“Ha. Not by state law,” Helen said. “According to state law we might as well be practicing polygamy up here on this hill.”
“What’s polygamy?” asked Perley.
“We aren’t practicing polygamy,” I told the intake worker.
“Or even polyamory,” Helen said. “Which isn’t actually illegal.”
“Helen has a sense of humor. She’s very good with Perley,” I said.
“She’s my Mean Aunt,” Perley said, “and I love her.”
“Of course you do,” the intake worker said. “Any other adults?” she asked me.
“You might as well put Rudy on there,” Helen said.
“Rudy doesn’t really live here,” I said. “He’s just a frequent visitor.”
“Just tell them everything,” Helen said. “They’ll find out anyway and then they’ll say you lied if you didn’t tell them in the first place.”
“So Rudy is a friend or a boyfriend?” asked the intake worker.
“Oh please,” Helen said. “A friend. Or a royal pain in the ass, depending on what day you ask.”
“He’s a man we let sleep out on the pipeline,” I clarified.
We all have our strategies. Mine had been to keep smiling, to try to steer us smooth, to cast a spell around us. But Helen’s strategy was to treat the caseworker like a bear. To be firm. To be aggressive enough to show that we weren’t afraid, but not so aggressive that the bear would charge. Follow this strategy and the bear will retreat.
So the wisdom goes, but every word that Helen said was alien and appalling to this intake girl, who was not a bear, who appeared to be made of ice-cream cake, caving in when exposed to the rank steam of our kitchen, her makeup dripping down her neck, pooling around popped zits. As she melted she resented us for it. As she melted, she became more sure of her duty.
“Who owns this place, or are you renting?” she asked.
“We own it in common,” Helen said. “We don’t really believe in private ownership.”
If Helen knew so goddamn much, then why didn’t she know when to shut the hell up? Instead, she opened her mouth and the whole room fell into it, window frames, bicycle, boxes, fiberglass, guts, and brains. All I could do was stand back and keep hold of Perley, dig my fingers in under his collarbone, those small caves, too small to crawl into and hide. Helen’s mouth was a drain, sucking everything in, leaving us no escape.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Actually, legally Helen owns it, but she shares it with us. And actually I think I do believe in private ownership, or at least no one has ever asked me my feelings on the issue.”
“It’s not like this is a case of neglect,” Helen said, standing up and taking a step toward the intake worker, who moved back, colliding with the rusted bike frame. “Neglect would be if we weren’t doing anything about the snakes. But this is a very organized household. We have a lot of plans. And if you need proof, I have proof. I’ll show you.” She wiped her hands on her shirt, smearing deer guts. She stepped up onto an upturned dresser drawer and took the Best Practices Binder down from its shelf. I watched dully, I am not proud to say. Hiding, hiding, hide him, was what echoed inside me, though I know I should have been more clever, more practical. I know it looked bad.
“There’s a best way to do nearly everything,” Helen said. “I don’t know if you know what it’s like to try to live simply, to do it yourself. I don’t know if you know what it’s like to live by a code, a system, to challenge yourself each and every day, to practice and prepare. But those are our watchwords up here.” She handed the binder to the intake worker. The girl took it gingerly in two hands, avoiding the place where Helen’s hand had been. Wincing, she sat down on the sofa.
“Open it,” Helen said. “We could publish this thing. We’re very professional up here, seriously. I think you’ll find this very reassuring.” Haloed by the steam of jellied deer brain, Helen grinned. Cobwebbed, lonely, misunderstood, the Best Practices Binder was yet Helen’s ace in the hole. She’d been waiting years to play it.
The intake worker thumbed through a few pages and stopped. “What’s this?” she asked. “Dump the shit bucket when it’s two-thirds full?”
So Helen closed her mouth. Simply, she saw what she’d done. So what? Can I forgive her? The only one I can forgive is Perley, who said eagerly, “It’s