On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light

by Cordelia Strube

  “A flying carpet?”

  “Flying carpets are thin and wavy. Your fish is thick, like a huge tongue.”

  “Can I eat it now?”

  “Mine’s shaped like a broken wing. See how it’s bent?”

  Trent tugs on her ponytail. “So how are things, Super Girl?”

  “Good.”

  “What did you pirates get up to today?”

  “We delivered flyers on the gimpmobile. Forbes let me throw them.”

  “Wow.”

  “And then I taught him how to curtsy.”

  “Cool.” Trent says “cool” when he isn’t listening. He keeps glancing out the window. “How’s your mother?”

  “Whose mother?” Heike asks.

  “Yours.”

  “She’s mad at the landscapers. She doesn’t like the rocks they put in. I told her we don’t need more rocks. There’s no room for me to dig with those rocks all over the place. She said I shouldn’t be digging in the dirt anyway, so I asked if I could have a sandbox. She said cats defecate in sandboxes and make them toxic.”

  “Wow.”

  “She’s really stressed out about the landscaping. She wants the landscaper to change the rocks or give the money back.” Heike pushes several fries into her mouth.

  “Did you wash your hands?” Irwin asks. Uma tells him to make sure Heike washes her hands before meals. He never remembers to wash his.

  Heike squeezes more ketchup onto her fries. “Of course I washed my hands, big brother.”

  “When?”

  “After I ordered.”

  He suspects she’s lying but can’t be sure as he wasn’t watching her the whole time. It worries him how easily she lies, and that no one notices.

  A stocky woman in bike shorts and a purple helmet pulls open the glass door. “Trent Baggs,” she says. “What a marvellous coincidence.”

  “Candace. What a wonderful surprise.” Trent stands and offers her a seat. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Are these your beautiful children?”

  “They certainly are. This is Heike, and this is Irwin. Kids, I’d like you to meet a very special lady. Candace Gittens.”

  Candace Gittens offers her bicycle-gloved hand for them to shake. Irwin shakes but Heike just eyes her, chewing on fish.

  “You’re not surprised to see my father at all,” she says. “You were down the block waiting for him to get here. I saw you. This was a set-up.”

  “Heike,” Irwin says, “be polite.”

  “It’s not polite to pretend you’re surprised to meet someone when it was all planned. It’s time for full disclosure.”

  “Wow,” Trent says. “Can we rewind a little?”

  “I am not rewinding,” Heike insists, spewing bits of fish. “Are you my dad’s new squeeze? Do you know how many girlfriends he’s had? Hundreds. And two wives.”

  “Heike, that’s enough,” Trent says.

  “It is not enough. You think just because we’re children you can fool us. Well you can’t. And you know what? Mum has a new boy toy. They meet at Starbucks, and I bet he’s parking his plane in her runway right this second.”

  “Wow.”

  Candace, still in her bike helmet, seems unable to take her eyes off Heike, who stares right back at her. “Blinking contest,” Heike announces. “You blinked. I win.”

  Trent wipes his hands on a napkin. “Okay, kids, you’re right. We did set this up only because we didn’t want to upset you.”

  Heike shoves her notebook into her backpack. “We’re upset anyway.”

  “I’m not,” Irwin says.

  “That’s because you’re on meds.”

  “I’m not on meds.”

  “You’re not?” Trent asks.

  “I forgot to take them. I’ll take them when I get home.”

  “Listen, guys, I just wanted you to meet Candace casually. We didn’t want to make a big deal about it.”

  “It is a big deal,” Heike says. “Why do you have to have girlfriends all the time? Why can’t you just be single?”

  “I was single before I met Candace.”

  “For about five minutes after what’s-her-face.”

  “More than five minutes.”

  Candace holds up her hand as if she’s not sure she has the correct answer. “Heike, I completely understand where you’re coming from. My parents divorced and met new people, and I had to adjust. It was really hard. But then I decided I wanted them to be happy. I knew they wouldn’t be happy alone. Humans just aren’t that kind of animal.”

  “They’re selfish animals.” Heike grabs her paper plate of fish and fries. “Let’s bounce, Irwin.”

  “Heike!” Trent says.

  “Stay with your new squeeze, Father. Don’t let your children stand in your way.”

  Trent clutches one of Candace Gittens’ gloved hands. “I’m so sorry, Candy.”

  Heike unlocks her scooter from a parking sign. “I like how he says sorry to her but not to us.”

  “You can’t hold a plate and ride your scooter at the same time. We should go back in. We don’t have to sit with them.”

  She hands her plate to Irwin and turns off her cell. “No way I’m going back in there. He called her Candy. Eww.”

  They eat their fish in the park. Heike studies the graffiti carved into the bench. “I wonder if Liam still loves Emily. Doubt it.”

  “I don’t know why you get so worked up about your parents dating.”

  “They’re supposed to be married.”

  “So, it didn’t work out. Lots of people don’t stay married.”

  “My parents aren’t lots of people. They sacrificed a lot to have me. Mummy says she had to postpone defending her thesis because of me. If I’m so special, how come they’re homewreckers?”

  “I don’t think it’s any of our business what they do.”

  “You don’t think anything is your business. Name one thing you think is your business.”

  Irwin feeds a fry to a squirrel, trying to think of something that he considers his business.

  “Case closed,” Heike says. “You can’t think of anything.”

  “You’re my business, babysitting you.”

  “I don’t see why. She never pays you. If I were you, I’d be pissed she never coughs up.”

  “I like being with you.”

  “Not as much as with Harry. You wish I was Harry.”

  “That’s not true.” Heike has always been jealous of Harriet, and Irwin’s never understood why. Harriet is dead.

  “If you find her in your alternate universe,” Heike says, “you’ll never come back and I’ll be all alone.”

  “I’ll never leave you alone.”

  “People always do things they say they’ll never do. Like getting divorced. And Dad said he’d never forget to call me and he always does.”

  “I’m not like Dad. I don’t forget.”

  “Please take me with you to your AU.”

  “You can’t take a person with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my alternate universe is different from yours. You can only visit your alternate universe.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” She pulls out her magnifying glass to examine the bench more closely. “You should have kept some of Harry’s blood for DNA, then you could have cloned her. They’re doing that to a frog. It’s been extinct for thirty years and now they’re cloning it because it’s the only animal that gives birth through its mouth.”

  “Why? It’ll just go extinct all over again. I mean, there are way fewer places for frogs to live than there were thirty years ago.”

  “Does that mean you think Harry would die all over again if she was cloned?”

  “Of course not.”

  �
��Why not? It’s a worse environment. She’d probably kill herself all over again.”

  “She didn’t kill herself. She fell.”

  “Likely story.” Uma says this.

  “Why are you being so mean?”

  “I’m not being mean,” Heike says. “It’s just everybody thinks she killed herself.”

  “Nobody knew her like I did. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t have left me alone. She loved me. She took care of me. She would never do that.” A rush of despair, freed from medical restraints, floods his chest and gushes up his throat. In seconds hot tears spurt from his eyes and onto his fish.

  “How come you’re crying again? You never cry on meds.” She claps her hand over her mouth. “You have stopped taking them.”

  It bugs him that it’s impossible to keep secrets from Heike. “I just forgot today. I’ll take them when I get home.”

  She pulls out her notebook and pen.

  “What are you doing?”

  She kneels in the grass, using the bench for a writing surface, and prints carefully.

  “What are you writing?”

  “I’m keeping you under observation.”

  “Why?”

  “Changes in your behaviour will indicate if you’re off meds.”

  “Check your messages. See if your mum called.”

  Heike looks at her phone. “Three times. The woman needs to get a life. And Dad called to make excuses. What a doofus.”

  “We’d better get you home.”

  As soon as they step onto the porch, Uma flings the door open. “I’ve been worried sick. It’s past eight. What were you thinking, Irwin?”

  “We went to the park.”

  She turns to Heike. “Why am I paying for a cell when you always switch it off?”

  “I don’t always switch it off. We were watching a chess game and I didn’t want to disturb the players.” Another lie. “We lost track of time. I’m so sorry, Mummy.” The smooth operator hugs Uma around the waist.

  “Well, that was very considerate of the players, sweetie, but what about me? I worry when I can’t reach you. Call me before you start watching chess next time. Okay, honeybun?”

  “Okay.”

  Uma scowls at the decorative boulders and gravel spread out in place of lawn. “I’m so upset about these rocks. The grey is so nineties.”

  “What colour did you want?” Irwin asks.

  “It’s not about colour, it’s about tone.”

  “Mummy, I promised Irwin frozen yogourt.” Heike didn’t promise him anything.

  “That’s okay,” he says.

  “No, Irwin,” Uma says resignedly, “come inside and have some yogourt with us.”

  He knows she doesn’t want him inside but Heike pulls with all her might on his hand. “Banana Split, your favourite.”

  “Wash your hands,” Uma orders. “Both of you.”

  Irwin believes in ghosts when he’s in Uma’s house. Her dead parents and brother lounge on the antique furniture, speaking German. Uma’s grandparents brought the furniture over from Hamburg in a ship. Uma makes her cleaning lady polish the mahogany to keep it shiny like her mother did. The living room remains as it was when her parents and brother were alive, so there is no reason for the ghosts to leave. The only major house renovation has been the kitchen, which is full of stainless steel appliances and granite surfaces. Uma had a granite-topped island built in the centre of the kitchen. Uma and Heike live on this island and leave the rest of the house to the Germans.

  Uma sets out two bowls. “How was your father?”

  “Good.” Heike takes the frozen yogourt out of the freezer.

  “Where did you eat?”

  “The fish and chips place.”

  Uma groans. “He does it deliberately to irritate me.”

  “It was really good. I talked to the scarred lady. She says I’m so lucky to be able to go to school because boys threw rocks at her when she tried to go.”

  “How did Trent look?” Uma always asks how Trent looked after they’ve seen him.

  “Good.” Heike spoons frozen yogourt into the bowls. “He introduced us to a very special lady.”

  “What lady?”

  “Her name’s Candy. They pretended like they just ran into each other, but it was a set-up. I saw her hanging around down the block with my binoculars.”

  Uma grips the counter the way she does when she’s about to tear up.

  “I should go,” Irwin says.

  “Wait a second, big brother, I didn’t tell you my tomato joke. It’s really funny. There’s this family of tomatoes, and they’re walking down the street and the son is really slow, like, he’s just not keeping up. Guess what his father says?”

  Uma yanks Kleenexes from a box and dabs her eyes.

  “Guess,” Heike repeats.

  “I give up,” Irwin says.

  “Ketchup. Get it? Catch up? Ketchup. Isn’t that hilarious?”

  “What did this Candy woman look like?” Uma asks.

  Heike takes her spoon out of her mouth. “Booby-liscious. A total bike babe.”

  “No she wasn’t,” Irwin says.

  “She was too.”

  Uma shakes her head and sighs. Trent tried to get her on a bike but she refused because she fell off one once and is afraid of spinal cord injuries.

  “Mummy, did you know you can stick a flashlight up your bum?”

  “Did you get her last name?” Uma asks, bunching up her teary Kleenexes.

  Heike spoons more ice cream. “Gittens, rhymes with mittens.”

  Irwin suspects Uma plans to check out Candy Gittens on Facebook. Sydney stalks her ex-boyfriends on social media and says their new girlfriends look like slutty hags.

  “If you turn the flashlight on,” Heike says, “it lights up your gut. I want to try it for Halloween.”

  “Do not try that,” Uma says vehemently. “People die from putting things up their bums.”

  Heike’s eyes widen. “What things?”

  “I can’t believe I’m being forced to have this conversation. Who have you been talking to?”

  “Dad.”

  “Are you saying your father told you people put flashlights up their rectums?”

  “Up their whats?”

  Uma shudders. “That man has completely lost it. I don’t know what’s got into him.”

  “Mummy, what kills you if you put it up your bum?”

  “All kinds of things, sweetie. Sharp things, dirty things, vegetables that go rotten. Your rectum is not a plaything. Do not try to put anything in it, do you understand? And do not let anyone else put anything in it either. Or your vagina for that matter. Your private parts are not to be touched by anyone. Do you understand?”

  Heike, who rarely looks confused, stares saucer-eyed at her mother while Banana Split dribbles down her chin. “Why would people put vegetables and dirty sharp things up their bums?”

  “Promise me you will leave your rectum alone, Heike. And your vagina. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “That’s my girl.” Uma wraps her arms around Heike and kisses her repeatedly. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, ever, ever, ever. I love you very, very, very much, honeybun.”

  Irwin longs to be loved this much. It would be like always having a protective coating. No matter how cruel people were, it wouldn’t stick. Meanness would just slide off the coating. He believes Harry loved him this much.

  Mr. Shotlander invites him in when he delivers the Mirror. “My dang CD player’s on the blink again. More newfangled nonsense. We never had these problems with LPs.”

  “CD players aren’t new,” Irwin says loudly to Mr. Shotlander’s good ear. “Did you vacuum it?”

  “Why the heck would I vacuum it?” Mr. Shotlander tugs up his trousers.


  “Last time this happened I vacuumed it, remember? Sometimes it’s just a speck of dust that screws things up.”

  “Who ever heard of vacuuming a dang record player? We just used to wipe the vinyl on our sleeves, and pick the dust off the needle with our fingers.”

  “Do you want me to vacuum it? It’ll just take a second.”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll get our Cokes.”

  Irwin pulls out the Dustbuster and vacuums the player inside and out. He puts the Doris Day CD back on. Doris sings “Qué Sera, Sera.”

  “Sounds spiffy,” Mr. Shotlander says. “What would I do without you, Irwin? You and that sister of yours.” Sometimes Mr. Shotlander forgets that Harriet is dead. Or he sees Heike and thinks she’s Harriet. He croaks along with Doris and sits on the couch, tapping his feet. “I bet you think everything started with Elvis.”

  “Not really.”

  “Everybody thinks ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ was where it all started, but I’m telling you, before Elvis the Pelvis we had Kay Starr and Dean Martin, Perry Como, Pat Boone. Those folks knew how to sing.” He picks up the remote and tries to adjust the volume but presses the skip button. “Oh for the love of Mike, why can’t they make things simpler? I can’t even see the dang buttons.”

  “You don’t need to use the remote. Just press the buttons on the player.”

  “Can’t see those either. Here you go.” He hands Irwin a Diet Coke. “I used to play the trumpet. How do you like that? Louis Armstrong was my idol. Do you play anything?”

  “I tried drums for a while.”

  “What happened?”

  “I sucked.” Lynne bought him a set three years ago because he said he might like to try drumming. He quickly learned that he had difficulty maintaining a rhythm but, because she’d bought him the drums, he felt obliged to keep trying. He hated practicing and would only make a show of it when Lynne was around. She noticed he wasn’t improving. “You keep making the same mistakes,” she told him. “Join the school band and learn properly.” But the school band didn’t need a drummer. The leader, Mr. De Jonge, must have felt sorry for Irwin because he let him play the glockenspiel. When Irwin had trouble with that, Mr. De Jonge let him play the timpani. When he had trouble with that, he let him play the triangle.

  “You don’t get good without practice,” Mr. Shotlander says.