Stand sideways, she said. And put your hands behind your back.

Okay, he said.

I’m going to slap your dick, hard, and you can’t move, and you can’t make a sound.

What?

If you move or make a sound, you’ll never see my pussy again.

Why are you doing this?

Hold still.

She swung hard with an open hand, and what he felt was an explosion of pain. He wanted to scream, but he swallowed it. He kept his hands behind his back and closed his eyes and could feel the tears. Then the hard slap again, and he was whimpering, shaking.

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. How does that feel?

Why did you do that?

She reached down for his balls. Don’t move, she whispered.

No, he said. Please.

But she squeezed, gradually tightening her grip, and he felt the pain rise up into his stomach, the nausea. Please, he gasped.

Jennifer let go, then slapped one of his burned thighs, hard, which made him want to howl. Don’t forget, she said. And then she stepped away through the slit in the curtain and was gone.

Chapter 6

Galen tried etheric surgery. Sitting on his bed, imagining a small golden hook dangling from his right hand, he swept the hand over his wounded dick and let the hook pull through and heal. Ideally, his left palm should be underneath, to help create an electromagnetic field for the healing, but it didn’t seem right to just sit on his hand. There had to be some airspace for this to work. So he turned on his side and had his left hand out behind his bare butt and waved his right hand in front of his dick. Now his golden hook was hanging straight down, though. He had to free his mind from gravity. There was no reason the golden hook couldn’t hang out to the side. It was etheric, after all. But his mind was just stuck on the hook hanging down. He couldn’t relax properly into his breathing. And his dick hurt. It was red and puffy on one side, even when it was limp. And he had a small bruise at the base, as if the whole thing had been broken off at the stem. He was afraid a boner would hurt even worse.

He didn’t understand how Jennifer could have done this. His balls were tender, too.

Galen closed his eyes and tried to imagine the hook. Swinging tightly to the side on a slim golden chain, and then he realized he had never imagined the chain before. Was it supposed to be on a chain, or just a hook out there by itself? And did he really need airspace? How did the ether work?

He tried to feel the healing, tried to let it happen, but it wasn’t happening. He remembered a troubleshooting section in the book on etheric surgery. Something about reestablishing a field. So he held his palms still, one a few inches behind his butt and the other a few inches in front of his crotch, and he tried to feel the force field between them. He pushed them lightly toward each other, like fluffing cotton candy, felt the energy now in the center of his palms, could feel them pushing at each other.

Okay, he said.

And now he tried to feel the energy in his crotch, tried to feel the path of that energy from palm to palm as he pushed and fluffed. A kind of warmth, the ether something that was always lit and warm, a little crackly from electricity, but no, that wasn’t right, it wasn’t crackly. Just a smooth warmth and light, and now he was able to dip his right hand and swing the hook through this warmth. He could feel its tug, and it wasn’t where he expected, not on his dick itself but deeper in his crotch at some base, and this was the beauty of etheric surgery. It could find the right places, the sources, and replenish those sources. It wasn’t fooled by the surface of things. And the hook didn’t need a chain. It was swinging out there on its own.

Galen exhaled deeply into the healing. Deeply and more deeply, sinking, the hook a kind of butterfly, fluttering inside him, and when he awoke, his mother was pounding at his door and his cheek was in a puddle of drool.

Uh, he said. Uh. He wasn’t up to speech yet. He wiped his cheek on a fresh bit of pillowcase and rolled onto his back.

And stop locking the door, she yelled.

Uh, he said, and he could hear her steps down the stairs.

Galen felt like he was climbing out of a deep well. A late-afternoon nap could really knock him down.

He sat up on the edge of his bed, the world still swirling a bit. Remaking itself, the appearances all knitting together again. He put his palms out and tried to levitate a few inches in the air, right now, while the world was caught off guard, before it was fully solid again.

Come on, he said. He tried to get the ether to lift his butt, but gravity was gluing him down, and it was too late. The world had remade itself. He hadn’t been quick enough. Fuck, he said. I have to be quicker.

He looked around for his underwear. Several pairs on the floor, maybe a dozen scattered around, and he couldn’t remember which was the clean pair from this afternoon. So he just went for the closest and hoped that was right.

He pulled on his T-shirt and shorts, which stung, lathered his thighs with aloe, a cooling, wonderful relief, tied his shoes but still felt so groggy he lay back down.

Galen! his mother yelled.

So he sat up and stumbled over to the door, down the stairs to the dining room. She had set the table with candles, even though it wasn’t dark out yet. Plates at either end of the long table, using the old Polish china with the edges painted in red and blue. A large round of sourdough bread in the middle of the table, filled with a white dip.

I fixed onion dip, she said.

He walked up close to it and looked down. White with brown streaks, the onions. Crackers on a wooden board, and vegetables cut up. Hunks of broccoli and cauliflower, whole carrots and slices of bell pepper.

I fixed a vegetarian meal for you, she said. Fresh vegetables, not even cooked.

Thanks, Mom, he said. This looks great. He grabbed his plate and filled it with veggies and crackers and a few hunks of sourdough bread, then spooned a mound of dip. He was famished. Wow, he said.

He sat down, and his mother looked pleased. Thanks, Mom, he said again. Then he dipped a hunk of broccoli and put it in his mouth. Creamy and delicious, and a good crunch in the broccoli. He closed his eyes and hummed as he ate. Only the best meals brought on the humming.

Food was a meditation, an opportunity not to be missed. He sat very tall, erect in his chair, his crown chakra open, and let the food thrum through his body. He kept his eyes closed and felt for his food with his hands, dipped his fingers in the luscious dip and sucked on them, breathed in the bread before he chewed, crunched away at the slices of bell pepper, so juicy and fresh.

I love this, he said.

Shall we take our plates to the fireplace? his mother asked.

Sure, he said. We haven’t done that in a while. He piled more veggies on and they walked into the front room with the piano and high ceilings. Tucked inside, at the very center of the house, was an enormous hearth made of granite slabs from the Sierras, with rugs in front. Galen lay down, propped his elbow on a pillow, and kept eating. His mother lay down facing him.

Where are we? she asked. It was their game, from as far back as he could remember.

In mountains, he said. In front of larger mountains.

Mongolia, she said. Maybe Mongolia.

And we’ve ridden here across a wide plain.

Snow and winter, she said. The horses with blankets.

The plain had only hard tufts of grass, nothing for the horses to eat.

We’re running from someone.

Or everyone.

Yes. His mother was excited, up on an elbow now, leaning in closer. Her eyes gray with flecks of gold, similar to the granite. Running from everyone. That’s right. They don’t understand us, and we’re alone. We can’t talk to anyone.