Chapter 5: Frozen Ghosts

Water rose while the floor sank. Henry was in his sixties and he hadn't taken very good care of himself. Now forced to slosh around in thigh deep water just to move, he felt the pain of years of neglect. He had kept his brain sharp, but he gave up on his body so long ago the idea of health and wellness didn't register in his mental library. The concept didn't exist. He hadn't performed any real physical labor since the last time he dug a grave and buried someone, over twenty years ago. Between the shocks of cold and exertion his hypothermia proceeded completely unnoticed. The blame for his exhaustion fell on hard labor and age.

Henry trenched his way to the window facing the sea. The angle bent dramatically downward but he could still out to the horizon. Waves rippled less than twenty feet away. When he had bought this property the waves were over sixty feet away from his standing spot. The permafrost had melted. The land flooded and sank. It happened so gradually. Henry never said good bye.

Fury fueled his first reaction. He wrote nasty, borderline threatening letters in the late 1990s to the agency that sold him the land when he measured his loss as compared to the diameters of his parcel note. The flooding became frequent that long ago. His coastal position had cost him an extra $10,000! But it was too late for action. He had purchased the land over ten years prior. The agent that sold the parcel no longer worked there. There were no tax assessments to dispute in Alaska. Newtok is a Yup'ik Eskimo community in the Arctic circle. No one paid attention. No one cared what went on in Newtok. It's the same reason Henry bought the house there. It was simply money lost. A mistake he had to endure.

Of course, he plotted revenge in his twisted passive ways. He considered making examples of local government. The Yup'ik tribal council were totally powerless to stop his issue, but perhaps the attention brought by a few random deaths could bring some inquiring minds. It would have to appear as murder to bring the attention, not an accident which was Henry's specialty. In the end, Henry felt such an effort served too little purpose to be worth the risk.

Instead, Henry sat and grew old watching his land disappear, watching his final resting place as the earth itself accelerated the speed by which his final rest approached. He thrived in the life of a hermit hiding such stained skeletons. Summers were brief. Over half the year passed in darkness. Henry thought of the long dark and still savored the relief that it was light. The water stole his land faster in the dark. Henry would swear to it.

Twenty two years spent hiding in this home. His calls for help with the flooding ignored for over ten of those. Things had recently changed. Arctic flooding became the world's business rather than Newtok and Henry's. The world, how Henry despised it. How he had suffered and struggled through its vicious maze. He didn't mind leaving but it must be on his terms.

The world solution was one he couldn't accept, abandonment. Newtok residents were being relocated upriver, courtesy of the federal government. Henry had forgotten such an entity existed. It would require both Hell and High water for Henry to abandon his only confidant of the last two decades. And Hell had yet to arrive.

His home was his friend. He had shared his thoughts and desires with these walls. He shouted his dreams to the icy stars that hung above his bed. Having to uproot and live somewhere else was just something he wasn't going to do. He just didn't care enough to do so. Henry was ready to die. Why wasn't everyone else?

Henry turned from the window and looked across his trailer. He could see the reflections of his book shelves in the water. Books from the lower shelves now drifted in patterns before it. "Those are books I'll never read again," Henry said out loud. "I should've read more."

Slowly, the old man leaned his back on the damp wallboards. Streaks of absorption climbed to the roof. Henry didn't feel the cold anymore. The water welcomed like a tub. His back slid carefully downward as he bent his crystal knees. He felt the cracks in his vertebrae from bending but no shocks on his bare skin from the chill. Henry let himself sink until the water line covered his moustache. His withered gray beard expanded in ropes and hovered beneath his chin. He breathed through his nose and floated, examining what he had left. His eyes wanted to close but he didn't let them. Henry Castle was tired, so regrettably tired.

The trailer filled with water but it was still his. An agent of the federal government had tried to convince him differently. Henry wasn't leaving. He was prepared to defend his position. The agent didn't bicker, just nodded politely and drove away. But Henry expected them back. He had moved his guns to the top of his now unplugged and useless refrigerator, the highest point in the house. Henry was ready to die. Why wasn't everyone else?

Showers of despair rained over the pale shivering old man. He didn't want to give up. His life bled with accomplishment and pride. Still, starting over repulsed him even more. Over that injustice he would gladly choose death. He felt relief again that it was light outside.

Henry thought of old friends. Someone to talk to would be grand. It had been years since he had a conversation. Sometimes he tried to walk into the village and say a simple "hello". But Henry hadn't learned even the basic Yup'ik greeting. He returned feeling more outcast and bitter than before. Despair moved aside to make room for the anger that swelled.

A splash and commotion grabbed his attention and pulled him awake from his final nap. Henry's eyes opened wide as he believed a prayer had been answered. An old friend bobbed in the water and came near. Henry brought himself to his feet and began his battle to lift his knees above the water line.
"Lee?" Henry begged, "Is that you Lee?"

Lee Bronavan's hardened face glared at Henry with lifeless eyes. His skin was rock solid but rapidly thawing. Melting ice appeared as tears coursing down his cheeks. The frozen nubs of his feet struck a part of the floor still in tact and angled his face down into the water.

"Lee!" Henry screamed when he saw his friend fall. The old man dove forward and thrashed wildly through what he must have considered a swim. Not even Henry would've thought himself able to exert such motion. He reached Lee and pulled his head upward from the water.

Henry pulled the man closer and hugged and cheered his rescue. The moment held such sentiment, such passion of humanity, Henry neglected to recall a most important fact. Henry had murdered Lee Bronavan over twenty years ago.