Work Text:
Where there is darkness
'We had no teachers, then. Just us. Fallible, human "us".'
Daniela Zhou
The Guardian, Saturday 13 October 2012
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Erik Lehnsherr brews a pot of tea exactly as my father does: each spoonful measured precisely to the last leaf, not one carelessly spilled. He takes his tea black, no sugar. Over the course of the interview, he refills the pot with hot water several times, eking out every last drop from the tea leaves.
I am unsettled, not least because Charles Xavier is smiling over us as if he hears the entirety of my thoughts. Of course, he can — and does. His very first words to me, after the usual polite introductions, are an exclaimed, "What a superb mutation you have! Second-generation hydrokinesis? How fascinating."
In an era where telepathic ethics have been drawn, argued over and redrawn ad nauseum into something approaching consensus, Xavier's casual mind-reading is shockingly invasive. It is also very much in-character for the man who was one of the first telepaths to be identified. Outside of the specialised field of genetics, his early writings on mutant integration were fiercely criticised by the generation of the 1980s onward for the unexamined privilege embedded in Xavier's sociopolitical analysis.
It surprises me, therefore, when Xavier apologises with every indication of sincere contrition. "I will do my utmost best not to pry and respond only to what is said. You are broadcasting so very loudly."
Lehnsherr sighs and says, emphatically, "Verbalise, Charles."
A chill crawls down my back. I haven't even noticed Xavier carrying the entire conversation telepathically; with this I am reminded yet again that Xavier is probably the most powerful telepath alive.
Xavier frowns, then runs a hand down his face, weary. "Again, I apologise, Ms. Zhou. We so rarely receive visitors these days, outside of our extended family." His fleshly voice is a dulcet baritone, rasping slightly. "Age catches up with all of us, though mine remains an animal quite unknown to science."
It is true that the effects of aging on mutants are little-studied. Very few mutants who came of age before the near-universal adoption of the Delhi Principles on the Application of International Human Rights Standards in Relation to Mutants place a great deal of trust in the medical community. Old habits die hard, for good reasons: the Goldman Commission, which presented its report to the Parliament last week, unearthed 1,602 verified cases of "gross violations of human rights against mutants" over a period of thirty years. A disproportionate number occurred within medical institutions and care facilities, with victims as young as three.
I know of at least half-a-dozen medical practitioners and scientists who would cheerfully sell their kidneys for the chance to circle around Xavier in his last days like white-coated vultures. Xavier's only known telepathic contemporary, Emma Frost, died well before she reached 50. At 80, Xavier is as much a pioneer of the frontiers of scientific knowledge as he was during the Cuban missile crisis, albeit as the subject rather than the actor of his life's story.
What was it like, back then?
"Exciting," Xavier says promptly. "Frightening. They called us 'children of the atom', but we were simply children, searching in the darkness for a beacon. There are many things I would have differently had I known then what I know now. Please understand: I made peace with my regrets years ago, but I wish I had not caused so much pain."
"We," Lehnsherr interjects. "We both did."
For many in the Western world, the history of mutants since 1962 is the story of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr writ large: their diametrically opposed paths to claim justice for mutants, and eventual reconciliation. It was only after they settled in surprisingly lasting domestic bliss that the eye of popular media finally turned to the already substantial scholarship by mutants of colour and feminist mutants, documenting the lives and struggles of mutant rights advocates beyond the costumed set.
As I watch them from across the polished wood of their kitchen table, I am convinced they are happy for others to take their place in the spotlight. Years of fighting and the corresponding losses have taken their toll: both men have aged well, in the manner of gentlemen of a certain era, but even in the autumn sunshine they seem to carry with them an aura of overwhelming grief. As the minutes tick by, Xavier's calm assurance erodes gently under exhaustion. His elegant hands curl around his cup of tea, as if seeking comfort.
"Erik was the second mutant I ever met," he reminisces. "Before him, there was only Raven. My sister. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't go mad. So many telepaths did. Though it helped, possibly, that my telepathy manifested long before puberty — it feels as natural as any one of my other senses. People are infinitely adaptable."
He flinches, minutely, then leans back in his wheelchair to meet my eyes. "We had no teachers, then. Just us. Fallible, human 'us'. In our drive to remake the world, it was so easy, sometimes, to forget that we are born of humanity. Mutants reflect the best and worst of humanity's potential, just like everyone else."
Xavier's autobiographical Under the Skin, written later in his life, is a foundation text in mutant-related social studies and — more importantly — a go-to resource for young mutants. I remember reading my parents' dog-eared copy as a precocious and angry 13 year-old. I had felt, deep in my bones, his conviction that a better future for mutants is assured only by that very same thing which frees every human being on this earth: the dismantling of all forms of oppression.
My having the ability to shape water does not change my identity as the biracial daughter of a migrant and a refugee in a country where bigotry was (and still is) on the rise. As with many second and third generation mutants I have a secondary physical mutation, but I also inherited my mother's beautiful dark skin. Jeers of "go home" marked my childhood as indelibly as "mutie" and its pejorative derivatives.
That Lehnsherr is a Holocaust survivor has been known for years, thanks to an allegedly deliberate intelligence leak. It remains a difficult subject to broach, especially after several US and Israeli mutant-human groups denounced Lehnsherr over his war against humans. Against all humans, they pointed out, which would presumably include non-mutant Jewish people. I am curious, but I am unsure whether he is at all willing to speak about it.
Lehnsherr rebuffs my tentative questions brusquely. Xavier touches his shoulder, so full of love it hurts to see, and tilts a smile at him. I can't shake the distinct feeling they are having a conversation between minds, perhaps even as Xavier is speaking to me. Xavier graciously confirms my guess, and says, "We do try to communicate verbally at least once a day, but it's been years since Erik had to say anything for me to know what he is thinking.
"He could be on the side of the globe and I wouldn't even have to exert myself to sense what he feels. An unfortunate quirk of telepathy I didn't find out until after the fact."
Said "unfortunate quirk" is a strong mindlink or bond that naturally occurs between telepaths and their emotional intimates. Most happen organically between family members or people within committed long-term relationships, such as Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, but there are exceptions. One recorded case involved a humanitarian aid worker, a Tau-class telepath, and her colleagues in the field.
Since the late 1990s, counselling and remedial programmes have sprung up in response to demand by telepaths. In addition to concerns over privacy and consent issues, both telepaths and non-telepaths involved suffer acute separation anxiety when blocked from the mindlink, either by design or accident. Most mental health professionals advise telepaths to learn to create and maintain, literally, mental distance between themselves and their loved ones. A telepath of my acquaintance tells me he imagines a plexi-glass barrier between his mind and those of his wife and children.
When Xavier and Lehnsherr first built a home together in Salem, however, this possibility was entirely unknown, let alone the subject of an entire branch of clinical psychology. Lehnsherr admits, "When we knew the real nature of our bond, I hated it. I felt strangled—no, trapped. Even if I were to walk out the door again, I can never truly leave Charles."
His honesty startles me. Twenty years ago, such an admission would spur on a wave of anti-mutant sentiment, led by TV pundits and hate columnists. Even just ten years ago, they risk unwelcome intervention rather than understanding. I recall The Common People Project of the 1990s, which sought to push the message that a mutant trying to accommodate biological necessities is not that much different from, say, a pale-skinned non-mutant who can't step out at noon without slathering on SPF 30+ sun cream.
It was a charmingly simplistic message, which is probably why the Project did not gain much traction among hardliners on either side of the genetic divide. A tendency to burn under bright light is not, qualitatively speaking, the same as the ability set things on fire with one's mind. Xavier readily agrees with this point, but — and this has been his argument for decades — rather than treating mutants as living timebombs, there ought to be state and social support to help them manage their powers.
Xavier and Lehnsherr were among the first mutants who underwent the telepathic counselling and remedial programme developed by Dr. Sukayna Ridwan at its trial stage. Unfortunately, by then it was too late: the mindlink between them was too old and too strong.
"I was angry for months," Lehnsherr says. "But I've become too used to having Charles at the periphery of my conscious mind. So I—we dealt with it. We continue to deal with it. That is all."
"Continue" to deal with it?
"We don't know how dementia and loss of brain function will affect the mindlink." Xavier is very matter-of-fact, even detached. Lehnsherr is not; our teaspoons rattle against fine porcelain. "As you know, ordinary disorders can have unexpected effects on mutants. Erik and I are in very good health for our age, but it would be foolish not to consider what may happen in our near future."
What will you do?
"We endure," Lehnsherr snaps. I take up the challenge in his glare, and repeat the question.
Xavier smiles at me. His words would be patronising but for his embarrassing sincerity in saying, "What we've always done, I suppose. Discover every new thing in the spirit life is intended for."
They take me on a tour of the house after our interview. It is purpose-built for a wheelchair user, with wide doorways and low shelving units. The architect originally designed the house with bay windows, Xavier says in passing, but Lehnsherr felt they made the house less secure. The wood-panelled hallways are filled with framed pictures bolted securely to the walls.
I see a picture of Raven Darkholme and her wife, Irene Adler, at the New York Pride. They're grinning at the camera, hoisting up a banner emblazoned with MUTANT, OUT AND PROUD. Face after face welcome us from behind glass, testaments to a diverse and extraordinary history. Xavier wheels to a stop before a group of older pictures and says, affectionately, "My children."
Most are candid shots: Scott Summers sailing a racing yacht, Dr. Jean Grey at her PhD hooding ceremony, the late Warren Worthington III grooming his wings with a disgruntled expression. John Proudstar chasing after a football with a younger, laughing boy. Alex Summers and Dr. Henry McCoy arguing over stacks of open books, angry gestures frozen in time. Sean Cassidy is seen aloft, outlined against a cloudless sky, carrying a large peace sign. One picture shows a very young Ororo Munroe, now headmistress of the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, at a sit-in.
With the integration of specialised classes for mutants into the American public school system, Xavier's School now takes in only young mutants at risk. School-going mutants still face endemic bullying. For mutants from poor or disadvantaged backgrounds, mutation tends to compound the challenges of navigating a system already stacked against them. Despite gains made over the past five decades, the fight is far from over.
Xavier lives about a kilometre away from the school he founded. He teaches the occasional class but is content, he says, to spend most of his days buried in research work. Lehnsherr is apparently working on his autobiography in-between perfecting their unnervingly disciplined garden.
Daylight is fading from the skies when Xavier accompanies me to the gate. Lehnsherr watches us from the doorway of their house, wary and intent. I try not to take offense — I realise by now this is part and parcel of how he views his place in Xavier's life.
I thank Xavier for his time, and Lehnsherr's. "My pleasure," he says. I have just unlocked my car when he calls out, "You shouldn't trust bad advice over your instincts, Ms. Zhou. You already know the answer to the problem you were thinking about all night."
I stare at him. With one last benign smile, he wheels around and back up the garden path, towards Lehnsherr.
- This article is part of The Guardian's Mutant by Mutant series. An edited transcript of Daniela Zhou's interview with Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr can be read here.