The Doldrums

by Nicholas Gannon

  “‘Floating in a sea of leaves and moss,’” said Archer. “Deep in a jungle beneath the moonlight. That’s what we should do. That would be wonderful.”

  Oliver shook his head and the crumbs from his fingers. “Wonderful,” he mumbled, jumping down from the counter and leaving the kitchen. Archer followed with a pastry in one hand and the journal still opened in the other.

  . . . it was a strange plant. I shouldn’t have eaten it. Rachel was right about that. Looked like it might taste good. I was wrong about that. . . .

  Oliver and Archer stepped into the garden.

  “Well,” said Oliver. “There’s your sea of leaves and moss.”

  Archer lowered the journal.

  The Glubs’ garden was something of a neighborhood scandal. The stone walkway was a slimy green and the walls were caked with ivy. An apple tree that bore no apples was in desperate need of trimming and the grass, if you could call it grass, was at least knee high. The difficult part in weeding such a garden was trying to decide what was a weed and what wasn’t because it all looked the same.

  “I usually just fill one bag and call it a day,” Oliver said.

  Archer spotted the ceramic top of something pink only just visible through the grass.

  “Is that a flamingo?” he asked.

  Oliver nodded. “Dad won it. Mom hates it.”

  Archer turned to look at the back of Helmsley House. The windows were open, but there was no sign of his mother. She’ll still be in the kitchen, he thought. He put down the journal on the window ledge and rolled up his sleeves.

  “You’re helping?” Oliver asked.

  “It’ll give me time to think,” he replied.

  Oliver grabbed a garbage bag and they set to work. In no time at all, weeds were flying this way and that. It was a terrific mess and they were covered in dirt. Archer continually looked up at his house until deciding it was safer, not to mention easier, to stay out of sight next to the garden wall. Oliver was struggling against a stubborn weed when he noticed the tip of the flamingo had vanished.

  “What happened to the flamingo?” he asked. “You didn’t weed the flamingo by mistake, did you?”

  Archer didn’t and nearly tripped over a rock while saying so. He pushed aside the grass with his shoe and discovered a moss-covered stone with the name “Théo” etched into it.

  “Who’s Théo?” he asked.

  Oliver released the stubborn weed and fell backward onto some slimy stones.

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, picking himself up. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  When they’d finished, Archer couldn’t tell if the garden looked better or worse. Oliver shrugged. It always looked the same to him. As they piled weeds into the garbage bag, two voices floated over the garden wall. It wasn’t the Murkleys. Archer pointed at the apple-less apple tree. They climbed the trunk and peered diagonally into the garden just opposite Archer’s where a short woman in a flowered dress, carrying a clipboard and a cup of coffee, ushered a tall, well-groomed man out through the garden doors. Archer was surprised to see anyone there. No one lived in that house.

  ♦ A TALL, WELL-GROOMED MAN ♦

  The flowery woman finished the last of her coffee and handed the cup, without looking, to the tall, well-groomed man.

  “And this is the garden,” she said, peeling her eyes from the clipboard. “Oh! Isn’t it lovely—just so lovely, isn’t it? Always wished I had a garden so lovely. Never, though—never in my life have I had a garden so lovely. The lovely flowers and the lovely trees, and look! There are two lovely boys in that one. A boy tree? I’ve never seen such a lovely boy tree!”

  Archer and Oliver quickly hid themselves behind more branches.

  “Her eyes look strange,” Oliver whispered.

  Archer agreed.

  The flowery woman’s eyes were white all around with beady black dots at the centers, which made them think she’d spent the afternoon staring at the sun.

  “Or was struck by lightning,” whispered Archer.

  The tall, well-groomed man was staring up at the back of the house and spoke with a funny accent.

  “It’s as lovely as you promised,” he said. “But it will require a few minor alterations before we move across the sea. I want my daughter to feel at home here.”

  “Across the sea?” whispered Archer.

  “Daughter?” whispered Oliver.

  The flowery woman rapidly bobbed her head. “Oh, yes—yes of course. Anything you need—anything at all. I’ll put you in touch with a man—two lovely men! They can do anything you need. Anything you want, they’ll do. Yes, wonderful, very good indeed. We’ve found you a new house—a lovely, lovely house!”

  The man grinned. “Another espresso?” he asked. “Or a double perhaps?”

  The woman’s eyes grew even beadier. “You can make a double?” she replied.

  They disappeared back inside the lovely, lovely house.

  “We’re getting another new neighbor?” said Oliver.

  Archer was about to respond, but his train of thought was interrupted when he caught sight of Mrs. Murkley over the other wall. She was barreling out through her garden door with a shovel raised high above her head.

  “IT’S BACK, HENRY!” she shouted. “THAT CREATURE IS IN THAT TREE!”

  Archer reeled backward and fell to the ground. Oliver froze. Mrs. Murkley brought the shovel down with terrific force. It crunched through the branches and sliced one in half just next to Oliver’s head. He lost his balance. The ceramic flamingo broke his fall and shattered to pieces. Mrs. Murkley cheered from the other side.

  “I GOT IT!” she cried. “I KILLED THAT HORRIBLE CREATURE!”

  The gardens fell silent once more as two lumps of boy struggled for air beneath the tree. Archer had rolled against the garden wall, fearing his mother had overheard the commotion. Oliver stared at him in disbelief.

  “She nearly chopped my head off!” said Oliver, sitting up and pulling a piece of flamingo from his hair. “She’s not really going to dinner at your house, is she?”

  Archer nodded. In a few short hours, he would be breaking bread with that woman. Oliver stumbled to his feet and offered him a hand.

  “I should go,” Archer said.

  “You better hope she leaves the shovel at home,” said Oliver.

  “I’ll worry about that,” he replied. “You just make sure you’re ready for tomorrow.”

  But when Archer returned to his room, the excitement of what tomorrow might bring was squeezed out by concerns about that night’s festivities. “My best foot,” he repeated over and over as he put on a new green velvet suit and secured a red bow tie to his collar.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  ♦ A STOLE IN SUMMER ♦

  That evening, fifteen minutes prematurely, the doorbell rang. Mr. Helmsley was upstairs, trying to remove cologne he’d been heavy-handed in applying, and Archer was sitting at the table, half-watching as Mrs. Helmsley moved frantically about the kitchen. He had offered to help but his mother wanted everything perfect, so Archer sat quietly in his bow tie, keeping himself busy with his grandfather’s journal, which he held just out of sight.

  . . . the train was green—a brilliant green. There were no seats inside. We climbed and sat atop the roof. A fine choice that was. The twisting mountains were incredible. . . .

  When the doorbell rang, Mrs. Helmsley was in the middle of slicing a roasted lamb and sent Archer to welcome the Murkleys.

  “And remember what I told you,” she said (the knife in her hand made her look very serious). “Be sure to say ‘thank you’ and ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, ma’am.’ And don’t forget to introduce yourself: ‘My name is Archer.’”

  Archer inched his way down the hall. The sitting room canary grew silent. He reached for the knob but before he could even touch it, the door flew open and in tramped Mrs. Murkley followed shortly by Henry. Archer was speechless and, if only for a brief second, thoughtless. He stared a
t Mrs. Murkley. Mrs. Murkley stared back at him.

  Seeing Mrs. Murkley from a balcony or a tree was one thing. From this angle, her figure bore a striking resemblance to a hot air balloon. He made an educated guess, however, that this lady would never float so gracefully off the ground.

  Finally, Mrs. Murkley broke the silence.

  “Young man,” she snorted. “My coat—you should offer to take my coat!”

  Archer tried to say something, but he was rattled and nothing came out. Any word would have been better than nothing, but nothing was all he had. Then, his mother’s instructions flashed through his head.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Why are you thanking me?” she snipped.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

  “Yes what?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “My name is Archer,” said Archer.

  It was a terrible thing to see Archer go to pieces like this, but there was something in Mrs. Murkley’s gaze that simply undid him. Mrs. Murkley turned that gaze to Henry.

  “I’m going to drop my coat on it,” she whispered. “Keep your distance—don’t let it touch you.”

  Archer stuck out his arms. Mrs. Murkley dropped her coat and proceeded to the dining room. Henry followed close behind. Mr. Helmsley hurried down the stairs while tucking in his shirt and nodded at Archer.

  “A fur coat?” he whispered as he passed by. “What kind of person wears fur in the summer?”

  Archer had a few guesses, but his knees were about to give out. He quickly reached for one of the two caribous that the Helmsleys used as coatracks.

  “Not mine!” cried the first. “Use his. My antlers can’t support that kind of weight.”

  Archer turned to the second caribou.

  “That’s absolute rubbish!” it replied. “His antlers are much stronger than mine!”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to,” Archer said, hooking the coat on the first.

  No sooner did he let go than the antler point snapped, dropping the coat in a heap on the floor.

  “Look what you’ve done!” the caribou cried.

  Archer picked up the antler point and tucked it into his pocket, promising to fix it after dinner. He left the coat where it was and quickly made for the dining room.

  ♦ A DIFFICULT PEA TO SWALLOW ♦

  Of all the rooms in Helmsley House, the dining room was truly something special. Circling the table were animals from all four corners of the world. A zebra, peacock, and antelope stood among many others. Archer took his usual spot in front of the antelope. Mrs. Murkley was directed to the seat next to him. Lovely.

  During dinner, Archer paid little attention to the conversation. Even if he had been interested, he knew his opinion wouldn’t matter. All that concerned him was keeping his mouth shut and his best foot forward. He chased a pea around the plate with his fork.

  Mrs. Murkley’s eyes took a turn about the room as she hacked away at her lamb. “What did you say you do for a living?” she asked Mr. Helmsley. “Perfume sales, was it?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” Mr. Helmsley replied. “But if you’re wondering about the house, it’s my parents’ doing. Ralph and Rachel Helmsley. They were explorers. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

  Mrs. Murkley had never heard of them and she was glad because she had no interest in people who gallivant the world aimlessly. After saying this, she continued staring at the animals.

  “They certainly are a little, you know, out there,” she said. “I could never share a house with such people.”

  “They don’t live here anymore,” said Mrs. Helmsley.

  “There was an iceberg incident,” said Mr. Helmsley.

  Mrs. Murkley nodded. “That’s pretty far out there,” she said. “But what can one expect from people who make such bizarre career choices?”

  Archer pressed his pea-chasing fork hard against his plate. It made a terribly unpleasant screech. Mrs. Murkley glared at him.

  “Are you having utensil troubles, Alfred?” she asked.

  “My name is Archer,” said Archer, and he wasn’t having utensil problems. He was having a brash-behemoth-insulting-his-grandparents problem.

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Murkley insisted. “Because you’ve been trying to secure that pea for quite some time now. Or perhaps it’s distaste for the vegetable that drives your fork to wander. Either way, end this wild goose chase and eat that pea.”

  Archer didn’t mind eating peas, but doing something because you wish to is different from doing something because you’re told to. Still, he could feel his mother eyeing him from across the table and he knew what he had to do. Archer begrudgingly swallowed the pea. Mrs. Murkley turned back to the adults and smiled.

  “It’s a gift,” she chirped. “One that I discovered when I was still quite little. When I instruct, people listen. I see what’s wrong and I fix it. Take this room for example,” she said, using her fork as a pointer. “I know someone who can fix this terrible mess that Ralph and Rachel have left you with.”

  She’s the one who needs fixing, thought Archer.

  Mr. Helmsley smiled. “There does seem to be something off about it,” he said. “I just haven’t been able to put my finger on it.”

  Mrs. Helmsley nudged him.

  “That’s just it!” Mrs. Murkley squealed. “And this is precisely why I teach children. Now you mustn’t take this personally, Richard, but old minds are far too rusty and corroded to change their ways. Young minds, on the other hand, are ripe for adjustment. The modus operandi is really not so different from that of a mechanic. One simply sticks a wrench into their little ear and twists the bolts till you have them running smoothly—metaphorically speaking, of course,” she quickly added.

  She’s not sticking that wrench in my ear, thought Archer.

  “I don’t think it’s too much to assume,” Mrs. Murkley continued, “that things could have been much different for Ralph and Rachel had they known someone like me when they were little. Yes, I could have set them straight just like young Alfred here.”

  “That certainly would have been interesting,” Mr. Helmsley replied.

  Archer didn’t find this interesting in the least. Who did this balloon think she was to come into Helmsley House and insult the very people who created it? No, she couldn’t have changed his grandparents and she wouldn’t control him. As the adults continued the conversation, Archer put his best foot under the chair and began slipping his peas, one by one, into his hand.

  “And what made you decide to leave Raven Wood?” Mr. Helmsley asked.

  Mrs. Murkley took a gulp of wine. “You know how it is with these schools,” she said. “Always changing personnel. Sometimes I feel like a missionary of old, going from one jungle to the next.”

  When Archer had gathered a generous amount of peas, he discreetly reached back to discard them into the antelope’s mouth.

  “I don’t want those, either,” said the antelope.

  “But you’re a herbivore,” whispered Archer.

  “Even we herbivores have our limits.”

  Despite its protest, the antelope soon found Archer’s hand inserted into its mouth. But just as Archer was about to make the deposit, a shadow from the east fell upon him.

  “And what’s this!” demanded Mrs. Murkley.

  A pea shot from her mouth and landed safely in Henry’s eye.

  Archer froze.

  “Remove that hand!” she persisted, but Archer kept it where it was.

  The air congealed. Henry retrieved the pea so he could see what was happening.

  “Archer Helmsley, remove that hand at once!” Mrs. Helmsley demanded.

  Archer instantly regretted putting himself in this position. Everyone was staring at him, but he mostly looked at his mother. She wasn’t going to like this. Not one bit. He slowly removed his hand. The antelope gave a sigh of relief. Mrs. Murkley grabbed his wrist. Peas bounced in all directions. Henry’s eye caught a secon
d one.

  “Just as I thought,” Mrs. Murkley announced. “It would appear, Helena, that your son has been using this late gazelle’s mouth as a hiding spot for his unwanted vegetables.”

  “It’s not a gazelle,” said Archer, pulling his wrist free. “It’s an antelope.”

  “Yes,” agreed Henry. “If you’ll note how the antlers—”

  “I don’t care what kind of animal it is,” Mrs. Murkley bellowed. “I do know it’s not a trash can.”

  Archer cringed as his mother tried her best to retrieve the wayward peas. This was going to ruin everything if he didn’t find a way to quickly make up for it.

  “I apologize to you both,” Mrs. Helmsley said. “This is not the sort of behavior we expect from him.”

  “I should hope not,” said Mrs. Murkley, plopping a potato into her mouth. “I will not tolerate such behavior from my students at the academy and I warn you both right now, should Alfred keep this up, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up in prison.”

  “Prison?” said Henry.

  “Prison?” Mr. Helmsley smiled.

  “Yes, prison,” said Mrs. Murkley.

  I’m already in prison, thought Archer.

  “I’ll bet if you asked around,” said Mrs. Murkley, “you would find that many criminals began their slippery slope into a life of crime by stuffing their unwanted vegetables into the mouths of animals.”

  “Into her mouth, more like it,” whispered the antelope.

  Archer smiled, but that was another mistake. Mrs. Murkley caught sight of this and thought he was smiling at her. Mrs. Murkley was not the sort of woman you smile at. A tiny vein on her temple doubled in size, and her face turned as red as the wine in her glass.

  “Go right ahead and laugh, young man!” she snapped, throwing her napkin on the table. “By all means, everyone laugh! Just don’t expect an ounce of sympathy from me when the police pound at your door and sentence him to the electric chair as punishment for his life of crime!”

  Archer looked at his father.

  “Why don’t you go on upstairs,” Mr. Helmsley said. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “We certainly will,” said Mrs. Helmsley, who in that moment looked more frightening than Mrs. Murkley.