Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff

by Andrea Portes

  I don’t know. But all I can think of is that time Mom made a gigantic turkey for Thanksgiving, and the recipe said to slather the whole thing, first, with butter.

  We buttered that turkey up.

  And then, we ate him. With organic cranberry sauce.

  Gulp.

  11

  THIS WOULD BE the perfect time to do absolutely nothing, to dawdle endlessly or to just stare out into the abyss. Between the newfound revelations about the likely explosion on our parents’ boat and the arrival of our extremely hirsute, aka hairy, Uncle Finn . . . it’s been quite a day.

  Frankly, I’m exhausted.

  Staring up at the top of the amber-lit teepee in the middle of Henry’s fortress, I can’t help but wonder if this isn’t all happening in some delirium I might be having. Maybe I have a fever, a hundred-and-three fever, and everything happening around me is just some fugue! My fever will break soon and all will be well. I will be back to normal and I’ll look back at all of this as the ravings of a lunatic. A madman. That doesn’t seem right. Madwoman? Madgirl?

  Henry seems to be taking this all quite differently, however. To wit, he actually seems more animated and excitable. Perhaps he has somehow built a contraption to suck the energy out of my veins and use it for his own mad-scientist purposes.

  “Eva, do you realize what this means?”

  “Which part? The explosion part or the Uncle Finn part? Either way, I’m getting confused.”

  “Uncle Finn!” Henry whispers. “He could help us. Don’t you see? We could enlist him as an ally . . .”

  “For what?”

  “To uncover the mystery. Look, Eva, something is fishy here.”

  “Fishy? Are you saying that because we just got back from the marina?”

  “I forgive your infantile joke. But let’s weigh the evidence. Number one. There was an explosion on the boat. Very suspicious. Number two. Uncle Finn accused Uncle Claude of buttering us up.”

  “Yes, I do admit. That was weird.”

  “And number three. The diorama in Uncle Claude’s office building. He was really strange about it. Almost as if he were guilty of something. Not to mention how weird he was about giving us a ride to the marina . . . thereby forcing me to create an elaborate marine biology day camp ruse.”

  “And what a ruse it was! Well done.”

  “Thank you. Your praise is appreciated.” Henry bows his head. “But, again, why was Uncle Claude so strange about that condo diorama?”

  “Maybe he just didn’t want us sneaking around. Or breaking it.”

  “It was cardboard.”

  “Yes, but it was quite delicate.” I elaborate: “Don’t you remember the little fake plastic trees and miniature people everywhere? There was even a miniature dog. A schnauzer. I have to say, I really admired the attention to detail.”

  Henry is just about to insist on something else when we are interrupted by the sound of a hillbilly.

  “You kids best start putting it all out on the table!”

  Our great-great-great-great-grandfather Beaumont, the hillbilly, to be precise.

  Henry and I look around the tent and suddenly, there they all are, crowded inside Henry’s mystical teepee, the ghosts of our ancestors. It’s really a little bit tight but no one seems to mind.

  “Well, kids! What’dya find?” Plum leans in, fluttering her feathered Victorian fan.

  “Don’t leave out any details! We’ll get this figgered!” Beaumont exclaims.

  “Heartily, heartily.” August and Sturdevant nod.

  “Well.” Henry looks at me, possibly wanting to make sure I, too, am witnessing our ghoulish relatives. “We believe ‘Vine Thebo’ actually meant ‘find the boat.’”

  Plum gasps. “Well, how about that!”

  “Dagnabbit.” Beaumont slaps his knee.

  “What, what?” August and Sturdevant each raise an eyebrow.

  Maxine purrs from across the teepee, “Clearly, we were all mistaken. What fools.”

  Henry shrugs. “Not fools, really. It’s just. Well, we found the boat. And there was an—”

  “Albatross!” Plum guesses.

  “Alligator!” Now Beaumont.

  “Otter!” Plum again.

  “Aborigine!” August and Sturdevant chime in.

  “Antiquated idea of the dominant paradigm?” Maxine says, rounding it out.

  Henry and I look at each other.

  “No, no. Not any of that,” he says. The ghosts look at each other, a bit embarrassed. Henry pulls the Poseidon from its place under the blanket he’s sitting on and holds it out. “. . . An explosion.”

  “Leaping lizards!” Beaumont jumps up.

  “Oh, heavens!” Plum begins fanning herself furiously.

  “Horrible. Oh, most horrible,” August and Sturdevant proclaim, appalled.

  “Every day, every millisecond, is an explosion, if you count the thousands and thousands of meager lives churning slowly and endlessly toward the abyss,” Maxine laments.

  “The point is”—I jump in—“the point is something very odd is happening and it’s becoming clear that someone wanted to get rid of our parents. On purpose. But the question is why.”

  “Also, as a tangential issue, would it be possible to know in advance when you ghosts plan on appearing? It’s quite unsettling, the way you’re just suddenly there. Perhaps we could make a schedule,” Henry suggests.

  “Oh, bless your heart.” Plum beams.

  “No need to worry. Just ghosts!”

  “Rather.” “Quite!” August and Sturdevant nod.

  “One could argue we are all ghosts in some sense of the word . . .” Maxine inhales off her long cigarette lighter dramatically, the smoke billowing up through her tasseled figure.

  “Dagnabbit! It’s like living with the Grim Reaper!” Beaumont huffs, rolling his eyes at Maxine.

  “Oh, Beaumont, she’s just young!” Plum says in her defense.

  “Young! My eye! She’s over a hundred years old!”

  “Indeed, indeed!” August and Sturdevant clink martini glasses.

  “All right, listen!” Henry interrupts. “We need your assistance. We need to know the truth. Are we in danger here? In this house?”

  The ghosts finally quiet down and look at each other. It seems, almost imperceptibly, that they’re debating whether to tell the entire truth.

  Finally, Maxine turns her head to us.

  “My dears, no one in life is entirely safe.”

  “What do you mean?” I muster the courage to ask.

  “I mean, sweet darling, the clock is ticking. On everyone.”

  And, in what seems like a moment of infinite sadness, the ghosts suddenly fade out into the sienna Sioux painting and the only thing left is Henry and me, standing there, wondering how long this clock will tick.

  12

  IF YOU EVER wanted to go to the most awkward dinner on the face of the universe, you are going to wish you were a part of the bit I’m about to tell you.

  Dinnertime. Marisol has made snapper Veracruz with couscous and little green olives. It was always one of Dad’s favorites. Terri and Claude don’t care for capers.

  The dynamic duo sit on opposite ends of the table, in the formal dining room, which is to say the dining room nobody ever uses except for when my mom used to employ the table as a kind of horizontal filing cabinet. Uncle Finn sits across from us. Henry and I sit side by side, elbowing each other most of the time, between giving each other furtive looks.

  Marisol was unceremoniously disinvited to this dinner, as she has been from every dinner since Terri the Terrible came to town. She seems to think Marisol should eat in her room . . . or not eat at all . . . or something.

  Regardless of her dismissal of our beloved nanny (or perhaps because of it?) Terri is unusually alive this evening. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are a-twinkle, and when Claude offers her wine with dinner she says, “Just water.”

  Just. Water. It’s enough to make your head spin.

 
; “Well, you’re never going to believe what I’ve been up to,” Terri chirps, taking a big icy gulp from her glass. “I discovered a stable with a roping team just about forty-five minutes east of here, in Rancho Tierra Grande. Can you believe it?”

  I can believe it, even though it’s hard to understand the fascination Terri has with this . . . sport? But her mood is good, so I decide to keep her talking. “Tell me more!” I say, leaning my chin in my hand.

  “Well, I’m not a beginner, of course, but boy was I rusty. I signed up for some lessons with this nice ranch hand. And then there’s a spa next door, and there was kind of this package deal. It was sort of expensive, but—”

  “Couldn’t you be doing something more productive with your time and money?” Finn asks.

  Terri frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “A spa? At a tourist trap? That’s not real. You know what’s real? The farm workers up in Castroville. I read an article about it just last week. Do you know what kind of wage they earn while you pay for someone to play cowboy with you?”

  “Hey!” Claude shuts him down. “That’s no way to speak to my girlfriend. Have a little respect.”

  Silence.

  Terri looks, I dare say, wounded. I hate to admit it, but I feel for her. It’s like she had a shiny red balloon, and Uncle Finn popped it.

  Really the only sound you can hear is the sound of all of us eating. Henry and I, our snapper; the adults, their takeout from Gelson’s supermarket hot-food counter, which was Terri’s idea.

  “Aren’t these short ribs delicious? Mmm. They just fall off the bone. We used to have ribs like this back home. Sometimes at the rodeo. They always had the best ribs. Honey-basted. But with a little kick.”

  Back to another awkward silence.

  Claude turns to Terri. “Hon, why don’t you invite Marisol to eat with us? You girls should try to get along. Girl power!”

  Uncle Finn gives Uncle Claude a withering look. “That is so insensitive of you. You are talking about grown women. Not girls. Don’t infantilize them.”

  “Don’t infantil-what? I’m just saying everyone should get along, for goodness’ sake. Enough trouble in the world without making it.” Claude dabs his mouth with a napkin.

  “Neutrality always benefits the side of the oppressor,” Finn replies.

  “What? All we’re doing is having our barbecue rib dinner here.” He turns his chair more fully toward Finn. “You know, you’ve always been a nut, ever since Oberlin. Why couldn’t you go to business school? Do something normal?”

  “If I thought for a minute that I would have to set foot in the Wharton School of Business, I would have plunged myself into the Delaware first!”

  “Delaware?! Why would you plunge yourself into Delaware?”

  “The Delaware Bay, you idiot! The Atlantic Ocean feeds into Philadelphia from the Delaware Bay. How do you not know this?! You’re the one who went there, oh my God—”

  Claude scowls down at his baby backs. “Maybe I was focusing more attention on actually attaining my degree than flitting about between philosophy, world religions, chemistry, theater, and, my personal favorite, semiotics. Whatever the hell that is.”

  Finn gives Claude a sarcastic smile, turns to me, and then scruffs my hair. “Did I ever tell you about the time I got stranded with only one camel in Rajasthan?”

  “Oh, here we go.” Claude rolls his eyes.

  “We’d trekked for hours from the Koda Village, ridden our camel through the isolated sand dunes of Khayala—”

  Claude loudly scrapes his chair back and heads for the side table at the other side of the room. A gilded thing with assorted bottles and decanters, glistening under the light of the crystal chandelier.

  “No amount of alcohol can cover your sins, dear brother,” Finn muses.

  “Sins?! What sins? You mean like actually doing something with my life?! Like not loafing around like a deranged sloth pretending to be some kind of Robinson Crusoe? Don’t even try to warp these kids with your do-nothing shenanigans.”

  Henry and I look at each other, the weight of the room now on us.

  “Fellas, cool it.” Terri wipes her barbecue hands on her napkin. “You’re giving me a weapons-grade headache.”

  “Um, I think we’re going to turn in . . . right, Henry? It’s been an awfully long day. Hasn’t it?” Even the damask wallpaper cannot cover the sound of the seeping, entrenched resentments. I nod at Henry, trying to get us out of this completely uncomfortable situation.

  “Indeed. I, too, am feeling quite fatigued. May we be excused, please?” Henry asks, always the gentleman.

  “Sure, get outta here. I know I would.” Terri nods.

  Henry and I go to head up the stairs, when Terri stops us. “Tell Marisol . . . tell her she’s welcome to some ribs if she’d like.”

  Finn shakes his head. “Too little too late,” he mutters under his breath. We go, leaving behind a room heavy as bricks. On the landing we hear a tone we haven’t heard before from Terri.

  “Those kids deserve better than the two of you at each other’s throats. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  I can practically feel Claude and Finn staring each other down over the centerpiece.

  Henry and I share a glance. Is it possible there is another side to Terri we didn’t know about? A side that might possibly have a normal, beating, cattle-roping heart?

  Life is full of surprises.

  13

  MOST PEOPLE DON’T have a chalkboard in their room but most people aren’t Henry. On the board are scribbled down a few facts:

  BOAT SUNK

  EXPLOSION?

  NO WITNESSES

  MOTIVE . . . ?

  ACCIDENT . . . ?

  Henry steps back from the chalkboard, gazing at the white chalk chicken scratches.

  I contemplate.

  “It really feels like there’s something—”

  But Uncle Finn comes moseying in and sees the chalkboard.

  “Something what?”

  Henry quickly erases everything; the words disappear into little circular white clouds.

  “Um, Henry and I were just making a list of things—”

  “—we want to purchase in the coming year,” Henry says.

  Uncle Finn smiles. “Okay, little dudes, whatever. I was just coming up here to see if you guys needed anything. Maybe if you wanted to talk. Or watch a movie. Although, I think it’s past your bedtime. I guess I just felt bad about all that down there at dinner. We shouldn’t talk that way in front of you kiddos. It’s not cool. Honestly, I’m sorry.”

  Henry and I don’t seem to know what to say to this.

  We nod. “It’s okay.”

  “Okay, well, I just wanted you little dudes to know . . . I’m right here if you need me. ¿Comprenden?”

  “Sí, cómo no,” Henry replies. To which Uncle Finn looks like he has no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Yes, of course,” I translate.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Finn nods in the direction of Henry’s teepee.

  Henry sees it first, and swoops down, throwing his little body over the statuette of Poseidon. “Something I’m working on! Something . . . nothing! Nothing really.”

  “Come on, kiddo. Let me see?” Finn cajoles.

  Henry glances up at me. I shrug.

  He hands over the hunk of metal.

  “Whoa.” Finn turns the statue over in his hands. He seems to understand its importance on a deep, deep level. He closes his eyes and sighs. “You miss them, I know,” he says.

  “Actually? You have no idea,” I tell him.

  Finn nods. He walks out in awkward silence. Henry and I wait for his exit. The door closes behind him.

  Henry turns to me. “I think our best plan is to get a reasonable amount of sleep, wake up at dawn, analyze our current information, and plot our course of action.”

  “Yes. Whatever you just said, let’s do that.”

  The house is quiet now and I am left al
l by my lonesome while Henry goes to brush his teeth down the hall. Outside, the moon is waning over the ocean and there’s a stillness to the house, but not a calm. It’s the feeling of something ready, something about to pounce. Like the moment before it rains.

  I keep thinking our new best friends, the ancestor ghosts, are going to come floating in the room at any minute, arguing over each other and giving us some sort of essential clue. But tonight they are silent, waiting in the wings. Maybe they have another duty to dispatch.

  Or maybe they are as confused as we are.

  14

  THE NEXT MORNING, the room is pitch black when we are literally rattled out of bed.

  “Kids! Kiiiiiiids!”

  It feels like the entire house is shaking, not unlike an earthquake, which is the logical thing to assume, as we are in California, really not that far from the San Andreas Fault, on the North American tectonic plate, which is locked in a never-ending battle with the Pacific tectonic plate.

  “Wake up, you little scamps!” That’s definitely Beaumont.

  I am beginning to know that hillbilly voice before I see it.

  And now the soothing voice of Plum, fanning herself in the corner, seems to calm the rumbling. The tumbling of the room begins to wane.

  “Beaumont! Why on earth do you insist on all this ruckus!” She swats at him with her fan.

  “Aw, Plum! Where’s your sense of adventure? What’s the point in being a ghost if you can’t ruffle a few feathers?!” Beaumont winks at us, a twinkle in his eye.

  Henry and I brush ourselves off and rub our eyes, recovering on the wooden floor. We stare up, in a fog, at our bickering ancestor ghosts.

  “It’s quite unnecessary!” Plum insists.

  “Most indubitably, most indubitably.” August and Sturdevant nod in agreement.

  “It reminds me of the great earthquake of 1906, the devastation, the fires; the endless blaze and the indifference of humanity. How we struggle and struggle against unyielding gods, such callous, reckless power. Laughing at us.”

  Of course, that’s Maxine, splayed out in the other corner, draped over Henry’s dresser.