Goat Mother and Others: The Collected Mythos Fiction of Pierre Comtois

by Pierre V. Comtois

  “Aye, it would seem ta be a colossal waste o’ time for folks otherwise dirt poor.”

  The Queen moved forward inch by inch as Eliot called out the soundings. The water there reached only fifteen or twenty feet before a hidden reef reached dangerously up for the vulnerable hull of the ship. The Captain continued to push it farther to the east, circling the island and when the soundings finally reached a safe depth, an inviting, sandy stretch of beach was clearly visible on the island. By this time, the strange carvings had sunk from view and the island’s elevation had flattened until the surf could wash far up onto the beach. An impenetrable jungle edged the sand, hazy in the morning’s growing heat, and a mist still clung to the land farther back where it sloped up to the hidden heights. With those heights cleared, the birds that we had spied the day before were again in view, but apparently were not centered upon the island before us, but at some point beyond it. Still towed by the boat, the Queen was maneuvered through an opening in the coral reef that ringed the island. Members of the crew manned long poles to either side, probing the depths for unexpected coral projections that could rip open the ship’s hull in seconds. Eliot gave the word that we had cleared the reef and the rowers were ordered back to the ship. The Queen drifted with the tide a bit before the Captain signaled for the anchor to let fly. It was done and the ship made secure.

  The Captain wasted no time in having the captive brought from below decks. The poor wretch had to be supported between two crewmen. His face was bruised and I could see two fingers had obviously been broken. At the Captain’s order, Eliot put some questions to him to which he nodded and grumbled a reply. Presently, a boat was lowered and the Captain, together with Eliot and the captive whose charge had become his own, and a handful of other men including myself clambered aboard and headed for the distant beach.

  Although the journey to the beach was short, it seemed longer as we pulled our oars, our backs to the land and only the comfortable familiarity of the Queen to be seen on the bosom of the sea. The captive managed to keep up a stream of commentary at the instigation of Eliot who translated for the Captain. It seemed that the people native to this island were resented in no small way by the inhabitants of the surrounding waters. There also seemed to be some undercurrent of revulsion in the words Eliot translated; whether it was the inadequacy of the translation, or something actually intended by our savage companion, I could not tell, but in any case, there appeared to be a subtle element of disgust in the words, but of what, I could not have said at the time.

  Then, just as I noticed the swirl of sand in the water about my oar ends, the boat scudded into the soft beach. We all debarked and hauled it the rest of the way out of the surf until it was securely above the water line. I turned then, and received my first close-up look at the island. It resembled any number of other such islands I had visited in the past with its fringe of jungle growth and gently curving beach. Suddenly, there was movement in that jungle and a small group of dusky savages arrayed in primitive implements of war and no less bizarrely painted than those who had attacked the Queen the night before. They were in all respects like those others except in one: they were decorated in various and sundry articles of gold. Necklaces, armlets and ankle rings. Ear rings and finger rings and head bands. The crewmen around me began to mumble in eager delight until the Captain ordered them to keep silent and display as little interest in the gold as possible. Shrewd as ever, even in this first, uncertain contact, the Captain then ordered the trade goods we had brought from the Queen taken out of the boat and laid on the beach. Soon, the newcomers approached warily and after glancing interestedly at the various colored cloths and beads on display, their leader, whom we later learned was named Walakea, pointed at our captive and said something.

  “He wants to know what this man is doing in our company sir,” said Eliot.

  “Tell them the whole story, Matt,” instructed the Captain, “but leave out our interest in the gold.” Eliot turned and did as he was told.

  Walakea said something again and Eliot said, “He says this man’s people are their traditional enemies and demands to take possession of him.”

  The Captain hesitated not at all. “Then give him to him.” Eliot said something to Walakea and signaled the men holding our captive to give him over. He was taken roughly in hand and marched off into the jungle by two of the natives. Then followed the introductions and the discovery that rudimentary communications could be had with sign language. The natives, who called their island and themselves the Kanakys, were enthralled by the goods we brought, being completely ignorant of the products of civilization. And what was more, they had no compunction about trading their golden baubles for it. But the art of the trade does not involve coming directly to the point. A roundabout method is often called for in order to arrive at the desired end. Consequently, the Captain began trading for other, less desired items among which were small, stone carved effigies, like miniature versions of those giant heads on the cliff sides. An invitation to their village soon followed and when we returned to the Queen, the Captain informed the crew of the celebration Walakea planned for our reception the next day. Knowledge of the easy trading on the beach fired the men’s excitement and greed and, I must admit, my own, for the anticipated meeting.

  The night passed uneventfully and the next day, leaving a minimal crew aboard ship, the Captain led the remainder of us to shore where we were met by one of Walakea’s warriors. We were led inland a few hundred feet to where the village stood beside a small, deep stream of fresh water. At least two dozen canoes lay pulled up to the narrow beach there while the village proper extended through the nearby jungle and straggled almost down to where the boats lay. The village was composed of grass huts typical of the south seas, which stood on sturdy palm logs. Pools of sunlight shone here and there where the natives had cleared parts of the forest. But the people themselves, of which there appeared to be many hundreds, were decidedly strange, even queer looking. Admittedly, there were some, including Walakea and his wives, that were quite handsome as natives in those parts are judged, but the greater majority seemed wan, and pallid with an odd, scaly texture to their skin. In addition, these people possessed bad posture, seeming to find it more comfortable to stoop rather than stand erect, and frequently slouched when walking. There were many more of the golden ornaments about the village, but not as many as we were led to believe by the group we had met on the beach the day before.

  A great feast had been laid out for us in the center of the village consisting of every sort of native fruit and vegetable and a wide variety of sea food. Indeed there was so much, even Captain Marsh was moved to comment on it to Walakea, who shrugged and indicated it was due to the beneficent nature of their gods. As we took our places, music of a sort was begun on various native instruments as the women passed among us with wooden plates stacked high with steaming native viands and succulent fruits. From where I sat, I could see that the Captain lost no time in getting Eliot to sit with him beside Walakea to begin the bartering. I could tell by his demeanor that the chief was not disposed to discuss the matter, but that did not dissuade the Captain from continuing his efforts periodically throughout the meal. By the end of the fifth course, most of those present were becoming rapidly satiated and a sort of torpor began to set in. Native and white man alike lay back, some to sleep and some even to seek out the dubious pleasures the native women might offer. I continued to study the Captain as he plied Walakea for information, and I could tell that Marsh was already stitching together a rudimentary understanding of the native tongue, needing Eliot less and less.

  An impenetrable jungle edged the sand, hazy in the morning’s growing heat, and a mist still clung to the land farther back where it sloped up to the hidden heights.

  I also noticed the singular lack of elderly members of the tribe, in fact there were none. There also seemed to be fewer young people than would be expected in a village of that size.

  It was about then that Worthy came back fr
om somewhere I knew not, slightly drunk on the native beer and threw himself down next to me. “Look what I have,” he said, holding out a gold headband to me. “Traded it for my brass shoe buckles,” he said. I looked at it at first with envy, but then as I observed its markings more closely, with vague repulsion. Whereas the previous pieces I had seen were decorated with frog-like men, the object I held in my hand had the figures of less distinct aquatic-looking creatures in obvious postures of sexual coupling with humans.

  Disgusted, I threw it back at Worthy swearing, “I will have nothing to do with such unnatural idolatry! The rest of the crew can keep what gold it acquires here, but for my part, I will remain satisfied with my honest wages.” Here, Worthy looked at the etchings and shrugged, his greed apparently getting the better of his Christian upbringing. From that moment on I grew increasingly wary of those people and their degraded interests. Soon I noticed their strange little idols everywhere and when I next looked to find the Captain, he was gone together with Eliot and Walakea.

  It was only the next day when I saw them again, or rather, I saw Eliot. He was sitting alone beneath a palm tree near the beach when I came upon him. Naturally I was curious as to how he and the Captain had fared with Walakea and made bold to walk up to him to ask. In hindsight, there was no reason for a first mate to confide the way he did with a mere member of the crew, but I have since felt that he may have remembered my stand against the Captain’s torturing of the native prisoner and saw me as a kindred spirit. In any case, he had a story he needed to share with someone and perhaps I was the most convenient. It was a story so outlandish, so bizarre and yet so hideously obvious that it would shake my perception of the world to the very core and test the mettle of my Christian faith.

  I approached Eliot that fateful day and casually asked him if he and the Captain had made any progress in their talks with the chief. Eliot grunted and remained silent for a moment then said, “Hosiah, I have observed you for a good portion of this voyage and I think I might have your measure. We think alike in many ways and I can see you have much book learning about you. You think straight, not like the other members of the crew. Hosiah, what if I told you our idea of the order of things is not quite what we suppose it is?” I must have made the expected facial expression, because he continued.

  “Have you noticed the queer looks of the natives on this here island? The way their big eyes seldom blink? Or the slippery feel of their skin? Hosiah, the carvings on those golden ornaments and statuettes are not the figurings of ignorant savages, but the literal truth their own eyes have seen and, God help me, my own as well! When I left yesterday with the Captain, Walakea had already hinted to us about how his people acquired their gold. At first, I thought it was just more heathen superstition needed to explain what perhaps, they could not understand, but then Walakea showed us the island. No not this one, but another on the lee side of this one. We boarded one of his war canoes and, paddled by a handful of his most trusted warriors, were taken downstream to the sea. From there, we skirted the shore until we came into sight of another, smaller island. Only a few hundred yards of water separated it from this one and at that proximity, I could see that it seemed less an island than a jumble of oddly carved stones. Overhead whirled that mighty column of birds we had seen from far off. The stones were odd I say, not because of the well worn carvings of various sea creatures that dominated them but because for some reason, they were hard to see. Not with distance, but because of their shapes. It was as if a man could get an idea of their shape out of the corner of his eyes but when he tried to look at them straight, they blurred somehow. In any case, right then, I started feeling that we may have stumbled into something we had not bargained for.

  “As we drew nearer, I could see that much of the rubble was buried in black silt suggesting that the island had once been beneath the sea and perhaps had been hurled up sometime in the past. When I questioned Walakea on this he confirmed my opinion saying it appeared from the sea one morning when his grandfather had been chief. At that time, he said, his people had been extremely poor and they had made an excursion to the island hoping to find something of value to trade with their neighbors. What they found were strange, fish-like creatures, like those depicted in the carvings. Of course I dismissed the chief’s remarks as ignorant exaggeration but to my surprise, Captain Marsh nodded and took the whole matter seriously. He began to question Walakea in word and in sign and grew increasingly excited as the chief continued to speak. According to Walakea, his forebears had learned to communicate with the island creatures and soon arrived at a mutually beneficial agreement. In return for their worship and the sacrifice of a certain number of the tribe’s young men and women, the sea things insured the Kanakys plentiful supplies of fish and a steady stream of golden artifacts.

  “Well, we reached the island at last, and on closer examination I could see that many of the carvings, besides the half-fish, half-manlike things, consisted of many other less familiar creatures; all tentacles and ropy filaments. I thank God that those carvings were as old as they were, because if they had been any more distinct, I think I may have lost my mind. I reeled as it was as Walakea steered us toward a single gargantuan block while his men pulled thick strands of old and rotted seaweed from about its face. When they had finished, they all fell to their knees and the chief led them in some kind of prayer. I noticed then how the image on that great stone resembled those of the small idols the natives possessed back in the village. This was the image of their god, a god who answered their prayers in a most concrete way, a way easily understood and appreciated by a poor and backward people. I actually found myself feeling jealous of them! I must admit that the thought did not immediately strike me as absurd; it was all a part of the hideous nature of the situation. After a few minutes my senses returned and I was able to rethink my feelings. Of course it was all absurd! Their god could not be a real god. I thought I had the problem settled in my mind until Walakea revealed the ultimate secret about the Kanakys’ relationship with the sea-things.

  “We re-entered the canoe and paddled back to the main island, but instead of taking us back to the village where we had been feted last night, Walakea took us to the opposite side of the stream where a second village site stood. It seemed deserted, but as we soon learned, all those who resided there lurked indoors. We approached a lone hut and Walakea bid us follow him inside. I followed the Captain and when I straightened from my stoop my eyes fell on a sight I hope never to see again. Even with the interior of the hut in semi-gloom, I could make out the features of the figure before me. It was no doubt human, but it was more fish than man! I saw all the same queer attributes in it that we have seen in most of the villagers here, but they were all horribly exaggerated; the eyes were great, unblinking orbs without pupils, the hands and feet were webbed and the skin where the light fell on it, glistened in thousands of iridescent scales. What must have been rudimentary gills opened and closed at the side of its misshapen head as if the creature had difficulty breathing. Entirely hairless, it crouched on the dirt floor staring at us with the emotionlessness of a fish.

  “I was repulsed and even the Captain took a step backward. Then Walakea told us the final horror. After his people had been sacrificing their youths to them for some time, the sea-creatures began to tire of them and made a further suggestion: they wished the opportunity to mate with members of the tribe. At first, the idea was resisted, but soon they were persuaded to comply. Over the years, almost the entire tribe had been tainted with the aquatic streak, thus the queer looks we noticed among the villagers. But the strange looks did not come altogether, they came over time. When a villager advanced in years, the changes began to come over him with increased rapidity until, at an advanced age, he resembled the creature I saw in the hut last night. Soon after that, the urge to go to the sea would become too strong, he would be unable to endure it and he would join the sea-creatures beneath the waves, very infrequently to return.”

  I began to protest the veraci
ty of his story, to suggest alternative explanations to what he had seen, even as I knew no other explanation could make sense of the strange look of the villagers. Eliot shook his head.

  “It’s all too frighteningly true, Hosiah,” he said. “But the sight of that fish-thing was not the worst of it. Do you know what the natives received in return for their miscegenation? Immortality! You do not understand do you? They have gods who not only answer their prayers in a most efficacious manner but who also grant them eternal life! What argument is there against it and in favor of our own Christian religion? We are only promised our eternal reward and perhaps an all wise God may deem fit to answer our prayers, but their gods are less discerning, being here, now, serving them! That is the most insidious fact about the whole thing, do you think that men, ruled mostly by greed and lust could long resist the lure of such a practical faith? Yes, yes, I know it is all preposterous. They are not true gods, but mortal creatures even as we, only with preternaturally long lives, but I say to you, that they could easily prey on the ignorance and selfishness of many men. They must remain here, unknown.”

  I suggested an immediate return to the Queen, but he shook his head.

  “The Captain, unbeliever as he is, is the first of those fools to embrace these devils. Even now, he speaks with seriousness with Walakea on the whys and wherefores of their worship. Oh, he does not believe in the creatures’ divinity any more than I do, but his greed yet leads him into a situation that will not only damn his own questionable soul but anyone else to whom he introduces the secret.

  “The Captain will surely work on the men’s greed to win them over to his way of thinking. He will swear them to silence and you will see, a regular run to the Kanakys for trade gold will become an accepted fact back in New England.”