003 - A Boat’s a Note

 All I can think of is Gloriana. Her beautiful long wavy hair, those almond shaped eyes which never stopped finding me around the private garden or in the Palace. Her hand buried in my own long hair, and her voice, “Bonboncito, mi divino.”

She nicknamed me Bonbon and it stuck. Because, she said, I reminded her of a beautiful piece of chocolate confection when I was born. So brown and so smooth.

Where are you mother? All I can do is pray you are safe because in all this time since the eclipse, I haven’t heard anything at all. She sent me a note, a tiny little compressed piece of paper folded into the shape of a boat, just like the ones she and I used to build in her secret garden when I was a small boy. We would float them on the lily pond and every now and then I would have to wade into the water to push the lilies away or rescue a sinking vessel.

Origami. That beautiful and ancient tradition of folding paper for celebration or decoration or mathematical exercises. Now, they’re all about being notes from the underground. Through the very first note I knew she was safe, the second note warned me of the eclipse and the only way she could have known about it was Professor Grimaldi.

Are they together? After all, he was from Cabalangada just like my mother. Grimaldi was our tutor after Ms Brightmore. He was as awkward as Ms Brightmore was wild. She coud have worn angel wings every single day, where Grimaldi was a bit like a rickety cart.

Was Grimaldi hiding my mother? Was my mother in love with Grimaldi? More and more that idea keeps coming back. Grimaldi and romance? No! Please, no, no, no, Grimaldi understands the stars, mathematics, and writing notes on our never-ending pieces of work.

Help!

There’s a rustle behind me so I turn around but no one’s there. Not a puff of air is coming in, but something did rustle. I stand and walk over to where I’m sure I heard the rustle.

And there it is, just next to the hem of the silk curtains … a tiny, compressed piece of paper folded into the shape of a … no! Not a boat this time, a crane. A bird. Vuelo is says on the outside. I fly. I’m flying.

Did I read somewhere that the crane is the only bird that can fly all the way across China? Where is my mother headed?