Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff

by Andrea Portes

  “Jeez, how on earth did I give rise to this one?! It’s like she fell off the sad-sack wagon!” Beaumont yawps.

  “Children.” Plum turns to us, full of grace. “You must continue your investigation! It is your destiny.”

  Henry and I manage to find each other in the dark. We wouldn’t admit it, but we happen to be clutching each other right now.

  “But—but how?” I sputter. “I mean what should we do?”

  “Return,” Plum suggests.

  “Return?” I rasp.

  “To the boat,” Plum goes on mysteriously. “You found something there once and there is more to be discovered!”

  “You only know what you perceive. That is everything and nothing,” Maxine purrs from the corner.

  “Indeed, indeed,” August and Sturdevant chime in.

  “I’m sorry. I think I’m missing something—” But I’m interrupted.

  “Exactly.” Plum nods, full of mystical meaning.

  Now all the ancestor ghosts nod in dramatic agreement and slowly begin fading back into the mahogany woodwork.

  “Next time, maybe not so much with the earthquakes! You know, it can be very disconcerting!” I call after them. But they are gone.

  15

  UNCLE FINN IS doing Jivamukti Yoga on the back lawn, because of course he is.

  The sun rises over the house, casting amber light over the jade grass to the cliffs. It’s not yet seven a.m., so even the bluebirds, flickers, and towhees are content in their slumber.

  Right now Finn’s legs are flung over his head like two wet noodles. This seems like the perfect time for Henry to interrupt him.

  “Uncle Finn, we need to ask a favor.”

  Uncle Finn lurches, startled by Henry’s voice, and flips over backward, turning himself into sort of a tilted pretzel in the morning light.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Henry apologizes.

  “No problem, little dudes. What’s up?”

  I’m still trying to stifle my giggles. I place my hand in front of my face in an attempt to hold it together. Uncle Finn is now looking up at us from between his spindly legs.

  “Do you think you can possibly give us a ride to the marina?”

  “It’s important,” I add, sounding official.

  “Sure, you little rapscallions. You do what you need to do, and I’ll commune with the sea goddess. Maybe I’ll even see a pod of dolphins.”

  Henry and I share a quick look. Right. If Uncle Finn gives us a ride to the marina, we might have to take him on the boat with us. And if we take him on the boat with us, we might have to kinda sorta tell him what we’re up to.

  “Um. Maybe you could just give us a ride there? No need to search for dolphins or whatever. They’re probably not even there, because they just like to usually hang out up above, in Marin, this time of year basically . . .” I stammer.

  Henry makes a pained face. Awkward.

  “Oh. Sure, dudes. No problemo.” He flips over.

  “Thanks, Uncle Finn. I appreciate it. Also, do you mind if we leave, like, right now, before everybody wakes up?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “It’s just, I wouldn’t want anyone to worry about us, because, you know, sometimes if people leave early in the morning you could wonder about things like where they’re going . . . do they have a secret newspaper route . . . or are they interning at a Starbucks but not wanting to say anything because that’s a multinational corporation that tactically freezes out the competition, devastating all the mom-and-pop cafés and contributing to the generic social experience.” I’m really going for it.

  Uncle Finn just looks at me.

  Henry tries to make it better. “Also, you know what they say, the early bird gets the worm!”

  Finn looks at us and tilts his head. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you two little ragamuffins might be up to something . . .”

  Henry and I look at each other, then back at Uncle Finn.

  “Nope.” I shrug. “Just perfectly normal kid stuff.”

  “All right then. I’ll get the keys!” Finn does a kind of backflip and heads for the house.

  Breakwater Cove, here we come.

  16

  AS WE NEAR the marina, it’s clear both Henry and I are feeling guilty. Our parents drilled it into us not to be deceitful, and here we are lying all over the place like scheming banshees. The car pulls up to the fairly empty parking lot. There are a few fishermen down at the end of one dock, readying their boats, but other than that, it’s pretty sparse.

  I give Henry a look. I don’t even have to say anything. We’re both feeling it.

  He shrugs.

  “Um. Uncle Finn? We have something important to tell you but you have to keep it secret.” I wade carefully into this crazy conversation.

  “Are you looking for a lost city? That’s it, isn’t it? Is it the lost city of Atlantis? Or the Lost City of Zed? You found evidence, didn’t you, you little tiny geniuses?”

  “No. It’s actually kind of more serious than that. This is kind of like . . . a thing.”

  “Sure. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was diminishing your emotions,” Uncle Finn says.

  “No, I just. Well, we just. We need you to, uh . . . brace yourself a bit.”

  “Okay. I’m braced. Consider me firmly and most unflinchingly braced.”

  Henry and I exhale.

  “All right.” Henry explains: “We have reason to believe our parents’ deaths may not be as simple as they seem.” It comes out a bit too formal, sort of a defense.

  “What? Are you serious?” Uncle Finn looks at us in disbelief.

  “I know. I know it sounds strange. But there’s . . .” Henry looks at me. Okay, no, he’s not going to explain to Uncle Finn that we have been being periodically visited by ancestor ghosts for a week. That sounds nutso.

  “There have just been a lot of strange things happening. Let’s not get into the minor details, Henry,” I add.

  “Right. Right now we’re just in the investigation and proof collection stage,” Henry affirms, sounding official.

  “Proof? What kind of proof? Proof of what?” Uncle Finn seems taken aback.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. What if he just thinks we’re psychotic and tells everyone and we get shipped off to the funny farm by those guys in white coats. Rubber Room City, population: 2.

  “We think, well, maybe our parents’ accident . . . wasn’t an accident.”

  Finn gasps. He claps both hands over his mouth. He appears, to be honest, a bit green.

  After a few moments he asks, “Not an accident? But why? How? Who could—”

  “Honestly, we’re working on that part.” I turn to Henry for an assist.

  “We’re still gathering evidence.”

  Uncle Finn thinks for a moment. “Are you kids serious?”

  “Pretty serious.” I nod. “More serious than not.”

  “Sixty, maybe sixty-two percent serious,” Henry guesses.

  Finn looks at us, our two little heads looking up at him, framed by the bright blue sky. We are two lost puppies in a storm. He sighs.

  “Okay, little dudes. Whatever you need. But I’m really hoping this is all a big mix-up, ’cause otherwise it’s just . . . too much of a bummer.”

  I nod. That is one way to put it.

  Should we touch on the ghost part now? It occurs to me that if anyone would believe us about these ghosts, it would be Uncle Finn.

  “Hey, um, did you feel anything last night?” I ask him. “Like a tremor, or a quaking of some sort?”

  Henry elbows me, shaking his head. Clearly he doesn’t want me to go any further into it.

  “Nope. Why, was there an earthquake and I missed it? Figures. I sleep like the dead. No offense. I snored right through a 6.0 in Bangladesh once. If you can believe it.”

  He didn’t feel it. So, for now, I guess we’ll just stick to a simple fact-finding expedition on the boat.

  Easy breezy.
You know. Unless there’s a murderer running loose.

  17

  THERE’S THE IDEA of the thing we’re doing and then there’s the actual thing we’re doing. Intellectually, it’s easy to think about it, plot, strategize. But if I let myself fall off that particular one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, check-all-the-boxes-in-the-to-do-list life raft . . . then the gut-churning reality of actually going back out to sea, to hover above the spot where our parents perished . . . that’s sort of where I start to fall apart.

  I have to brace myself against it.

  I just need to keep the fact-finding part of this mission up high in the uppermost reaches of my cranium, or there’s no way I can keep this up. If I let this dark matter creep down from the lizard part of my brain, down my neck and chest, into my heart, there is the very real possibility that I might just break down. My knees might buckle and the air just might start coming in and out in gasps.

  So this must continue to stay a strictly intellectual operation.

  It’s official: I’m now living exactly where Henry lives. Smack dab in the middle of my brain. Actually, the middle of the left side. The logical part. The rational one. The analytical one. The other side? The right side? The one that processes art and sadness and emotions? Well, I am sending that one to take a powder for the day. Bye, right side. See you in the funny pages.

  This marina, as you know, is in Monterey Bay. If you ever want to visit, there’s an uber-cool aquarium right on top of the rock cliffs where you can look down and see an actual real tide pool, attached to the ocean and everything. It’s early morning now, so it’s not open, but I make a vow to check it out on our way back. My mom used to take us there every month, so going there is kind of like being with . . .

  Stop, right brain! Go away!

  The good news is our favorite sea captain, Wayne from the land Down Under, is setting up the rigging at the end of the dock. I am glad he has not been overtaken by hobbits.

  “Wayne! Hey, Wayne! Remember us?!”

  He looks up from his sailor knot. “Well, didn’t expect to see you young ’uns back so soon! Who’s this, then?”

  We introduce him to Uncle Finn and he gives him a hearty handshake.

  “Ah, Kiwi?” Finn guesses.

  “Right you are. Good ear.” Wayne smiles, looking back at us.

  “So, um. Do you think you would mind taking us out again?” I ask.

  “We’ll pay you for your trouble,” Uncle Finn offers.

  “Aw, no. No trouble for these kids, then.” He nods at us kindly. “Knew their folks. Good people.”

  “Too good,” Finn replies in a near whisper.

  I would hug him, but logical brain time.

  The dock is starting to hum with activity, as bit by bit more sailors and fishermen come out to greet the day, over the docks. By the time we get out past the breakwater, I can even see a tour group arriving, one by one laughing and boarding a larger boat, “Monterey Jitney” written across the bow. Lots of men in khaki shorts and women in sun hats. They look around, expectantly, excited for a day out at sea. I want to be excited with them.

  As we cruise out, Uncle Finn takes in the view, the little Craftsman homes getting smaller and smaller until they look like tiny dollhouses, placed pristinely on the hills.

  The last of the golden light burns off into the pale blue sky above, fading in, devoid of clouds or even a thought of a cloud. The waters are calm today, hardly even any whitecaps, just deep, dark indigo. I’m hoping for a whale sighting, as we are in the middle of the humpback migration period, but who knows.

  “We’re heading out from Point Lobos, where the last signal was logged,” Henry explains to Uncle Finn.

  Wayne looks back at Finn and me, standing on the starboard side, peering out.

  “You might as well have a seat, then. This should take a while.”

  Henry nods, concurring.

  Gazing back at the wake of the boat, I try not to think about what could have happened here. I try to just get lost in the triangle of whitewash behind the boat, kicked up by the motor, the light reflected off the water, and the big blue sea. There’s a lullaby here, a calming, as if the ocean itself is rocking me, singing a song about eternity and what was here before and what will be here after.

  Uncle Finn is silent, too, taking it in. Not even a word.

  None of us say the word. Explosion. That’s a word we keep down deep, deeper than the silt and Dungeness below.

  I keep my eyes out for some harbor seals, sea otters, or maybe a pod of bottlenose dolphins. Sometimes they’ll come and play in the wake, or race along near the front of the boat at lightning speed, little gray-and-white torpedoes in the water. Every once in a while they’ll pop out of the water, flying and surfing. I swear, you can almost see them smile when they jump. They’re curious, so sometimes they just swim by to investigate, see what’s shaking. Once you see them spiraling and frolicking in the waves, you’ll never again want to see them anywhere but there, out in the water, free, in the great wide ocean.

  If I see them today, I will join them. I’ll throw myself into the current and race out to sea with my new pod of bottleneck dolphins who will raise me up as one of their own. Then, when you come out past the breakwater, you will see me torpedo through the wake of the boat; you’ll think you recognize me but I’ll be gone before you know it, off with my new pod to adventures off the coast of Southern climes, past Catalina, Ensenada, and down to La Paz.

  No one will find me there.

  18

  THE SKY IS turning marble blue before we reach the coordinates. The wind is sending a chill down over the bow of the boat.

  I’m not sure what I expect to find here. What we were supposedly sent back for. To revisit.

  Maybe more evidence? Maybe something we missed?

  Neither Henry nor I mention that we are here on the advice of a gaggle of ghosts.

  “There! There it is.” Henry and Wayne focus on the screen. This is it. The exact spot where we realized there had been an explosion. The exact spot where we were relieved of any semblance of normalcy in our lives. This so-called accident.

  But it could have been an accident.

  Why couldn’t it have been? That’s really the issue. Just because there was an explosion doesn’t necessarily mean there was anything purposeful or nefarious, right?

  “I don’t know what we’re looking for.” It comes out like a plea.

  Wayne looks up at me from the bow, concerned.

  Uncle Finn gently places his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we ought to sit back a bit, what do you say? Look, it’s a beautiful day out, look at that light on the water. Breathtaking.”

  He walks me gently aft, back to the stern.

  I know Henry. He’ll keep it logical. He’ll keep this as a scientific experiment, square on the left side of his brain, for as long as he can. Maybe forever.

  But Uncle Finn is right, taking me away from that screen. Here, looking out the port side, back at the distant cliffs with the sun coming down, painting their sides into gold, maybe I don’t want to know any more about what happened. Maybe I don’t want to know anything again.

  Uncle Finn puts his coat around me.

  “You have to stay ahead of the cold. If your bones get cold out here, it’ll be too late. You’ll never warm up.”

  He’s right about that. This kind of wet cold, over the ocean current, if it gets under your skin you’ll be cold for months. Once my mom made me take a two-hour steaming-hot bath to get the ocean air out of my skeleton.

  No! Left brain, stop! Don’t think about that right now. Don’t ever think about that again.

  Uncle Finn puts a delicate arm around me while Henry, now apparently Captain Wayne’s adopted nephew, conjectures.

  “Look! Look, Eva!” Finn leaps up.

  He points out over the bow, starboard, out to sea. There, about one hundred feet away, I see it. A humpback whale migrating south. Sometimes if you see one, you’ll see the whole family, but this one appears s
olo. Probably a male.

  He’s not breaching or doing anything showy, he’s just quietly glissading parallel to us. Stealth.

  “Henry!”

  Henry and Captain Wayne both come aft to see the whale.

  We all stand in silence, taking in this majestic creature, pondering him as he ponders us.

  This is the best part.

  Just as the whale is gliding past us, he rolls slightly, turning his colossal body so his eye can see us. His giant eye looks almost human in shape, and even cognizant, peering directly at us, while his enormous body angles just out of the water.

  A moment.

  And then down again, plunging under the water and then gone.

  We all look at each other, speechless.

  19

  WHEN THE WHALE dives back down under the deep sapphire sea, there’s a stillness. A hush of disappointment. A kind of feeling like we’d just seen some kind of mystical, eternal, transcendent creature and now the only thing left was the dreary rest of it. The day-to-day. A life measured out in coffee spoons.

  And then it hits me.

  We are not looking for something that is.

  We are looking for something that isn’t.

  “Henry!”

  He glances back at me from the stern.

  “I know what it is! I know what we missed!”

  Henry comes aft toward me, and Uncle Finn shuffles out of the way, wanting to give us privacy. He and Captain Wayne share a look.

  “What, Eva? What is it?”

  “It’s not what we’re missing,” I tell him. “It’s what is missing.”

  Henry’s face scrunches in an attempt to understand.

  “Captain Wayne,” I call, “turn the boat around. It’s time to go back.”

  20

  THE BOAT IS speeding back through the swells toward the dock, Captain Wayne and Uncle Finn at the helm, Henry and me aft, huddled in toward each other, talking in hushed tones, the steady drone of the motor almost drowning us out.

  “Do you remember the one thing Mom was OCD about?” I ask.

  Henry shakes his head. “Honestly, no.”