrounding everything. Casper hopped the Wall in one swift movement and disappeared into the forest. Birds broke from the tree canopy and erupted into the sky from the place where he’d gone. They cawed wickedly, their wings cracking in the air.
Hey, Chicky? Gabe whispered.
Yes, I said.
Where is Casper taking the baby?
To be buried, I said.
Crystal locked herself in the birth room for a long time. She ate at night when everyone was asleep. We’d find her dishes in the morning, toast crusts and a can of peas, a glass shattered in the sink.
Without any Mothers it was up to Iris to run the house. She had to keep track of the food in the cupboards for Farmings. We used to grow everything on the farm ourselves but we hadn’t in a long time, not since people started leaving. Farmings were important, that’s how we got food, vitamins, bandages and sometimes clothes. We used to have animals too, chicken, goats and fish and even a cow for a while named Aberdeen. But by the time Joseph died the farm was dusty and brown and the pond was a dried‑up ditch. I used to love having the animals around. I got my name Chicky because I took care of the baby chickens and I always kept one in my pocket. That was back when Casper had Disciples, not just Mothers, and the whole farm was green and the Wall felt far away.
I worked really hard to help Iris. We were used to chores, but this was different. The house was always dirty and the little boys acted badly. They tore through the rooms all day, rooted through closets and chests and turned over tables and chairs. They never went outside. They clung to our legs and cried in the bedroom all night. It was like winding up with all our strength just to punch through cobwebs. But Casper didn’t forget about us. He never forgot anything.
One afternoon, I was helping Iris do a food count, weighing out cups of rice while she did the math on a piece of paper. We had to make sure we weren’t eating too much or too fast. Take just enough for nourishment, that was very important on the farm. We’d seen Crystal do a count before a hundred times, but Liam and Emmanuel were wrestling on the floor and crashing and making so much noise that it was hard to focus. We kept making mistakes and spilling rice at our feet. Then Casper came up from the basement. The door swung open and crashed back on its hinges. He thundered at them.
Out.
The boys scampered outside and Casper strode across the room in two strides. His eyes were on Iris. He put her hands on her shoulders and stared deep into her.
Radical acceptance, he said.
Yes, Iris said.
You have the strength for this challenge.
Yes, she said again.
Then he was gone, back downstairs, the basement door clicking shut gently behind him. That’s the way he was. His eyes heavy on you like someone pressing their knees into your chest. Then he’d slip away, a flicker in the night. My stomach pinched with envy. A moment like that with Casper was special. You’d feel the weight of it for weeks. Iris’ face was red and she didn’t look at me. I felt bad for being jealous.
You are strong, you know, I told her.
She glanced up at me through long eyelashes. I smiled.
Besides, I’ll always be here to pick up after you.
She laughed and we went back to work together. I didn’t like to have bad feelings between Iris and me. We were very close. I remember when she first came to the farm, when I was eight and she was eleven. A man and a woman brought her. Casper greeted the man with a big hug and a handshake at the Wall and all the adults stayed up for days after they came. Then the man and the woman were a Disciple and a Mother. Iris and me got along right away because we both knew things the other didn’t. I knew everything about the farm and what was allowed. Iris told me the Mother and Disciple weren’t her parents and that the man was her mother’s brother. Where’s your true Mother? I asked. Iris shrugged and said, She volunteers at the refugee camps in Europe. She told me stories about the world and war and going to school and riding a bus in a city. I told her it sounded dirty and bad, the way Casper always said it was, and she shrugged and said, Well here is covered in chicken poop. We cracked up until we fell rolling in the yard. It was grassy and soft back then.
After the moment in the kitchen, Casper started to pay more attention to Iris. He’d come up from the basement, into the kitchen and ask us both about our days but I could tell he listened to Iris more. At night, after the little boys were asleep and with Crystal still hiding in the birth room, we’d sit up late, just us three. Casper let us try beer from the can and sometimes he’d play his guitar for us. He even promised to order us nail polish for the next Farming.
One night, the three of us were sitting in the living room. Iris and me were on the couch drinking our cans of beer. One of the cats was in her lap, the white one with eyes like two egg yolks. It purred and tucked its paws in like a chicken on its roost. Casper was sitting on the carpet on the floor. It was damp and sticky in the living room. Iris’ face was shiny and her hair clung curly to her neck.
It started to rain at once, hammering in a pitter-patter on the roof one floor up. Rain was good. It meant the heat would finally break. One of the windows was open and the curtains tossed in the wind. The cat sat up.
I’m proud of you girls, Casper said. You’re good.
Iris took a sip of her beer and the cat leapt out of her lap. It padded across the room for the open window and jumped up to sit on the sill. It started washing its face.
Come back kitty, Casper said.
The cat ignored him. I took a gulp of my beer.
Woah, Casper said. Slow down Chicky.
Whatever, I said, real playful, rolling my eyes.
Casper liked spirit, a bit of sass. He liked when I was goofy and beer made me goofy. It made me feel like my head was filling with air.
Casper laughed and thunder cracked far above us. Iris yawned and stretched out, resting her feet in my lap. I stroked one, real delicate, making my fingers light like whiskers. Casper pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth, watching Iris’ eyes flutter, her chin dipping to her chest. She fell asleep. I felt bold and silly. I tickled her foot and she shivered but didn’t wake up. Thunder crashed again, louder now and Iris woke with a bang, nearly kicking my beer out of my hand
Hey, I said.
Casper laughed and rocked back and forth. He slapped his knee. At first Iris was startled but then her face cracked into a smile too.
Okay, my silly girls, Casper said, wiping a tear from his eye. He was smiling wide without teeth, his cheeks glowing like two golden apples. I drank again, an even bigger gulp. The cat looked back once at us from the window before springing out into the dark. I remember thinking, that’s strange. Cats hated being wet.
Chicky, Casper said. Come sit on my lap.
I got up and the room swung.
Whoa, easy girl.
He eased me into his lap and I let my head fall on his shoulder. He rubbed his beard against the back of my neck. Every hair on my arms stood up. The tip of his nose was wet. I remembered being very small and Casper blowing me a kiss across the yard. He was sitting, talking to the Disciples under a tree in the shade. I was spinning in circles or digging in the dirt or doing something kids do when my true Mother, Cassandra, swept down upon me and whispered in my ear. Look Chicky baby, she said, pointing across the yard. Casper waved at us, lifted a palm to his mouth and kissed it away. What a special girl you are, she said.
Iris snuggled down on the couch again and closed her eyes. She was tired from all the work. She was better with the boys than me, I thought. They loved her and had started to behave better too. I was only good with Gabe. We were both from Cassandra. After she left Gabe cried a lot and I started bringing him into my bed at night.
Your Mother was such a sweet girl, Casper whispered in my ear.
I froze up, afraid that he’d read my mind. I knew it was impossible, but I still worried about it sometimes. Especially when I was thinking about things we weren’t supposed to talk about. Like people that had left. Casper slid me out of his lap to the floor. He tipped my chin up, and I could see he wasn’t mad. He was still smiling.
She was good, he said.
She was? I said, greedy for more.
Yes. She turned bad. But she started good.
Thunder cracked outside. I turned his words over in my mouth like they were a sliver of butter, like I could savour it, let it melt over my tongue. She started good. I could almost taste her skin, her bicep, salty from sweat. Her long hair bunched in my chubby little fist.
She was one of the first girls to come with me to the farm, he said. So smart and she could recite things from memory. I liked that. Did you know that?
No, I said.
But then she became selfish. That’s why she left you and Gabe, Casper said. She buried all the good deep inside her and then she killed it off. If you want to stay good Chicky, you can’t leave your family.
I nodded and stared off past Casper for a while. I tried to take the truth of what he was saying and turn it into something powerful. Something I could carry with me and even teach Gabe one day even. But it just felt cruel and lonely.
Did Cassandra love me and Gabe?
No Chicky, Casper said.
I nodded again.
Let’s not talk about bad people any more, Casper said. Okay?
Okay, I said.
The rain let up a bit and a cool rush of air came in through the open window. All at once, I was tired, like some light inside me had been shut off, smothered with a wet cloth.
Time for bed, Casper said.
He lifted me to my feet. My legs were heavy. I dragged myself out of the living room and up the stairs. I wondered what Cassandra had named me when I was first born. If it was as beautiful as the names Iris gave. It couldn’t have been just Chicky, that must have come after. Or maybe she did call me Chicky and that’s why I liked the chickens. Maybe the name came first not the other way around. That’s the kind of circle thinking I got stuck in when I had beer. Everything rang back and forth in my head like a nursery rhyme. Chicken before Chicky, Chicky before Chicken.
On my way up the stairs I remembered I’d left Iris down on the couch. I turned and looked back at the living room but the door was closed. Outside, it wasn’t raining anymore.
At first I was confused and I took a step back down the stairs to go get Iris. Then there was Casper’s voice, low and urging on the other side of the door. I couldn’t tell what he said but I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear. I flushed hot, embarrassed that I’d missed the truth of what was going on. Casper was making Iris a Mother. We needed a Mother and Iris was the oldest but for some reason my eyes filled up and my ears crunched like I was underwater. I shook my head and went up to the bedroom, feeling in the dark for my place on the mattress beside Gabe. I could hear Liam and Emmanuel breathing sleepily, dreaming of tag and baked apples. When I set my head on my pillow beside Gabe I tried to think good things. Like, maybe we’d have babies again. But all I could think of was the white cat jumping out of the window into the dark rain.
The next morning Crystal came out of her room. She sat in the living room all day on the couch. She drew the curtains shut and smoked. The cats stayed away from the house. When the little boys started to play she yelled, Shut up, shut up, over and over. I shooed them out into the yard.
Do you feel different? I asked Iris in the kitchen.
Not really, she shrugged.
You don’t look different, I said.
Crystal spent all her time in the living room and Casper stayed away from her. At first I thought Iris and Crystal would both be Mothers and Crystal would get pregnant again right away but instead it seemed more like Iris was a Mother and Crystal was nothing. She acted like nothing and slunk around the house, barely eating anything, sprawling across a kitchen chair, or a shady spot in the yard. She wore a long striped shirt with buttons and nothing else. She picked at her fingers and rolled cigarette after cigarette, flicking the ash on her feet. I never saw her and Casper in the same place. He spent the daytime in the basement and after dinner Iris would bring him food. Sometimes I was allowed to go down too and watch TV for a bit while he ate. We’d put on old discs of SpongeBob and I wasn’t crazy about those because the voices were really high and loud and sometimes I’d have to cover my ears. Iris would drink two cans of beer fast and then watch the TV sitting up straight, her mouth sucked in a hard little frown. Every night, Casper would inch closer and closer to Iris on the bed until he said, Okay Chicky, time for bed and I’d sigh loud, putting on a show, and stomp upstairs really dramatic. Casper would laugh. It felt good that I could still make him laugh.
After Iris became a Mother, things got lonely for me. I had Gabe and he was nice to talk to, but not the same as Iris. I barely saw her. She’d come back up to bed in the early hours and then sleep all day. I knew what happened in the basement. When I was little, before Iris came to the farm, I woke up in the night and all the Mothers were gone from the bedroom. The other kids and babies were all asleep. I was thirsty so I went looking for a Mother to help me.
I went downstairs, through the kitchen and saw light coming up from the basement. The door was open and light was hazy and sort of pink, falling across the dark kitchen floor like eyelashes winking in the sunshine. Murmuring voices gushed from down below so I rubbed my eyes and went over to the top of the stairs. Someone laughed and I saw naked legs and arms, tangled all together. Casper was spread out on a rug, one Mother was straddling him, bucking up and down with her head tossed back. The other Mothers weren’t wearing clothes and they crawled around the carpet, flopping lazily, this way and that, snuggling their heads against each other’s shoulders. There were Disciples too, but they were wearing their clothes and kind of watching, not touching anyone else. Everything sounded like chewing and breathing against skin and I remember thinking, Oh that’s what sex is. Someone said, Hey, kind of silly, and a few sets of eyes flittered up the stairs to me. I remember a Mother peeled herself up from the floor and slithered up the stairs towards me on all fours. She held her hands out and scooped me up. Wet hair stuck to her neck. She got me water and tucked me back upstairs with the others. She kissed my head softly and stood up, her bare stomach glowing in the light of the moon. I wanted to stick my finger in her belly button.
For a while I thought that sex could only happen if everyone was there, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Sometimes one or two Mothers would stay in the basement for a few days and we wouldn’t see them. Other times they’d all be talking about a party, and making plans for putting the kids to bed early. When we were older I told Iris about what I saw and how I thought that’s what a party meant. Duh, she said. They’re all banging down there.
Once after lunch the little boys were playing in the old hayloft and Crystal was sitting out in the yard. It was a cool day and I’d sent the boys with long sleeves. I poked my head out from the porch at one point to make sure they were keeping their shirts on. They like to play bare-chested. That’s when Crystal saw me.
Chicky, she waved me over.
I crossed the yard barefoot. The ground was cool, and shadows from the trees and barn stretched long. Crystal was lying on an old sheet. She was just wearing that striped shirt.
I knelt beside her.
Are you chilly? I asked.
No, no, she said.
She was thin. Her eyes were bright green, her lashes thick and wet like she’d just been crying. She sat upright and crossed her legs, smoothing the shirt out over her knees.
How’s Iris? she asked.
She’s good, I said. Not pregnant yet.
I felt bad right away for saying that. I shut up fast.
It’s okay, Crystal said.
I’m sorry, I said.
I wish I held him when I could have. If we had a doctor. Who knows.
I didn’t know what a doctor was but sometimes Mothers said things you didn’t know. There wasn’t much of a point in asking because they usually didn’t explain.
You’re a good girl Chicky. Thank you for taking care of everything while I was sick.
I like to help, I said. Iris is better with the boys.
You always liked to help.
She looked far off towards the forest. I was upset with Crystal then, for not being better. For leaving me and Iris all alone with Casper. I kept having bad feelings about everyone, about Iris and Crystal, and I knew that was wrong but still the bad feeling crept up. I looked at Crystal hard while she watched the forest. I remembered Casper taking baby Joseph over the Wall. A chilly gust came up and tossed Crystal’s hair. It was getting very long and was fraying at the ends. It was like because she disappeared we all got to forget about baby Joseph.
I couldn’t fix the baby being dead but I knew what to do for messy hair. I held my hand out to her.
Let’s cut your hair in the kitchen, I said. Then I’ll braid it.
Okay, Crystal said. She reached up and I pulled her to her feet. I picked up the sheet and shook it out.
Here, Crystal said, and she helped me fold it up.
After Iris had been a Mother for a while, Casper announced a Farming was finally coming. I was feeding the little boys breakfast in the kitchen. Crystal was resting in the living room with the door closed. She needed a lot of rest and she barely ate anything. I always made sure to make her plate nice.
Farming today Chicky, he said, poking his head in.
Okay, I said from the stove.
Casper trudged off into the yard. I watched him through the window. He stretched big and reached for the sky and then wandered off into the barn. I wondered if Iris and me would get our nail polish.
Iris drifted into the kitchen after him. She squinted at the morning light and got herself some water.
Farming today, I said.
Iris nodded. Her skin was thin and grey around her eyes. Her sweater was missing all of the buttons and she was holding it closed at her neck. Her wrist was bony and bruised red. Emmanuel or Gabe smashed his glass down on the table by accident too hard and Iris flinched.
Quiet, I said to the boys.
It’s okay, Iris said.
Do you think our nail polish will come? I asked.
Iris forced a smile at me.
Maybe, she said.
That afternoon we got the little boys all lined up in the yard. Iris and me stood behind them. Crystal came out and smoked on the porch. Casper stood off in the middle of the yard with a crowbar over his shoulder, scanning the sky. The little boys were excited. They liked Farmings because they got to see God’s Bird and play with the parachute after. They also liked Casper because he was a man and strong and they didn’t spend much time with him otherwise.
I could already hear the drone of God’s Bird from far away. It was like a low rattle, a hum at the back of your throat. It got louder and louder until it appeared, a black speck in the sky over the piney treeline to the west. It cut low and headed towards us.
God’s Bird, God’s Bird the little boys yelled. They liked to see who could spot it first. It was black and elegant, two unmoving wings and a round tipped nose. Its belly opened up and the Farming dropped far above us. It was in a box with a blue parachute attached at the top. The parachute trailed thin, like a line of smoke, before it bust open like a rain cloud and the Farming caught in the air. It drifted, slower now, towards the ground. God’s Bird got it near perfect, smack in the middle of the yard, every time. The little boys took off, chasing towards the box. God’s Bird veered up and took a wide loop around the farm, dipping one wing low before leveling off and flying back in the direction it came. Casper strolled after the boys, swinging the crowbar at his side. Iris and I followed. Crystal stayed on the porch. The little boys reached the parachute and tugged at the ends of it until the cords snapped and it broke free from the box. Casper worked around them, cracking all the sides of the box open and lifting the top aside. Casper looked down into the box for a moment, then up at Iris. His eyes were dark, hooded like two moons dying in a pitch-black sky.
Bring this inside, he said quietly.
He turned back towards the house and smashed the crowbar on the ground once. Dust rose behind him in a trail. The little boys pulled the parachute all together in the dirt. Gabe hid beneath it and giggled. They hadn’t heard Casper. They didn’t know anything was wrong.
Iris and I stepped closer to the box and looked inside. My stomach pitched low, like I’d jumped from the porch roof or the Wall. There were a few bags of beans, oats, vegetable protein flakes and potatoes. And it wasn’t enough. This wasn’t our usual Farming. It was short by a long way.
I kept all the records, Iris said.
You did, I said. You counted all the food.
This isn’t enough, she said. This isn’t right.
The little boys ran with the parachute, all holding a corner now. They shouted as it rose and snapped in the air. Iris and I each took a side of the box and started to carry it back to the house. Crystal hurried off the porch to help us. I remember when we were small it would take four or five Mothers to bring in a Farming. We carried the box into the house and lifted it onto the kitchen table. The basement door was shut. Casper was back downstairs.
It’s short, Crystal said.
Iris nodded and chewed her lip.
Nothing fresh, I said. No tofu or freeze-dried anything. No rice and the boys asked for apples.
I thought I did it right, Iris said.
Crystal shook her head.
I saw your order, she said. It’s the account.
What’s the account? I said.
What do we do? Iris asked.
Crystal took a pull of her cigarette and blew smoke out the corner of her mouth.
Radical acceptance, she said.
For dinner we made the little boys box pasta with butter. Crystal sat at the kitchen table and smoked, staring out the window at the place where the Farming landed. The boys were cautious around her. They sat in a cluster at the other end of the table.
After dinner the little boys went back outside to play with the parachute. I told them one more hour before bed and they nodded seriously. They had an idea something was happening with the Farming, but they wouldn’t let it spoil their fun. They’d play with the parachute outside in the low sunlight until it disintegrated into the air. I did the same when I was little. It was made to do that, after a while it dissolved into plant dust and water vapour.
Iris, Crystal and me started to clean up. We ate whatever the little boys couldn’t finish standing up at the counter. Then Casper hollered for Iris.
Iris, he shouted up from the basement. Iris jumped.
It’s okay, I said.
But it didn’t feel okay. I don’t even know why I said that. I didn’t like sending Iris downstairs, not after the bad Farming, not after the crowbar smashed in the dirt, but I felt my arms moving through the routine like always. I made a quick plate of pasta for Casper. The rest of what was in the pot. Crystal watched Iris cross the kitchen for the basement.
Iris, Crystal said.
She stepped towards her like she wanted to say something more but Iris looked up and shook her head once before ducking quietly downstairs. She shut the door after her.
Fuck, Crystal said.
She leaned back against the counter. Then she turned to the sink and grabbed a clean plate, smashing it into the sink. It broke into three jagged smiles.
I fished the broken pieces out of the sink.
I’m sorry, Crystal said
That’s okay, I said.
No, I am.
She looked at me like something was swelling up inside of her; like she had so much to say and she couldn’t all at once.
I wish I left when your Mother did, she said.
I glanced at the basement door.
We’re not supposed to talk about her, I said.
Why not? Crystal said.
Cassandra, my Mother, was the first one to leave. A couple nights later a Disciple took two Mothers in the night. They took a newborn baby too. Casper made everyone sit in the yard for hours. I remember he had the gun tucked in his pants, sitting dark against his hip. He talked about the betrayal and how those that had left had poisoned our existence. Our way of life is being threatened, he said, pacing along the group. And I cannot allow them to come for our children. I will die for our children. A Disciple said something, I can’t remember what. But the next thing I knew Casper grabbed the Disciple by the hair and dragged him kicking and screaming into the barn. We all had to sit there. I peed my pants. I had Gabe in my lap and he started to cry so I rocked him and bounced him and sat in the wet. People kept leaving, in ones and twos, always in the night, usually with kids. They left everything else behind.
Because she left us, I said.
Crystal pulled me close. It felt good to be hugged, even though I was taller than her, her hands and back were strong. She hugged like a Mother.
That night it started to snow. It wasn’t supposed to, it was still too early, but it did anyway. It got cold that night, and dry. I let the little boys watch out the bedroom window for five whole minutes before bedtime. I went to bed with them too. I was tired. I dreamed I was making a dash for the Wall. I had a baby in my arms. It cried and cried. Then I was floating far above the farm, watching everything as if I were God’s Bird. I could see me running in the moonlight, my steps kicking up blue dirt as I neared the Wall. Then Casper was on the barn with the gun. Popopopop, it fired into my back, through the baby, bloody onto the dirt like spit.
I woke up to someone screaming. It stopped and I sat up. Gabe whimpered beside me.
What’s that, I said.
Another scream. Then Crystal’s voice in the kitchen.
Stay here, I said to Gabe.
Don’t go, he begged.
Stay here, Emmanuel cried from the dark.
Quiet, I said.
I peeled Gabe’s fingers off my arm and felt for the door in the dark. There was a light glowing at the end of the hallway, coming from the downstairs. I shut the little boys in the room behind me. I tried not to hear them crying.
I hurried downstairs into the kitchen. Crystal was standing at the open basement door, her hand on the frame like she’d just thrown it open. The light was coming from downstairs, flooding across her face and the floor.
Stop, Iris moaned from the basement. Please.
Wait, Crystal said.
I stepped into the kitchen and Crystal’s eyes flickered up to meet mine. Bad things were happening. I stood beside her to see the full length of stairs. Iris was stretched out near the bottom, naked, gripping onto a step with her fingers, trying to pull herself up and out. Her nose was running down to her chin. Casper was below her. His shirt was off, his chest scratched and bloody. He was hunched over Iris with dark eyes, his teeth were yellow in the light.
Casper, Crystal called.
That time she used a voice that wasn’t like hers. It was sweet but strong. Kind of high and insistent. Like she needed him. He looked up.
You got me, he said, pulling himself up straight.
His lips curled back over his teeth and he gave a little shrug.
All play, he said.
Iris craned her neck and squinted up at me.
Chicky, she choked.
Crystal held her arm in front of me. She lowered herself slowly to the first stair. It creaked under her foot.
I like play, Crystal said.
Casper raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips.
Oh?
Crystal took another step, even slower this time.
Yes.
Casper looked down at Iris and cocked his head to the side.
You don’t want to waste her, Crystal simpered.
He crouched down then, leaned over Iris and stroked her back softly. She shivered but didn’t make a peep.
Go on, he said gently.
Iris scampered upstairs on her hands and feet and Crystal took a quick step down to meet her. She scooped Iris up and lifted her the last few stairs, passing her to me.
Crystal, I whispered over Iris’ head. But it was too late. Crystal pushed us out into the kitchen.
Go, she said. She shut the basement door and we were alone in the dark. Iris was heavy in my arms. She kept trying to set her feet down straight but landed on the edges.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she slurred.
It’s okay, I said and I tried to listen for a sound coming from the crack at the bottom of the basement door. There was nothing. The light was still on.
I tucked Iris into bed upstairs. The little boys knew she wasn’t well but having Iris back in the room seemed to calm them down a bit. She fell asleep right away. I stayed up for a while at the window. It wasn’t snowing anymore. The sky was empty except for a wide white moon. Something curdled up from my stomach and bubbled wise at the back of my throat. My voice broke and out came a little wet sob. I stuffed my fist in my mouth to kill the sound. I didn’t want to wake anyone up.
In the morning Crystal was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking in her striped shirt. Her hair was wet from a shower. I dressed the little boys in sweaters and hats and told them to play outside before breakfast. They trudged out the door. Crystal pointed at the chair across from her and I sat down.
How’s Iris?
She’s still sleeping, I said.
Crystal nodded and flicked ash on the floor.
Sometimes he’ll dose us, she said.
You didn’t sleep, I said.
She shook her head and took a drag of the cigarette. She stared off at the wood grain of the table and started to trace a line with her finger. I was afraid she was going to disappear again. Drift upstairs and lock the birth room door. Then Iris would have to go into the basement again. Then Casper would be able to hurt her again.
She crushed the cigarette into the table, killing the ember. A thin finger of smoke trailed up, reaching for the ceiling.
When I say he doses us, Crystal said, I mean that you can give people things. Pills like vitamins, to make it easier.
She was leaning forward, looking very seriously at me.
Okay, I said.
Do you know what happens in the basement?
Yes, I saw when I was little.
Okay, she said.
She crushed the dead cigarette in her fist. It was like she’d made up her mind right there in front of me. All the soft edges of her hardened, resolute.
Okay, she said again.
The basement stairs creaked behind the door. A jolt of nerves like electricity shook down to my toes but Crystal stayed still. She leaned back in her chair and kept the cigarette in her fist.
The door to the basement opened and Casper stepped out into the kitchen.
Morning, Crystal chirped in the same high voice from the night before.
Casper’s hair was combed back. He was wearing a clean white shirt.
I want you on the phone, Casper said.
Of course, she said. Who’s handling our account these days?
Ava.
I’ll ask her about her mother.
We have credit and if they don’t honour it –
I’m sure I can get us what we need.
You’ll have to find ways to make up for your absence. To all of us.
Of course.
This is one of them.
I’ll get us what we need.
He shut the basement door, the stairs creaked as he went back downstairs.
We should have breakfast, Crystal said, her voice normal.
I nodded and started to get up but Crystal’s hand shot out across the table and gripped mine.
Wait, she said. Go upstairs and stay with her.
She fixed me a pitcher of water and stacked two glasses. I carried them up the stairs, careful not to slosh the water over onto my feet. I heard Crystal shout the boys in from the yard. They whooped and went running in for oatmeal. It was easier for them to forget. All they needed was ten minutes outside looking for snow patches in the shade.
In the bedroom Iris was sitting up on her bed. She was wearing a long cotton yellow dress with short sleeves and a round neck. She smiled up at me when I came in.
Crystal said to stay up here with you, I said.
Iris nodded and reached up to help me with the water pitcher and glasses. I poured her a glass and she took it with two shaky hands.
That always happens now, she said. The morning after.
She took a long drink of water.
Crystal went downstairs, she said.
I was jealous of you, I blurted. Iris opened her arms and held my head in her lap while I cried. She stroked my hair and said, Hush, hush, like I was a baby growing teeth.
I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes, long afternoon light was coming in through the bedroom window. I felt heavy. Crystal was in the room, whispering to Iris. They were sitting on the ground, drawing invisible lines out on the floor with their fingers. I blinked and the room got fuzzy. I fell back asleep into a dreamless dark. It stretched long and when I woke up again and the sun was setting, I was alone.
I could hear low voices and the little boys downstairs. I went to the kitchen. The boys were at the table eating boiled potatoes and rice. Crystal and Iris were sitting at the head, whispering with their heads together. I came in and Iris saw me.
Hey, she said.
Hey, I said. I ruffled Gabe’s hair as I passed, he had a piece of potato speared on his fork and he was blowing on it to cool off. I sat down with Iris and Crystal and we watched the boys eat. When they were done we sent them up to get ready for bed and we cleaned up. Crystal set a small plate aside for Casper and split the rest of the leftovers between me and Iris.
I’ll have something later, she said.
Iris and I ate slowly and Crystal lit up a cigarette. When we were done we sat quietly at the table. An orange cat passed through the hall and slipped into the living room. The little boys must have let it inside.
We heard him coming up the stairs. The rickety creak of the stairs. Iris let out a little noise like a newborn and Crystal put her hand on Iris’ for a second.
Easy, she said.
Crystal flicked her cigarette and arranged her face in a calm smile. She set her elbows on the table. The door opened.
Great news, Crystal said.
Casper stepped into the kitchen. He was drinking a beer. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled at her like normal, hiding his teeth.
Oh yeah? he said.
Our corrected Farming is arriving tomorrow.
Good, he said, pulling out a chair at the far end of the table. The legs screeched on the floor. He sat down. I held my breath. Iris didn’t move.
Yeah, I got that girl on the phone. What a dear. Her Mother is doing worse. Cancer of the liver. Those poor fuckers. Their lives are poisoned from the start. I even told her, Why don’t you come out and see what we’re doing here, you know? She’s a kid, of course. Barely twenty.
Crystal took a drag of her cigarette and waved her hand.
But she seemed receptive, you know? Might make the drive out with a girlfriend.
Casper nodded and rapped his knuckles twice on the table.
What time for the Farming?
At seven, bright and early. She guaranteed it.
Crystal was telling him something without saying it. It’s hard to explain. Iris was like a speck on the floor; I was invisible. He could only see Crystal.
I’m going down, he said.
I’ll be there in a minute, Crystal said. I just have to get the kids to bed.
Casper stood up and scraped the chair back.
You’ve been nothing but darkness, he said.
I’m ready to be good again.
You’re good when I say.
He drained his beer and set the empty can on the table.
He went into the basement and shut the door. I held my breath and listened.
Chicky, I need you to take care of the boys, Crystal said.
Okay, I said and got up from the table.
I need to talk to Iris for a minute, she said.
It’s okay, Iris said.
Just a few minutes. I’ll walk her up to the bedroom, to the rest of you, before I go down.
I went upstairs. Even if the entire Farming order came it wouldn’t change anything. Casper would just switch back from Crystal to Iris and back again. I tucked the little boys in and waited in the dark nervously for Iris. The door clicked open and she slipped into the room. Just like Crystal promised. She got into bed with me and Gabe and we all snuggled close. Iris tossed and turned all night beside me. I didn’t sleep much either. The sun rose and Casper yelled for us while we were still in bed. Bright and early. Just like Crystal promised.
We put sweaters on the little boys over their pyjamas.
Little boys have to wait back from the Farming today, Iris said while she was stuffing a hat on Liam’s head.
Why, he protested.
Because we were short last time and everything has to be counted, Iris said. You’ll get the parachute after.
We lined up outside. Casper and Crystal were waiting for us. Crystal smiled over her shoulder and Iris nodded back at her firmly. The God’s Bird came back, roaring over the tree line. The Farming box broke away and floated to the ground in the yard. When it landed, Casper strode off right away, swinging the crowbar at his side, Crystal went with him. I took a step forward but Iris held me back.
Wait with them, she whispered, hurried. And make sure they don’t see.
Before I could ask she took off after Crystal and Casper.
I shivered back in the line with the boys. It was cold and our breath came out in puffs of fog. We watched the three of them get to the Farming across the yard. Casper broke the top off with the crowbar. He said something but we were too far away to hear what. He pulled something long out of the box. It was a shovel. He tossed it aside and the heavy, metal end of it caught glinting in the cold sun. I could feel then, that something was going to happen. And that was probably what Iris was talking about. We shouldn’t have been watching.
Everyone come here, I said to the boys.
They looked up at me, dazed and swaying a bit from being up in the cold so early.
Yes, yes, here right now.
I grabbed for their shoulders.
Can we play with the parachute still? Gabe asked.
I squatted down and pulled them tight in a huddle.
Yes, I said, but get close first.
I held them all tight in a circle, their faces turned in to me.
Chicky, they squirmed. I wasn’t good with kids. I knew it. I wasn’t good like Iris or strong like Crystal. But the best thing I could do then was keep them from seeing what was happening. Because when you saw things and you were little you learned them forever. It was better not to see.
Over their heads, I watched Casper lean forward and start pulling other things out of the box. Food bundles, supplies. We had what we needed. Crystal crouched behind him and pulled the heavy shovel up from the ground. She gripped it in two fists and swung the thick metal end up at Casper’s head. He turned at the last second and I think it was the first time he’d ever been caught off guard by anything. He tipped his head off to the side like, Oh? just as the shovel cracked his jaw and took off the bottom half of his face. A piece of him flew through the air, trailing a long string of spit and blood after it. Casper fell to his knees. He hung there for a second and blood poured down his chest before he crashed forward into the dirt. I could feel the boys struggling against me but I couldn’t hear them. Crystal was hunched over, hands on the shovel, her body still at the end of its arc, her back rising and falling, breathing heavy. Iris looked back at me, her face open, empty and sad. I held the little boys even closer.
The first time I rode the bus was with Iris. She said it was just like she remembered. The bus bounced and I gasped and held her hand tight. People looked at us strangely. I closed my eyes and made myself brave. I wouldn’t let a bus win after everything else.
I did a lot of things for the first time. Met a dog, wore a parka, turned a key in a lock. Being in the city was everything I’d always been told, loud and smelly and full of fast moving people. I felt guilty for a long time. For being jealous of Iris. For letting Joseph’s body get taken over the Wall before Crystal held him properly. Out in the world, I learned quickly that you couldn’t believe what people told you. Truth was rare, a precious thing, actually. At first I listened to everyone. A man at the bus stop who said his wallet got stolen, a woman at the grocery store whose children were cruel for not speaking to her. They’d tell me things and I’d listen. I’d get lost for hours, nodding along to their stories, helping them home with their bags. I’d lose the street our apartment was on and show up hours late for dinner. Gabe worried but Iris always knew I’d make it back.
Gabe and me thought a lot about Cassandra, wondered where she was and if she rode the bus too or thought of us too. I used to think we’d find her right away. That was before I knew how big the world was. We had to practice talking about her out loud. Slowly, trying the words out, looking over our shoulders to see if anyone was listening in. We couldn’t let go of the farm. All those ways of talking, of eating. We collected cats without trying; they lazed in sunspots on our balcony. I dreamed about God’s Bird and did food counts by accident. We watched snow fall from our window before bed. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe we were supposed to forget all of it and move on, far and away. But we couldn’t so we learned to hold it all together. We never learned to be good liars. Sometimes when I just woke up, I’d feel the farm caught fresh in my throat: fried eggs and steam in the kitchen, mother’s breath and her hair tickling my nose. And that made it better, because if we ever found Cassandra we’d be what she’d expect. She’d say, I’m sorry I left. And we’d forgive her easy. We wouldn’t even be mad with her anymore. We’d just be glad we all made it to be together again.

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Christine Ottoni’s stories have appeared in Phoebe, untethered, CommuterLit, and FRACTURED: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse (Exile Editions, 2014).