From: seaverw@columbia.dsu.edu (W. A. Seaver)
Subject: Haven, Part The Second
Organization: Dakota State University
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 02:03:24 GMT

                              _Haven_
                          Part The Second

Darci:
    I told you I'd write again with more news, and I'm sorry this is 
late, but, hey, when have I ever been prompt?
    The past two weeks have been, as I guess they'd say in those Lit 
101 poems, idyllic. Every morning, I crawl out of bed--sometimes 
Rod's, sometimes Summer's, depending on who's sleeping with who-- 
and go to Center Square for breakfast, where everyone greets me with 
a hug and a kiss. Then down to the spring for a quick bath in the 
pool. It's no hot spring, but it has the advantage of waking you up. 
Several other people are usually already there, either also bathing 
or quietly sitting on the rocks over the spring, meditating on the 
water gushing out. Since Ridgeline takes its water from the spring, 
and isn't big enough to have much of a purification system, the rule 
is _biodegradable soap only_. I don't believe it cleans as well as 
regular soap, but in the heat and humidity we've had the past week 
even normal baths are good for only an hour or two.
    With the number of helping hands, my share of the chores doesn't 
take long to complete, and I pass the time either exploring the 
woods or reading. The Haven has a small but good library that I've 
been trying to sample as much of as possible. The very core of 
Center Square is the Silent Space (don'tcha love their names?) 
that's all skylight and cushions. I take my books in there and read 
while other folks lie on the cushions and watch the clouds go by. A 
kind of Japanese rock garden in reverse: looking up instead of down. 
(Brad, the only one here even slightly artistic, is in fact thinking 
of painting Japanese rock gardens on the walls so the Silent Space 
can be used on cloudless days, too). The most popular book here is 
"Stranger in a Strange Land," which seems to be where many of The 
Haven's social habits have come from, though nudity, outside of the 
pool, still is a fairly personal thing kept behind private doors. 
"Walden Two" for some reason isn't very popular, but "Ecotopia" is. 
Those are the only three I've thoroughly gone through so far.
    In answer to your last letter's question, _no_, I'm not bothered 
that Rod is also sleeping with Jeannie--they had a thing going long 
before I showed up---nor does it bother Jim that he's sharing Summer 
with me. We're all family here, and sharing our love with the whole 
family is just part of the program.
    I'd better go if I want to get this on this morning's run to 
Ridgeline. As usual, be sure to throw out the envelope and don't 
leave this lying around where Travis might find it. You really 
oughta get a restraining order against him.
                                  Love, Candi

    The Haven sat on a vast tract of land surrounded by federal 
National Forest property. It had been deeded to a writer of large- 
print westerns who used it for old-west inspiration and for hunting. 
One day he up and donated the whole kit and kaboodle to the Gaia 
Society and took a huge tax write-off: a deliberate smack in the 
face to the government agency that had several times offered him 
well over the land's appraised value. I didn't know how large the 
entire property was, but I walked several miles through virgin woods 
without encountering a fence. One day, I did come across something 
unusual.
    A red ribbon.
    It was tied around the trunk of a small birch tree, tattered and 
waterstained, as if it had been there quite a while. A few yards 
away, a similar ribbon was tied around another tree. In the 
distance, I could make out a third--and a fourth. Markers. I 
followed them, of course.
    They ended at the door of a leaning log cabin. Though apparently 
about 150 years old, the structure was in remarkably good shape. In 
a few spots, the logs had rotted through and been chinked with stone 
and dried mud. So someone still used it. In fact, I could hear 
movement inside.
    I would have peeked through a window if there had been one. 
Instead, I had to opt for the direct approach. Gripping the cold 
iron handle, I pushed the door open as quietly as I could--which 
wasn't too quiet.
    "Jim??"
    He sat at a long homemade wooden workbench cluttered with mason 
jars, C-clamps, and tubing evidently cut from various car engine 
hoses. The air smelled vaguely of vinegar and gasoline all mixed up. 
He turned at the sound of my voice.
    "Candi! I'm surprised you stumbled upon this place."
    "Your silk road was hard to miss. So this is the mad scientist's 
lab?"
    "Only of sorts. If I don't practice chemistry, I get rusty. When 
I found this old trapper's cabin, I figured it would be the perfect 
way to keep out of everyone's hair."
    "So what's the secret brew of the week?"
    "This," Jim said, lifting a pickle jar filled with blue liquid, 
"is hopefully a strong fertilizer. Twice as much trading power right 
here in this bottle. 'In fact, I'd rather have this bottle in front 
of me than a frontal lobotomy.'"
    I laughed. "I can think of something even better."
    "Oh yes. Me and a couple others have hounded Summer for quite 
awhile now about getting a couple horses. They'd be perfect for The 
Haven. Plus, nothing grows a petunia like good old fashioned horse 
shit."
    The mention of Summer's name got me thinking, and I was silent 
for several moments. Then: "Jim, what do you think of Summer? As a 
leader, I mean."
    "Hm. You should have noticed by now that we don't have a 
_leader_. We're just an equal family unit. She organizes and manages 
most of The Haven, but she has no 'leadership' position."
    "Still, she's clearly in charge."
    "If Summer leads the way in any fashion, it's with her strength. 
She rallies us. Kept us going when The Haven looked like it was 
never going to come together. In physics, there's the strong force 
and the weak force. The strong force holds everything together. 
That's what Summer does. She's the keystone in this project, whether 
or not she fills out paperwork or passes decrees."
    "Yes, but I know her tendency to drop a project once she loses 
interest."
    "Hey, two and a half years in the making. I don't see her losing 
interest so far. People change over time, you know. Especially in 
this place."
    "But we were on the road _three_ years when she suddenly decided 
she was tired of it and told me I was on my own," I said, anger 
suddenly rising in my voice. "And she hasn't changed one frickin' 
bit! She got rid of one ring in her nose, but _that's it_! Even 
smokes the same brand cigarettes, fer crissake. This whole place I 
think is nothing more than her way of giving the country one massive 
mindfuck! Her whole life has been that. Ram it in, harder and 
deeper."
    Jim put his hands on my shoulders. "Hey, slow down, hon. You 
don't think every one of us here isn't a little bit psychopathic? A 
bit anti-society? We wouldn't be here if we weren't. The world's got 
big problems out there. We're just looking for a few solutions. I 
don't call that a mindfuck. I call it a revolution. And to be 
perfectly honest, I don't think you've changed that much yourself. 
I think you're so desperate to prove to yourself that you've changed 
that you're resenting Summer for proving you wrong. That's my 
unprofessional opinion. What do you think?"
    I didn't answer him. I just held on to him and cried and cried 
and cried.

    Summer's made the next trip into Ridgeline. I went with her. The 
day had begun as humid as those of the past week and a half, and 
although not yet ten-thirty, the heat had risen toward almost 
unbearable. I had come to talk with her, to clear the air of all the 
things Jim had made me realize yesterday afternoon, but I couldn't 
think of how to start.
    Now free of The Haven's "smoking only in private quarters" rule, 
Summer fired up a cigarette and hung an arm out the pickup's window, 
skillfully maneuvering the battered road with one hand. I sat shoved 
over against my door, trying not to meet her eye.
    Finally, she said, "You're awfully quiet, babe."
    "Just thinking."
    "Thinking'll get you nowhere 'less you do something about it."
    "Well, I was talking with Jim yesterday afternoon--"
    "And you passed me off as a complete bitch."
    So he had told her. Should have expected. I could feel the 
waterworks coming again. "Summer, I'm sorry. If I had just 
thought..."
    "I guess I can't blame you. I mean, I went and left you thumbing 
alone by the roadside. That was really cheap of me. Like I said, I'm 
surprised you bothered to answer my letters. At first, I thought 
you'd come here to bitch at me. So. Bitch away. I deserve it."
    "I can't."
    "Then shall we consider that end of discussion? Back to happy 
thoughts?"
    I smiled, though it was hard. "Okay."
    "Fuckin'-A," she said, and passed me her cigarette.

    Summer parked in front of Fayette's and went inside to take care 
of business, and I ran the two and a half blocks to the post office. 
I had said I'd pick up the mail, but that was little more than an 
excuse to talk to Mrs Courtisane. The stubby postmistress may have 
been talkative, but she was such a sweet lady. I jogged up the 
wooden steps to the post office, feeling the whole length down to 
the end of the old general store quake beneath my feet. I pulled 
open the patched screen door and went in, hearing the door repeat- 
shot shut behind me.
    "Good morning, Mrs Courtisane! Any mail for The Haven-- Who are 
you?"
    The person who had emerged from the back room was not Louise 
Courtisane. It was a wiry man about a thousand years old. He wore a 
thick rubber thimble over his thumb.
    "I'm the postmaster from Manistique. Mrs Courtisane took sick. 
They sent me to help out."
    "Took sick?"
    "Mr Seitz came for the mail this morning and found her lyin' on 
the floor in back. He took her to the hospital in Escanaba in his 
boat, but they don't think she'll make it. Prob'ly couldn'ta saved 
her if'n they had caught it."
    "What's wrong with her?"
    He looked straight at me and thoughtfully chewed on something 
that wasn't there. "Brain tumor."
    My hand shot up to my mouth.
    "Now what'd you say your name was," he said, as if the 
conversation never took place. "Havin, was it? How do you spell 
that?"
    "Nuh-never mind," I muttered, and quickly headed for the door. I 
pressed my back against the front of the building and stood there, 
trying to gather my thoughts. My heart was beating hard in my chest. 
The sun beating down through the humidity only made me feel worse. I 
twisted my sweat-slicked wrist in my hand, trying to think.
    _Oh, come on. It's not that bad. It's not like she was your best 
friend. You hardly knew her._ True. But something was very wrong. It 
was like this wasn't some horrible medical accident, but something I 
should have _expected_. _Okay, calm down, girl. Get yourself a drink 
of water and sit down and GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF._
    I stepped away from the wall, not sure my legs would support me, 
and wobbled my way to the drinking fountain. I pressed my thumb on 
the cold chromed button and leaned over. Just before my lips touched 
the narrow stream of water, I stopped short. The water had a funny 
odor to it. Like vinegar and gasoline all mixed together.
    "Oh sweet Jesus," I whispered.

    I couldn't get the pickup up the path to The Haven, so I had to 
leave it and run. I was stumbling over every rock and twig and 
slippery spot on the trail. It's a wonder I didn't knock myself 
silly. Then I was at The Haven and pounding on Rod's door. When he 
opened it, I brushed past him and collapsed on the bed before he 
could even say "hi."
    "Candi," he said, kneeling beside me, "what's wrong?"
    "Oh god. Close the door, close the door." He did. "They're 
killing them."
    "What? Who's killing who?"
    "Jim and Summer. They're putting something in the water that's 
giving all those poor people in Ridgeline cancer!"
    "You can't be serious. What makes you say that?"
    I had spent too much time crying the past couple days to cry any 
more, but I was sure trying. "Look, half of Ridgeline has dropped 
dead of cancer, right? This morning I went to take a drink of water 
and it had a strange smell. I smelled the same thing in Jim's 
chemical lab yesterday."
    "That doesn't prove anything."
    "Where does Ridgeline get its water supply? From the river fed 
by _our_ spring. They have to take water from this spring instead of 
the bay, because they don't have a water purification system."
    "So do we. And we bathe in it, too. Why aren't _we_ dead?"
    "It doesn't have to be added at the source. They could be drip- 
feeding their stuff into the river half a mile downstream."
    "Okay, this is starting to make sense. Ye gods. But I still 
can't see any reason why--"
    "_Gaia_," I said, enunciating the word carefully. "Phase Two. 
Part The Second. You yourself told me."
    I could tell by his eyes he had finally gotten it. "Find a 
nearly abandoned town and take over. Oh shit."
    "'Oh shit' is right. What do we do?"
    "You came back with Summer?"
    I shook my head. "I took the truck from in front of the grocery 
store. Left her standing on the sidewalk screaming at me."
    "Good. We ought to confront her alone. We don't know if the rest 
of the family is in on this or not. Probably not, but why take 
chances? Let's go get her."

Darci:
    My hands have stopped shaking--I think I can finish writing this 
now. I'm gonna need a freaking moving van to haul it when I do.
    Rod and I drove back to Ridgeline, but Summer was gone. She 
always did have a nose for getting out of town just before the 
guillotine fell. Probably just stuck out her thumb when me and the 
truck disappeared around the corner and hit the road. She's used to 
traveling with nothing but the clothes on her back, so I didn't 
expect her to return.
    Jim must have caught whiff of the situation, because when we got 
back, he had absconded too--in _my_ Mustang! Took most of his and 
Summer's things, so we figure they had the details planned out a 
long time ago. It was probably no accident that Summer made the 
Ridgeline drive that day, to see if I knew. I imagine they'll 
eventually meet somewhere on the road and drive off into the sunset. 
Just remember, dear, that our sunset is always someone else's 
sunrise.
    It didn't take long to find and dismantle their drip-hose at the 
riverbank. It was buried about half an inch under the soil, just 
enough to conceal it. We pulled it up and it led us about two 
hundred yards through the woods right to Jim's cabin. I wanted to 
burn the place to the ground right there and then, but Rod had the 
presence of mind to stop me before I could. I hadn't stopped to 
think what highly poisonous fumes might billow out and across the 
countryside. Still don't know what to do with it, other than bolt 
the door tight. Any ideas?
    Jim was right about Summer's strength holding this place 
together. I don't know if the others felt their guide beacon had 
abandoned them, or if they just got disillusioned, but one by one 
they packed their things and left. Rod stuck around and drove each 
of them to the bus station in Nahma Junction. Then it was time for 
him to go. I tried to get him to stay, but he said he needed a 
Haven. Reminded me that I'm only nineteen--I am _not_; I'm twenty, 
and I told him that--and he's almost forty.
    "I'm afraid it just wouldn't work outside the paramaters of a 
Haven family," he said.
    To that end, he tried to get me to come with him to the Haven in 
the deserts of New Mexico, but I don't want any more Havens. At 
least, not for a while.
    This is an awfully big place for one person, but I like having 
the pad to myself. For the first time, Darci, I feel _safe_. 
Somewhere where Travis won't find me, and where all those people 
who've ever tried to skin me alive can never touch me. I've found a 
hidey-hole with all the comforts of home. Oh, Darci, I hope you can 
come out here and see what I mean. You'll never want to leave. I 
know I don't.
    I'm not sure when I'll find the ambition to mail this letter- 
-it's quite a walk. But when you do get it, please come see me.
    And bring a couple horses.
                                  Love, Candi
<C> 1992 W.A. Seaver
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