The banging at his door, though, was not a dream, and finally he had to take off the headphones. I’m coming, he yelled. Jesus. The world’s not going to end if we don’t have dinner.

He pulled up his underwear and shorts, then decided to put on jeans instead. Jeans could hide a boner. Just being near her he’d have a boner instantly. There was no stopping it.

Coming down the stairs, what he felt was dread, the same as any animal being led to slaughter. Meal of a Hundred Humiliations, he mumbled to himself, because it was better to give it a name in advance. That could take away some of its power. He moved slowly, his bare feet on the wood which was almost cool compared to the air.

Why are you wearing jeans? his mother asked.

Felt like it, he said. All three of them looking at his pants.

In this heat?

He sat down. A long, narrow table for twelve. He was in the middle, across from his cousin, only a few feet away. His mother and aunt farther away at the ends. They were already eating, piggies in a blanket. And they’d put one on his plate, half a hot dog wrapped in dough, baked. Side dishes of ketchup and mustard.

You need to eat, his aunt said. Even your eyeballs are starting to stick out.

Galen closed his eyes. They were in an enormous hot valley, a dust bowl, the Central Valley of California, and what he hoped for was a twister, a hot, dry tornado that would build for three hundred miles and come through the walnut orchard to explode the house. His aunt and mother and cousin lifting in their chairs, winging through the air, shattered wood like shrapnel all around, the little piggies flung from their blankets.

Our heavenly father, his cousin said. Give us this day our cheeks and neck and other bits of flesh.

Stop that, Jennifer, Galen’s mother said.

I think we should pray that poor Galen be made whole again.

I said stop it.

Suzie-Q, his aunt said.

Fine, his mother said. I won’t reprimand your little angel, Helen.

Galen opened his eyes. Now that the crossfire had started, perhaps he was safe.

That’s rich, his aunt said. Galen will be at your tit until he’s fifty. Don’t talk to me about coddling.

Galen smiled. He liked his aunt. She didn’t hold back. He thought of himself clinging to his mother’s tit, tiny baby gums but an otherwise grown body. He laughed, and then he liked laughing, so he stretched and developed it a bit, chortled and added little yelps.

Okay, Galen. That’s enough, his mother said.

But Galen kept laughing, let it bubble forth, and somehow it fed itself and he was feeling much better, lighter and almost free.

His mother got up and left, and without her here to feed it, the laughter slowly wound down. He had tears in his eyes. Ah, he said. That felt good.

You’re a freak, Jennifer said. But I kind of enjoyed that. You should consider the circus.

We’re already in the circus.

His aunt smiled — or what was a smile for her, anyway, lips pulled straight back — and looked up toward the far corner of the ceiling, her arms folded. Well, she said. Well, well, well.

Galen looked down at the little piggy. He was vegetarian. He was also starving, deep cramps in creases that folded and stapled him from the inside. It hurt so much he had trouble sitting up straight. His mother knew he was vegetarian, and she had served him this. Red nub of hot dog poking out of dough. The side dishes condiments.

You do realize, his aunt said, that at some point you’ll have to become something. You’ll have to go to school or get a job or do something. You can’t remain a child forever.

I don’t know if that’s true, Galen said. Look at my mom, for instance.

His aunt laughed. That’s true, she said. That is true. Little Suzie-Q.

You’re a trip, Galen said. I like you.

Well, his aunt said.

The pantry door opened and Galen’s mother returned. Are we through now? she asked.

We’ve only just begun, Galen sang.

Jennifer smiled and put her foot up on his crotch under the table. Her bare foot on his jeans, held there lightly, feeling his boner grow.

How was Mom today? his aunt asked his mother.

She was fine.

Any details?

You should go yourself if you want details.

It’s not enough that you’re the favorite? And that you get to live in this house and collect the checks? You also have to be snotty?

You’re not going to be invited to this house anymore if you behave like this.

No empty threats, please.

Jesus, Galen said. Listen to the two of you.

It’s the only sound in the world, his aunt said. How could we hear anything else?

Jennifer pressed harder against his boner, pleasant at first and then it kind of hurt. He put a hand down to try to push her foot away, but she was too strong. He looked at her and she was smiling. Mascara put on too heavily, a child’s makeup. Blue eyes bright as marbles. But what he always noticed most was the down, the actual down along her cheeks and neck. He could see the tiny blond hairs, so soft. Something he wanted to feel against his own cheek.

What are you two up to? Galen’s mother asked.

Just a stare-down, Galen said. First one to blink has to stay here at the table and talk with the two of you.

Stop it, Galen’s mother said. Jennifer, you look like a little tramp. And all of you have to stop it. Why can’t you just be normal? Why can’t we just be a family?

Galen sighed. Okay, he said. May I have the plate of piggies, please?

Thank you, his mother said. And she passed the plate. A dozen piggies in their blankets. Galen slid them all onto his plate and then he stuffed them in his mouth with both fists, hot doughy intestinal meat with the taste of butchery floors and tongues and hooves. His cousin laughing and his mother gone again and he kept stuffing and chewing and swallowing the little abominations until there were only shards on his plate, the ruins of the feast, and then he bent down to lick his plate clean, left the table with his stomach heaving and lurched up the stairs to his room and bathroom to vomit into the toilet. When he was done, he folded his arms on the toilet seat, his mouth acidic, and he took a little nap. Closed his eyes and slept on the toilet with the unclean water below, thought about dipping his head in for a drink, and he would have done it if his mother had been watching.

Chapter 3

When Galen woke it was dark. The house silent. The time of peace. The way he wished the world could be. No people.

He had to shake his arm to get it to wake up. He flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth. Then he walked barefoot down the stairs, stepping as softly as possible, trying to walk with no weight. His body lifted in the air, gravity gone. This world a dream, the house made of memory. His mother as a child walking these same steps.

Out through the pantry, he walked beneath the enormous leaves of the fig tree, could smell its fruit, let his jeans and underwear and shirt slip to the ground, stood naked. The moon nearly full, and as he stepped around the farm shed into the walnut orchard, he saw the array of bones. Long rows of white trunks and branches all turned to bone in this light. Every branch hollow and too large, luminous. The leaves as shadows too insubstantial to cover.

Galen ran as he had read in the Carlos Castaneda books, let his bare feet find their way in the night, their own path, closed his eyes and held his arms out to the sides, palms up. The clods of dirt crumbling beneath his feet, rocks hard, small branches, leaves. All of it hurt and made him slow down, but he wanted to be lifted free. He wanted to drift over the ground without sound or feel, his feet held just above the surface by a kind of magnetism. Instead, his feet sank deep into furrows, stumbled and jolted, and he never knew what was coming next. He opened his eyes and slowed to a walk, put his arms down.