Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.
ICYMI: In with the new! The start of a new relationship and a new circle of friends, with new acceptances from the sidelines. Meanwhile in San Lorenzo, a new hindrance to overcome.
So yeah, I guess you'll want to start reading. Don't let me hold you back...
9. Alliance
The events culminating in a specific moment began eight hours ago during a San Lorenzan Friday evening. Owens and the crew were still on edge after their encounter with the unknown observers and followers. What they needed to do was to rest and relax and let their elevated adrenaline levels subside. What they wanted to do was dive back into the journal and figure out what the bloody hell they needed to do to enter those damn caves.
They opted for the latter.
"Well, I'll be buggered!" MacArthur announced a short while later. She'd gotten to the journal first and had been poring through the pages. And not just paging at random; there was a specific section she recalled and had found.
"Look, look! Here it is!" she all but yelled, doing her reputation for impassive professionalism an absolute disgrace.
Her colleagues would have been quick to harp on her for the sudden giddiness but truth be told, they too were chomping at the bit to hear of her revelation.
"Well, go on!" urged Farah. "What's with this keeping us in suspense?"
"Miles writes about how his wife went into labor slap bang in the middle of a bloody volcanic eruption."
"Ah, Jaysus!" Lewis added. "Talk about your wrong place, wrong time!"
"It's possible," countered Norton. "You know, one time in Afghanistan I come across this pregnant villager who's about to pop. Contractions, water breaking, full fucking monty! And that was before the artillery strike. Helped her deliver just as the shells started raining down. Tell you what, she's too scared of the artillery to even scream during the delivery! As soon as she pops the blighter, we're limping the hell away to shelter."
"Yeah well," MacArthur refused to allow herself to be derailed. "No artillery fire here, just molten lava so hot you could swear Mother Nature's on a permanent hot flush."
"So what happened next?" Farah again, as eager as MacArthur to keep the story going.
"Well here's where it gets strange," explained MacArthur.
"And hauling a pregnant woman through a flowing conflagration in a jungle full of combustibles isn't strange?" quipped Lewis.
"As I was saying," continued MacArthur, not a whit abashed. "He writes of how they were able to find shelter. A stone temple, elevated enough and sturdy enough for Stella to birth their son."
"Not to mention insulated enough for the kid not to be roasted," complemented Farah.
"Not that they needed it. According to Miles, as soon as the boy was born, everything stopped. The eruption, the lava flow, everything."
"I knew it!" yelled Owens, unusually excitable, earning him the bemused stares of his colleagues begging further explanation. "The painting!"
"The painting?" asked Farah. "You talking about that picture you took?"
"Exactly!" replied Owens, who then took his camera to a nearby laptop to which he transferred the pictures for everyone's viewing.
"Oh my god!" MacArthur was first to connect the dots.
"Jaysus Christ!" The rest followed.
"Exactly," nodded Owens. "Think about it. Volcano goes boom. Kid gets born, volcano stops."
"Hence the art and the deification," Lewis filled in. "For all they care, this kid's the second coming incarnate!"
"But how did they know what he looks like?" asked Norton.
"Don't be daft, mate!" berated Farah. "You felt how they tracked us unseen. Think a little eruption would hinder them? Someone saw the kid at or after the birth and the parents weren't any the wiser!"
"Yeah, as fascinating as this mystery is…" – MacArthur trailed off before focusing on Owens – "…are you seriously suggesting we haul this kid over and march him with us into the lion's den?"
"Well, I wouldn't put it that pessimistically," Owens seemed to concede. "What we've seen, what we've deduced…nothing suggests they'll harm a hair on the lad. Maybe us too by extension. Who knows? Maybe they're holding on to his parents and will only turn them over to him."
"That's a big ask," MacArthur hesitated. "But then again, this wouldn't be the craziest decision you've made."
"Yeah, that full-speed bus ride on Yungas Road at midnight to escape from La Paz, with only one working headlight…" reminisced Lewis. "Nothing will ever top that!"
"So I take this to mean we're all in agreement then," Owens asked the rest of the crew. "That Arnold Phillip Shortman has now become an integral part of this mission."
Their agreement was unanimous.
With a caution from MacArthur: "Just...good luck selling this to our boss."
"Nah, I'm sure he'll see the sense in it when I call him in the morning. Right now, I'm knackered! I trust you lot will sort out the guard shifts."
"No. No! Out of the question! It's just too dangerous what you're proposing!"
Buckley Lloyd remained adamant in his opinion. Anybody who knew him as a caring, philanthropic person would be surprised to witness his current no-nonsense and unyielding demeanor, meant solely for the cutthroat world of the trading floor. He was surprised too, to be honest: he was at home, having breakfast with his wife on this fine Saturday morning. It was precisely here and now where his ruthless work ethic and persona had no place.
Yet here they were on display. Just as well his daughter wasn't around to witness this side of him. Luckily, she was sleeping over at the Sunset Arms. According to Gertie's call, Rhonda had come off second-best – maybe even third-best – in a game of Twister and was in no condition to move or be moved. Yes, he was aware of the outlandish nature of the story but getting to know the Shortmans had led him to realize how anything was possible within the walls of The Sunset Arms. Anyway, Rhonda had been put up in Arnold's room while the boy himself was moved to another, unoccupied room.
But back to the matter at hand…
"Be that as it may, Sir," rebutted the man named Owens from the other side of the video call. "It's the only card we've left to play."
"So you say," replied Buckley, more than a little warily. "But Mister Owens, are you sure there's no other way?"
"Oh sure, we could follow your advice and find another way. We could try sneaking in, only they'll see us coming the moment we set foot in that jungle again. We could try bargaining with them, but then there's the language barrier plus I've got the feeling that they're the ones to decide if a meeting is to be had in the first place. Or we could charge in and shoot the lot of them…"
To which Buckley gasped back in shock.
"But that's also not on the cards. This is rescue work, first and foremost. It is not, nor will it ever be a massacre. Besides, imagine wanting to rumble with a tribe in their own backyard. Who happen to be so good at stealth in said backyard they make even the SAS look like they're playing a bad game of hide-and-seek. We'll be lucky if they find our bodies within the next two centuries!"
Despite Owens's apparently disrespectful tone, the gravity of his message came through.
"And you're absolutely sure that your plan will work?" Buckley cautiously entertained the contractor's proposal.
"Not entirely." If nothing else, Owens was forthright in his dealings. "But this may be our only chance at success without causing harm or an international dispute."
"Still…" Buckley sounded unswayed. "I can't accept the risk involved."
"All due respect, Sir, I don't feel that it's your decision to make."
And briefly, Buckley Lloyd's face contorted into a look of indignation. "Excuse me?" he challenged back.
"Sir, you might be footing the bill, but it's not your family we've gone looking for." Owens clarified. "Don't you think the next-of-kin deserves a say in this matter? What say you gather the clan so I can pose the question to them?"
And Buckley Lloyd had to admit: the man had a valid point.
So did Brooke, as reflected in her comment once Buckley was done with his call: "He's right, you know. Arnold really needs to have a say in all of this. His grandparents too."
"But Brooke! Think of all the danger they'll open themselves to!"
Brooke snorted back, most undignified and most unladylike: "That kooky bunch? I'll bet they'll say yes before you get to finish the question!"
Buckley paused, sighed, then said upon reflection: "How do you do it, my wise and beautiful wife? Where do you get these personal insights that mere mortals can only wish for?"
"I could tell you," replied Brooke, "but then I'd become that bit less mysterious to you and where's the fun in that?"
"Oh perish the thought, my sweet!" proclaimed Buckley as he took her hand and brought it to his lips for a most affectionate kiss. "I am now and will forevermore be as fascinated by you as the day we first met!"
"Yes, that's very nice, Dear." Brooke sounded her usual unworried self at her husband's admiration; the truth was she enjoyed every moment of it because it all came straight from his heart.
Even so…
"Buckley Dear, shouldn't you be checking up on Rhonda? Surely she should have recovered sufficiently from her…erm...Twister incident. And while you're at it, arrange to get Arnold and his grandparents over here."
How he loved his wife!
In truth, there was no game of Twister. There was, however, a velour couch on the roof of a boarding house. There was also the fact that the tomorrows until the start of the summer vacation were gradually lessening, as manifesting at P.S. 118 by a sharp decrease in homework and assignments. Consequently, more afternoons – and more of them – were available for the fifth graders to spend on vigorous team sporting activities.
So by dusk on Friday, the accumulation of strenuous activities left many an exhausted participant in its wake. A certain couple proved to be no exception.
"Well this seems familiar…" commented Rhonda.
This was the case with Arnold and Rhonda on a temperate early Friday evening. They were back on the roof of The Sunset Arms, sharing the velour couch that had become their refuge, their special place. As such it was declared by Gertie – under threat of gelding with a blunt spoon – as out of bounds to everyone else.
"Not that I'm complaining," added Arnold.
They were splayed across either end of the couch, taking in the setting sun and also the sounds of the happy bustle echoing through the streets and off the surrounding buildings. And, as Rhonda noted, Arnold's mood was much more in tune with the surroundings. So too his posture, the way he was slumped backward in his seat, eyes closed, his smile proclaiming that all was right with the world.
"Hey Arnold," she began, "what's on your mind to make you smile so beautifully?"
His eyes remained closed as he answered: "Just thinking."
"About what?" she followed up softly, her voice ever so delicate, ever so flirty.
"About how right this very moment, I don't have anything to be unhappy about," he replied.
"Oh that's so sweet," Rhonda cooed back.
"I mean," Arnold continued unprompted, "Summer vacation is almost here, the weather is good…I'm here with you…"
"…and soon you'll be finding out about your parents and if you're lucky then—"
"Rhonda," Arnold cut her off, though his eyes remained closed, his smile didn't falter and he didn't raise his voice. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Baby steps, remember?"
"Of course," she replied, duly reminded that the conclusion to her father's endeavor was not yet forgone.
"But you know?" continued Arnold. "Lately I've been dreaming about my parents, and how it felt to be loved and held by them."
This prompted Rhonda to scootch closer to Arnold, her interest aroused. "Oh? And how are those dreams?"
"Different," was all he offered, eyes still closed, smile now melancholy.
"So you've always had dreams about them," Rhonda deduced. "How were these new ones different?"
As she asked, she leaned into him and pressed against the side of his body.
"It's like…in the dreams before, Mom and Dad always leave me alone and stranded and not knowing where to go."
And Rhonda, fearing that further talk might resurrect feelings of sadness in Arnold, offered herself as a source of comfort by pressing tighter against him and resting her head on his chest. What she heard surprised her: though the topic was a sore one, she listened as his heartbeat remained slow and steady. She also felt as he slid his arm behind her back and her waist to pull her closer still.
With that accomplished, he resumed his story. "This time…they stick around and they hold me in their arms until I wake up in the morning. I mean I don't want to get my hopes up or anything, but the dreams make me…hopeful, like I've got a good feeling about it all."
That's it, Arnold, willed Rhonda. Think positive, be positive.
He continued. "And I remember everything about the dream. Everything, from what hugging them feels like, all the way to my mother's scent as she holds me tight."
"Mmm," purred Rhonda, still transfixed by Arnold's softly beating heart. Her eyelids beginning to droop, her breathing matching the ebb and flow of his. "And what scent is that? You know…my mother always smelled delicately of Shalimar. Dreamy and enchanting. It's how I always remembered her when I was still a baby. And you, Arnold?"
"It's nothing I can pinpoint. It's the kind of scent you get a whiff of and you know straight away that you're loved. That you mean everything to the person who's holding you. The feeling that makes you never want to let go." – as he spoke the last sentence, he instinctively tightened his grasp on Rhonda – "The scent of someone you love with all your heart."
"And that's why," added Rhonda, her speech slowing down. "That's why I'm hoping for the best possible result."
"Hey!" countered Arnold softly, his speech slowing down just as gradually. "I thought I was supposed to be the optimistic one!"
At that, Rhonda looked up from his chest and smiled at him. "Hey, I'm with you in this, remember? Which means we share the heavy lifting!"
And Arnold would have kissed her but for the fact that she dropped her head back on his chest and closed her eyes. So he settled on placing his hand on her head to stroke and tease her hair. She responded, eyes still closed: "You're so lucky you're my boyfriend and that I like it when you do that…at least when we're alone."
"But you're just so awesome, Rhonda," Arnold sighed back at her.
"I know…" she replied in a voice that matched her fully lidded expression as she went back to being hypnotized by his steady breathing and the slow rhythm of his heart. A short while later, she whispered lazily: "Hey Arnold…did your mother ever sing to you? Can you remember any lullabies she sang?"
"Mm?" he hummed back.
"Well you know…my mother, I just remembered her humming softly to me as she held me when I was a baby. She wasn't much of a singer, you know…" she trailed off to start humming the opening bar of Oh For A Thousand Tongues To Sing.
She commented once done: "I always remember hearing that and knowing she was near and I could sleep safe…"
"I can remember this one song from my mother when we were still in San Lorenzo…and then from Grandma after Mom and Dad left," Arnold responded. "But I always think of Mom and how safe her singing made me feel."
Rhonda remained close-eyed and silent as if waiting for a demonstration.
And so…
"You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away"
He sang in a soft, slightly strained high pitch. It mattered not to Rhonda. It was simply the most unpretentious, most beautiful rendition of the song she'd heard. Rhonda remained silent and still, before: "Sing it again, Arnold. Please."
He obliged and sang the passage again, but this time Rhonda joined in with a slow, lilting voice. Together they sang in discordant harmony that didn't sound perfect, but somehow just was.
More silence followed, before: "Hey Arnold? Can we stay like this a while longer?"
"Sure," he answered, fully invested in the moment.
And as the "while longer" progressed, the surrounding sounds melted into a distorted, garbled arrangement as the blackness behind their eyelids intensified, to be replaced with vivid visions of jungles and friends and families and happiness.
And before long, it was the dawning of a new Saturday as they found themselves still on the couch, albeit covered now with a large, thin blanket. The first shock was when the two realized that they had just unwittingly spent a night together. The second came when both realized that neither had informed Rhonda's parents nor were they able to think of a suitable explanation after the fact. And the third was when Gertie caught them unawares as was her wont.
"Good morning, Mister President! Madam First Lady!" she announced loudly, only adding to their existing anxiety. "I trust you appreciated the blanket! It did get a bit nippy last night!"
Rhonda was incredulity personified as she responded: "Grandma Gertie! You mean you saw us on the couch last night and you didn't wake us up? Why?"
"Aw, but you looked so cute and comfortable together!" explained Gertie. "I felt it would be high treason to disturb you two!"
To which Arnold protested: "But Grandma! We're going to be in so much trouble with Rhonda's parents for this!"
"Oooh, I wouldn't say so, Kimba!" Gertie reassured the couple, a bit too casually for either one's liking. "Not when they already know that Jacqueline is here!"
Hearing that drained the color from the young couple's faces, almost rendering them albino. Gertie moved to calm them down. "Don't worry, Jacqueline! I told your father how tired and stiff you were after joining us for a game of Twister. Too stiff to move and be moved. So stiff in fact that we put you up in Arnold's room to sleep it off while he slept in an unoccupied room."
"Grandma, do you really expect him to believe your story?" Arnold challenged Gertie. Then, seeing how her expression remained unchanged, he followed up in droll resignation: "He believed you, didn't he?"
"They both did, Kimba!" Gertie proclaimed triumphantly. "Now you two be sure to make your way down to the mess hall for the presidential breakfast!"
The presidential breakfast, as it turned out, was little more than Gertie's usual spread presented on the good crockery, i.e. the least chipped examples. As they ate, Arnold and Rhonda felt their initial worries subside. Maybe – just maybe – the Lloyds had bought Gertie's story. If that failed and the truth was required, then maybe they'd see the previous night's event for the innocent – "Totally innocent, Arnold. Totally!" – mishap that it was.
Yes! Breakfast had not only provided them with nourishment. It had also built their confidence, so too their optimism.
Then Rhonda's mobile phone rang, its Caller ID displaying 'Daddy', and suddenly their confidence and optimism yielded to dread and confusion.
Rhonda took the call expecting the worst. So too was Arnold as he listened to Rhonda's side of the conversation.
Morning, Daddy!
No, I'm fine.
Well, Grandma Gertie does play a mean game of Twister. She took no prisoners!
I know, right? Yes, she wore us all out. I could barely move!
Right now? I'm having breakfast with Arnold.
Yes, I know. That was generous of him.
I agree, yes. He is quite the gentleman! With that, she focused on Arnold to give him a sly thumbs up.
Then it looked like Rhonda's father changed the topic if her change in expression was anything to go by. Perhaps they weren't yet out of the woods.
"Uh, yes, sure. Which one do you want to talk to?"
"Whoever's closest? OK then."
Arnold then watched as Rhonda called out: "Grandma Gertie! Can you come here please? My father wants to talk to you!"
Nobody in the room was sure what the intended topic was when Gertie arrived in the kitchen to take the call. The uncertainty undid some of the resolve Arnold and Rhonda had built up that Rhonda's father had bought the story they'd sold him. So preoccupied were they over the matter that they didn't notice how Arnold's grandmother was handling the call.
Only when she'd ended the call and returned Rhonda's phone did they notice her serious expression, devoid of her signature glee and whimsy.
"Kimba, finish your breakfast and freshen up. You too, Jacqueline."
Though soft, her voice carried a sense of authority more serious than any time she'd raised it to anyone. This was not a drill: this was serious.
Gertie then raised her voice as she called to outside the kitchen: "Phil you old fart! Make yourself useful and get the Packard ready!"
And just like that, Rhonda and the Shortmans were back at her home. They were gathered in Buckley's study this time, where the centerpiece was an open laptop displaying the familiar visage of a middle-aged man with stern, rugged facial features.
"Everyone," explained Buckley, "you remember Mister Owens from your last visit, right? Right now, he's in San Lorenzo with his team. And he has some significant feedback for you." He then looked at the screen to signal Owens's cue.
"Yes, hello and good morning over there," the elder man began in his heavy but not impenetrable Western Welsh accent. He wasted no further time with pleasantries as he launched directly into his report. He spoke of the progress his team had made, of what they had uncovered, and of the encounter with what might have been the Green-Eyed People.
Just like Dad wrote, thought Arnold. They were always in the right place at the right time.
Then came the conclusions they'd derived from said hidden encounter and another deep dive through the journal. Finally, a proposal, for which Owens addressed Arnold directly.
"Young Lad, I know how eager you must be to know what happened to your parents. And I was sincerely hoping that I'd be able to give you the news. But the fact remains that we are stuck. If we try to proceed further as we are, we risk a violent encounter with the Green-Eyes. And that remains most undesirable."
He paused for his words to be absorbed, before continuing.
"It's difficult what I'm about to ask, but since we feel you may be the key to entering the caves, would you be willing to join us in San Lorenzo for the next expedition? I guarantee we'll do all we can to ensure your safety and wellbeing."
"What do you mean his safety," Phil blurted out. "What about the rest of ours?"
"Excuse me, Sir?" Owens responded quizzically.
He got nothing from Phil because next to talk was Gertie. "That's right! Because where he goes, we go!"
"That's right!" concurred Phil. "His parents, our children!"
"And don't let our ages fool you, young 'un!" Gertie interjected again. "I'm sure to march rings around you when we hit the trail!"
Well now…Owens was now overcome by a bemused look, having witnessed firsthand the candor and confidence of the two geriatrics. But soon enough his professionalism resurfaced for him to continue.
"Oh, I wouldn't have it any other way, Ma'am. You have no less a stake in this matter, you and your husband. But the question still remains." – and with that said, he focused again on Arnold – "Arnold my lad, having considered all the information I've given you, would you be willing to assist us in retrieving your parents?"
It was a no-brainer, the softest of softball questions.
"I'll do it!" resolved Arnold.
And we're done with another chapter, my dearest readers. The stage is now set for a full transition to San Lorenzo. Hopefully, too, the setup to make this transition did not come across as contrived. And that really was my goal, to get Arnold to San Lorenzo as plausibly as possible without sacrificing pace.
Anyway, to your reviews:
The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i: I am ruing the missed opportunity. And thanks for liking the San Lorenzo bit. That was the part over which I sweated the most for that chapter.
Kryten: Sorry if my response may sound facetious, but...wow! Someone who reimagined Helga, Phoebe, Rhonda, and Lila as dragon/alien mutant hybrids is asking me to surprise him. Very well, Sir. I'll do my best to rise to the occasion. And thanks for the comment on the girls in Arnold's life. This series was never about bashing Helga. It was about giving Arnold his own agency in determining (with reasons) who he felt he'd be happy with. Furthermore, my assumption from the very beginning (we're talking Rhonda 1) regarding Arnold and Helga was simple. From events in the series up to Mud Bowl, I assumed that Arnold wasn't dense. He was instead taking Helga's actions at face value and therefore had no reason to believe that she felt romantically toward him.
Anonymous Latino: Often it's a good thing to be taken out of one's comfort zone. As for Helga, at least her life is on the up and up. I might not have given her Arnold here, but I'll never cheapen her character. That's a promise.
The hotdog man: Yeah, since they were to play a significant role in this story, I felt it necessary to let their personalities shine through their actions and (in this chapter) their dialogue. I'm glad you're finding them interesting.
And now, the notes for this chapter:
There's some self-insertion with Rhonda's lullaby. The song she hums is one that my grandmother used to hum to me when I was but a babe. She passed away in 2009 from breast cancer, which was one of the most profoundly saddest days in all my life.
I got the idea for the couch scene when I remembered a scene in an anime, Arjuna. The scene involves a phonecall between an estranged couple that takes on a transcendental quality and remains to this day one of my all-time favorite scenes in anime. As for Arjuna itself, it's one of my Top-10 favorites. It does get a bit preachy in places with its eco message, it's never overbearing. And my god, Yoko Kanno does some of her best musical work in this series!
I also had fun writing the dialogue for the rescuers. I grew up being taught UK English (i.e. The Queen's English) and so was keen to dip into that pool when highlighting their vocabulary and colloquialisms.
And with that out of the way, here's this chapter's Deezer List:
Hey – Fatima Rainey
In My Corner – Fourplay
Broken Silence – Foxy Brown
Do You Know Where You're Coming From? – M-Beat (feat. Jamiroquai)
My Culture – Robbie Williams & Maxi Jazz
I Do, I Love You – Tania Maria
Something Just Like This – The Chainsmokers (feat. Coldplay)
And with that, peace out! Join me next time for not just a new chapter, but also a new act!