12. Helena
Helena
Helena really was glad to be out of the craziness of the hospital and back into the peaceful, natural world of the mountains.
That’s what she tried to remind herself over and over again, as day in and day out she remained the only one of the three scientists who had found no sign of the owl-bear.
She spent much of her time staking out points in the woods triangulated perfectly between where Bertram had found the feather and where Dr. J had found the scat.
Reasonably, Helena knew that just because Bertram and Dr. J found signs of owl-bears didn’t mean she got to; owl-bear sightings weren’t rewards doled out like Christmas cards. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want them to be.
Just as she had that thought, a dark shadow passed over Helena’s head.
Within the course of half a second, her mind jumped from “OWL-BEAR!” to “don’t get overexcited, it may not be an owl-bear, it could just be another large leopardopteran, like an Isabella Bengal tiger moth, although those weren’t native to the area, so it IS an owl-bear!
, although true leopardopterans are magic and can probably show up wherever—”
But by the time her whirring brain caught up to her eyes, she realized that it wasn’t a true leopardopteran at all, but rather—
“You did not see a dragon,” Bertram said when Helena burst into the lab and announced her discovery.
“I’m pretty sure I did,” Helena said. “The shape was wrong for any of the leopardopterans in the area—”
“That you’re aware of,” said Bertram.
“It had a much longer neck than any of them would have, and it was a vibrant black-and-white with red spots—”
“So, it was a Grevy’s zebra butterfly,” Bertram suggested. “They have a much longer neck than an owl-bear. In fact, if you think about it, a horse-like neck and head shape are probably closer to dragon physiology than any other mundane animals—”
“It was not a Grevy’s zebra butterfly.” Helena frowned. “I think I know what a Helicoppo charitigris looks like. And in addition to a long neck, it had a very long tail—”
“So, it could be a lemon migranteater,” Bertram said.
“It wasn’t a Myrmecopomona catridactylia either,” Helena shot back. “It had a thicker body—”
“So, it was an emerald swallowtapir,” Bertram said.
“Papliirus palindicus,” Helena huffed. “And I see what you’re doing, and I promise you that you will run out of black-and-white leopardopterans to list before you get to one I don’t know the scientific name of.”
The corners of Bertram’s mouth twitched, but his eyes held as much determination as they did mirth. He took a step toward Helena.
“Colobus monkey puzzle.”
“Colobus rathinda amorlensis.”
Bertram took another step toward her. “Ringlet-tailed lemur.”
Helena stepped in to meet him. “Lemuropus hypercatta.”
He stepped. “Snow leopard Apollo.”
She stepped. “Parnthera phoebuncia.”
Bertram and Helena were nearly nose-to-nose at this point, Helena looking up at him as he touched his one protruding tusk with his tongue.
“You know I could be making any of these up,” Helena said.
Bertram shook his head. “Nah. You’re a terrible liar. And I think if you tried to besmirch the sanctity of taxonomy, you’d spontaneously combust.”
Helena blushed as Bertram smiled.
The door to the lab flew open and Dr. J walked in, another owl-bear feather in tow.
“It’s another wing feather, I believe,” Dr. J announced.
“I saw a dragon,” Helena said at once.
“No, she didn’t,” Bertram said. “Mom, do we have any evidence or proof that there have ever been signs of dragons in the surrounding area?”
Jennie shifted. “Not per se, no.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, Bertram,” Helena said. “You can’t prove a negative. You can’t conclusively say there are no dragons—”
“Right, the burden of proof is on you, so if you come to me with proof of a dragon, I will absolutely believe you.” Bertram smiled. “But you won’t, because there’s no way a dragon would come this close to human civilization. If anything, the Great Merge pushed them further back into hiding—”
“I know about dragon history,” Helena snapped, “and I know what I saw.”
“I think we all know what this is really about,” Bertram said.
Dr. J sighed. “Bertram, Helena, please—”
“No, by all means, Bertram,” Helena said, “tell me what this is really about.”
“You’re the only Person here who hasn’t seen signs of an owl-bear. You’re so hypercompetitive that you need to compensate for it by making up a dragon.”
Helena’s mouth opened in indignation.
“I’m not even saying you’re lying!” Bertram shrugged. “I believe that you believe it. I also believe this is your mind’s way of coping with the fact that you’re behind. If someone gets an A, you need an A+. If we’re seeing signs of owl-bears, then you see a dragon.”
Helena flushed. “That’s completely—”
“Listen,” Dr. J interrupted, “it would certainly be, um, unexpected to learn that dragons and owl-bears shared territory in these mountains. But it would also be a very exciting discovery! So, let’s all keep our eyes peeled for owl-bears and dragons alike, shall we?”
“She’s placating you,” Bertram murmured, close to Helena’s ear.
Helena blushed and whipped around to glare at him. “I’m going to find conclusive evidence of dragons, whatever it takes. Charred sections of forest—”
“We don’t know that owl-bears don’t produce fire,” Bertram said easily, and at this point Helena was certain he was disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing.
“Physiologically, they’re quite different,” Helena said.
“Physiologically, snakes and platypi are quite different, but they both produce venom,” Bertram countered.
“Platypodes,” said Helena. “The word ‘platypus’ has a Greek root, not Latin. So, the ‘-us’ suffix wouldn’t go to ‘-i.’ Technically, if anything, the Greek plural of ‘pus,’ meaning ‘feet,’ would be ‘podes,’ as in ‘podiatrist.’ So, animals ending in Greek ‘pus’ would be pluralized as ‘podes,’ like platypodes, octopodes.
But it’s also acceptable to say, ‘platypuses’ or ‘octopuses.’ ”
Bertram turned and walked toward the door.
“I’m just saying!” Helena called after him. “If you’re going to try to be pretentious and use classical pluralization, you have to do the Greek for ‘platypus,’ not the Latin!”
But Bertram was already gone.
“He has no respect for classical languages,” Helena said to Dr. J.
Dr. J sighed. “Don’t I know it.”
There was a moment of silence.
“How have you two been getting along?” Dr. J asked.
“Okay, I think,” Helena said. “More or less. We get along fine and work together fine. He just . . . he isn’t quite letting me in . . . and—and I wish . . .”
“What?” Dr. J asked, gently.
“I wish it could be like it was before,” Helena said. “I know it can’t. But—but I miss it. When we were close.”
“Bertram insists that it isn’t your previous . . . romantic entanglement that caused the rift,” Dr. J said. “Helena . . . what happened between you two? I won’t tell him you told me. I just want to understand.”
“Believe me, so do I.” Helena smiled sadly.
“When I told him I was going to med school instead of doing my PhD, he completely cut me off. Blocked my number, blocked me on social media . . . it’s not completely his fault.
I did sort of spring it on him. And I know I should have warned him earlier that I was leaving, but I didn’t think he’d overreact like that.
I mean, I guess I don’t get to judge whether it was an overreaction; I’m not the one who was hurt. ”
Helena thought for a moment. Was that even true?
Yes, she was the one who said she was moving halfway across the world, and yes, she had sprung that on Bertram quite suddenly.
But she had no intention of ending their friendship, or even their romantic relationship.
The truth was, if he had asked her not to go to medical school, she might not have gone. She was that head-over-heels for him.
Instead, she lost her best friend overnight with no warning or explanation. With no way to ask him what happened or how she could fix it.
“Most days are fine,” Helena said. “We’re usually okay as colleagues. It’s just every once in a while . . .”
“You end up fighting about dragons,” Dr. J finished, with a slight smile. “As long as the work gets done, and gets done well, you two can bicker as much as you want.”
“I don’t want to bicker,” Helena mumbled. “I just can’t let him get the last word.”
Over the coming days, Helena was arguably more determined to bring back proof of a dragon than an owl-bear.
She did neither.
Bertram found owl-bear tracks.
Dr. J found another feather.
Helena found herself going insane.
But she was trying her best not to. Most days she ate either lunch or dinner or both by one of the Folio Mountains’ many lakes, because it seemed like a sensible place to keep an eye out for owl-bears, and because they were inordinately beautiful.
That’s what she had to focus on, she realized one evening.
As frustrating as the waiting was, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
The teaching hospital had always felt stuffy, with its ceiling and walls, surrounded by other buildings with ceilings and walls.
Helena knew this was, in fact, how cities worked, but she had never liked the city.
She liked being here, the wilderness, where creatures belonged.
Helena included herself amongst creatures.
Fluorescent bulbs could never compare to the soft sunlight streaming through the trees.
The always-too-cold-for-her-taste air conditioning of the hospital felt more bitingly brisk than the mountain air, even as snow began to fall gently on Helena.
She was bundled up enough that it didn’t bother her; it made her feel cozy, like she was in an enchanted snow globe.
The snowflakes were particularly beautiful this evening, illuminated pink and orange by the setting sun.