The Doldrums

“Shhh,” shushed his father.

“Why are we whispering,” whispered Archer.

“No time to explain. Follow me.”

Archer followed his father out the front door and down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Mr. Helmsley had led him to Rosewood Park, which was more like a dark and unruly forest. Its winding walkways quickly vanished, but straight ahead, rising high above the thick canopy and glowing a brilliant orange, loomed the Rosewood Museum towers. Archer thought the museum was ancient, built with flourishes of terra-cotta and capped with a moldy green roof. The front gardens were in need of some attention, but he liked the weathered majesty of it all.

Once inside, he followed his father down countless corridors filled with countless oddities and listened to stories of how his father almost became the greatest explorer of countless places.

“And then I almost became the world’s greatest explorer of Egypt,” said Mr. Helmsley as they approached a sarcophagus belonging to the late Pharaoh Tappenkuse.

Archer admired his father and liked his stories, but knew he was a lawyer.

“Why didn’t you actually do it,” he asked.

Mr. Helmsley stuck his hands into his blazer pockets. It was a simple question, but adults often complicate simplicity. And as with his mother when he asked about his grandparents, Mr. Helmsley always changed the subject when Archer asked this.

“Did you know this gaudy little fellow was one of the youngest pharaohs to ever rule Egypt?” he said, discreetly reading from a museum guide. “Tappy here was only thirteen years old when he became king.”

After glancing over Tappy, Archer decided it was for the best there weren’t many thirteen-year-old kings. “He looks depressed.”

“I think that’s just the eyeliner,” said Mr. Helmsley.

He licked a finger and reached for the sarcophagus.

“No touching,” said a security guard.

“Sorry,” said Mr. Helmsley.

“Did he want to become king?” asked Archer.

His father wasn’t sure. “He only ruled for two years before he died.”

Archer was taken aback. “Well, I don’t think he wanted to become king then,” he said, and stepped away from Tappenkuse.

Archer listened to a few more stories about his father’s almost adventures and then followed him to the exit and down the sidewalk home. He was thinking about his grandparents as they walked.

“What are they like in person and why are they never home?” he asked. “When am I going to meet them?”

“You met them when you were little,” Mr. Helmsley said.

Archer doubted this. He had no memory of it.

As they climbed the steps back to Helmsley House, Archer spotted a package leaning against the door. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string and addressed to him. Archer quickly scooped it up.

“What’s that?” Mr. Helmsley asked.

“What’s what?” said Archer, hiding it behind his back. “It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

At that moment, their neighbor Mr. Glub stepped out of his house and called to Mr. Helmsley. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”

Mr. Helmsley waved and went back down the steps to speak with him. Archer slipped inside and up to his room.

♦ EYE TO GLASS EYE ♦

Archer stepped into his closet, turned on the light, and pushed aside his clothes hangers to reveal an entire bookshelf brimming with packages. All of these were from his grandparents and he kept them a secret because his grandfather suggested it in a letter—but also because he liked having a secret to keep. He sat down on the floor, pulled the red string, and tore back the paper.

ARCHER B. HELMSLEY

375 WILLOW STREET

15

OF OCTOBER

ARCHER,

THIS IS A LITTLE ODD BUT WE THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE IT. A SHIP’S CAPTAIN GAVE IT TO US. HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW HOW TO GET US TO AN ISLAND MOUNTAIN THE LOCALS REFERRED TO AS ”DEATH MOUNTAIN.”

IT WAS A TINY MOUNTAIN REALLY. SHOT STRAIGHT UP OUT OF THE WATER AND WAS SPOTTED WITH TREES. IT WAS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ITS NAME MADE YOU THINK.

ENCLOSED IS A GLASS EYE. HIS GLASS EYE. HE ONLY HAD ONE EYE. THE CAPTAIN DID. BUT THAT DIDN’T BOTHER HIM. HE GAVE IT TO US ON THE RETURN SO WE WOULDN’T FORGET SEEING THE MOUNTAIN.

YOURS TRULY,

Ralph and Rachel Helmsley

Archer looked at the glass eye. The glass eye looked back at Archer. He picked it up and held it to his own, thinking he might be able to see the mountain, but all he saw was the back of a glass eye.

Archer longed to meet his grandparents. Judging from their letters and house, they must be magnificent people. But when would they return? Soon, he hoped. He was growing bored with his quiet life on Willow Street. More than anything, he wanted to embark on an expedition with them. An adventure—an unusual and strange adventure—like being carried by a pelican to the edge of the world with a pocket full of pebbles, where he could skip his stones from that great height and watch as they careened into darkness.

Mrs. Helmsley had different ideas. Whenever the question was raised of what Archer wished to be, she would answer before he could.

“He wants to be a respectable lawyer like his father,” she would say.

Archer used to argue this, but realized it wasn’t worth it. He could never win an argument with his mother. And for this, he didn’t have to. All he had to do was wait for his grandparents to return. They would set things straight.

♦ NEWS IS BAD NEWS ♦

On the morning of his ninth birthday, Archer opened the front door hoping to discover a new package bearing his name, but instead, discovered a newspaper bearing the names of his grandparents.

THE DOLDRUMS PRESS