As Peter watched, the old woman went down on her knees and began to pull weeds from around the statue. After a moment, the young man went to help her, and Helmut did, as well.
And, as Peter worked, he glanced up at the statue of Felix Weiss.
There, in the metal that would never rust, was a pair of rusty tracks beginning at each eye, like the tracks of tears on a face of iron.
* * *
ROMANCE FINDS HENRI MOREAU, MD
Doctor Moreau stepped back from the table, wiping his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his lab coat. The air conditioning had gone out, but he ignored his discomfort.
Before him lay the body of a creature heretofore unknown. In birth, she had been a cheetah, and would have spent her days hunting gazelle in Namibia, eventually succumbing to a poacher’s bullet or dying at the end of a mere twelve years. Men under Moreau’s employ and Montgomery’s direction had trapped her and her litter mates, and transported them far from their native Africa.
But the creature sleeping before the watchful eyes of Moreau was not merely a cheetah. Indeed, her hands, legs and fifty percent of her genetic makeup had come from a fashion model now being searched for in Paris and much of Europe.
Montgomery and Moreau’s men had spirited her away to the island under promise of fortune and enduring fame.
Now she was neither cheetah nor human.
She was something more.
Through careful applications of retro-viruses and surgery, Dr. Moreau had delicately crafted the wonder now just beginning to murmur in his secret lab. She was tall and lithe, her skin soft and supple, with a delicate sprinkling of spots down her back and over her human breasts. Moreau had also liberated these from the cadaver of the fashion model, whose remnants now lay in a cryogenic chamber, should a need arise for important organs or other leftovers.
Aurélie had retained her long tail. Moreau had long debated with himself over that vestige, then decided that the aim of his work was to improve on humankind, not be a slave to its flawed blueprint.
This fruit of his labors, this chimeric miracle, Moreau had christened “Aurélie,” which meant “golden.”
If one asked Moreau why he had seen fit to equip Aurélie with human sex organs, rather than those of her feline heritage, he would have chastised the questioner for their infantile and prurient thoughts, then changed the subject to his latest findings on gene splicing or forced mutation through any number of toxins and/or radiation.
Aurélie healed quickly, although it took her several weeks to acclimate to walking on two legs rather than four. This was a common problem among the earlier Beast-Men of the island, and Moreau still had not seen a solution to that thorny problem.
Aurélie began speaking almost immediately, although her genetically engineered vocal apparatus was ill-equipped for sounds feline or human. Frustrated, Moreau subjected her to more painful surgeries, giving her the vocal cords of the dead model as well as additional cerebral tissue containing the Wernicke and Broca Zones, those areas of the brain associated with language development. Moreau did not like hurting her, but he tried to maintain a doctor’s level of objectivity and dispassionate separation.
When Aurélie had recovered from these surgeries, her voice soon evolved from hoarse croaking to a mellifluous voice that Moreau and the others on the island found enchanting. Indeed, several of the Beast-Men had eyed her with what Moreau was sure was desire, and he resolved then and there that she would not live with the others in the colony beyond the great wall of his compound.
And so he took it upon himself to teach her subjects of importance, science and art, manners and civility.
And, of course, The Law.
“What is The Law?”
“Not to eat meat, that is The Law,” she replied dutifully. “Are we not… men?” She made the statement a question.
“In this case, it is not gender-specific,” Moreau told her, “however, you may substitute the word ‘human,’ if you wish.”
“But I am not human.”
“You are more human than animal.”
“Am I better than an animal?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have a soul?” She asked, the delicate whiskers on her muzzle trembling.
“That is a subject for another time. Please continue: what is The Law?”
“Not to go on all fours, that is The Law. Am I not human?”
“What is The Law?”
“Not to spill blood, that is The Law. Am I not human?”
Moreau smiled at her. Her diction was flawless.
She cocked her head slightly, something she always did when learning a new concept or trying to puzzle something out.
“Doctor Moreau…”
“Yes, my dear?”
“If the blood I spill is my own, is that breaking The Law?”
“You mean, if you were injured?”
“Partly, but as you know my body does spill blood with regularity, and…”
He smiled indulgently. “The Law refers to the spilling of the blood of another, especially to feed.”
She gazed at him, her large amber eyes threatening to swallow him. He felt transfixed, a new sensation for him, and part of him was just beginning to feel anxious when something drew her attention to the French doors. Moreau could see a squirrel move down a tree trunk. The squirrel had been one of the lab animals brought over from France and had promptly escaped.
She shook her head, her lustrous blonde hair catching the morning sunlight. She watched the squirrel until it scampered up another tree.
“Are you all right, Aurélie?”
“This hair – it interferes with my hearing.”
“You seem to hear me perfectly well.”
“I am sorry, Doctor, I suppose part of me still wants to go hunting.”
He patted her hand, his fingertips tingling at the feel of the soft fur that covered her, like down. He rationalized it as static electricity and continued their lessons.
Of his servants, M’ling seemed the most taken with Aurélie, and seemed to regard her with the same reverence he showed Moreau. The little manservant, who was more lower primate than human, would often bring her flowers or fruit, placing them at her door and then running away when she would open it. When she addressed him directly, M’ling wouldn’t look at her, his shyness was too great, but he would watch her with awe when she left the room.
Moreau regarded it as little more than a schoolboy crush, and ignored it, as he did most aspects of M’ling life outside of serving his meals and laying out his clothes.
One day, Moreau had M’ling and one of the other servants saddle two of the horses. Moreau wanted to take Aurélie riding, in the grand tradition of the aristocracy.
Aurélie had only seen the horses from a distance, and had never seemed especially interested in them. Moreau was anxious that she learn all aspects of life appropriate to a lady of a grand manor.
As Moreau and Aurélie approached, the horses began to grow skittish. When they came within ten feet of the beasts, the horses reared and whinnied. Aurélie hissed and hunched, as if she might spring. Moreau realized that the horses could smell the predator that made up her heritage. They quickly withdrew, and the horses quieted.
Moreau settled for walking with Aurélie inside the compound grounds, marveling at how quiet she could be, even when her feet were clad in shoes or boots.
“Dr. Moreau, must I always wear shoes?”
“Not in the bed or the bath, my dear.”
She smiled, but continued. “Shoes hurt my feet.”
“A lady is always properly dressed, Aurélie. Besides, your new feet would soon be cut and bruised.”
“I am sure in time I could build calluses to protect…”
“A lady does not invite calluses like some field hand. I have greater things in mind for you.”
“Tell me.”
“In time, when your studies have progressed.”
Moreau
found himself thinking of her, even when in The House of Pain. Whether punishing one of his Beast-Men for breaking a Law – going on all fours was an especially pervasive violation as was peeking over the wall at his sessions with Aurélie - Moreau thought of the hours until he would see her again, hear her melodious voice and be bewitched by her eyes of amber.
He found one day that she had cut off much of the blonde hair he had harvested from a famous movie actress now missing and the subject of wild speculation in the international press.
Aurélie was admiring her new look in a large mirror. All that remained of her long tresses was a three inch strip of hair that ran from her hairline and down into a long pigtail at the back. It reminded Moreau of a style adopted by certain indigenous people in the United States.
“Aurélie!” he shouted, and as she dropped the scissors, she bared her teeth at him and hissed. Recovering, she blushed and curtsied, as if it were a nervous habit she picked up.
He realized it was a gesture of submission, but this did little to mollify him.
“What have you done to your hair?” he continued, looking at the mass of golden locks on the floor.
“It kept getting in the way,” she said, the slightest note of defiance in her voice. “And it made it too difficult to hear. I did leave some… to please you.”
He was telling himself there was still too much beast in her, when he saw her eyes brimming with tears.
Like a child, he thought, a human child.
His anger fled at this realization, and she recognized it and ran to him, hugging him tightly.
Moreau grew flushed, and she peered at him curiously.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, I am sorry I lost my temper.”
“Your respiration and heart rate have increased. Why is this?”
“That is a matter for another time. Please get dressed for dinner.”
She curtsied again, and he wondered if he saw the slightest trace of a smile on her face.
One night, he was having cigars and brandy with Montgomery when Aurélie came in to say goodnight. As she left, her spotted tail whipped about saucily, as if drawing mystic symbols in the air.
Moreau saw Montgomery staring after her.
“Don’t do that!” Moreau barked.
Montgomery looked at him, puzzled.
“Don’t stare at her like she’s some sideshow attraction,” Moreau said.
“On the contrary,” Montgomery said, “I find her…” He quieted immediately when he saw the look on Moreau’s face, and no more was said about the matter.
It took Moreau another two months to realize what Montgomery had seen that night in the parlor: he, the brilliant Doctor Henri Moreau, was in love with Aurélie.
It dawned on Moreau that this had been part of his grand design. He was trying to craft something finer than Mankind, something greater. What could be more fitting than to combine his intellect and his compassion with the very best of the animal world?
He decided he would court her, letting her become comfortable as their roles shifted from creator/creation and teacher/student to husband/wife.
Moreau knew he would not fail, for his only real competition on the island was Montgomery who would not defy Moreau, military man that he was.
Moreau felt he had plenty of time, and began teaching his future bride the finer points of civility, good manners and breeding, indeed, an aristocratic bearing and position.
It was not that he intended to parade Aurélie before the crowned heads of Europe, although that might be a possibility. He also doubted their marriage would be recognized, or even accepted. Discretion in this area would be best.
But as Moreau planned further refinements to the body of Aurélie and considered the feasibility of creating a duplicate (should the first become infirm or victim of any of the number of perils of which the island played host), the supply ship brought a most unwelcome visitor.
His name was Edward Prendick, and he had been rescued by the freighter that brought supplies to the island every six months to eight months. The Captain of the freighter always refused to let any of his men set foot on the island, having once told Montgomery it was surely “the work of the Devil” that Moreau was engaged in.
The Captain, an excitable man, had told Montgomery he must take Prendick with him to the island. Montgomery refused. But as Montgomery and M’ling were transporting supplies and new test animals to shore, the Captain put Prendick adrift in a leaking skiff, and he and his crew made for the open sea.
Although Montgomery knew Moreau would be angry, he couldn’t let the man drown. He and M’ling fetched Prendick and brought him to the compound.
Although Moreau was displeased at first, he was delighted to find that Prendick was an amateur biologist with a knowledge of Darwin’s work. It had been eleven years since Moreau had had a colleague to talk to, and he and Prendick discussed the processes of natural selection, evolution and its culmination in the remarkable creature known as Man.
Prendick proved to be a most excellent guest, and Moreau felt the time was near when he might share his researches with the man. Moreau thought it possible that Prendick might even assist him in the lab, something neither Montgomery nor any of the Beast-Men was suitable for.
During these first weeks of Prendick’s visit, Moreau had kept Aurélie in her quarters, only allowing her out when Prendick was off on some errand with Montgomery. Moreau wasn’t sure why he had not wanted them to meet, although later it would seem to him the answer should have been obvious.
For her part, the normally gentle and cheerful Aurélie grew restive and sullen. She didn’t like being cooped up in her quarters, which she told Moreau was no better than being in a cage like the animals he had delivered to the island. Moreau, who had seen that her rooms were furnished lavishly with plenty of books and supplies for crocheting, painting and other gentlewomanly pursuits, felt wounded.
“I can smell him,” she said. “I have known since the day they brought him in from the sea that there has been a stranger here.”
“My dear, I simply want to make sure this new arrival will treat you with civility and decorum.”
“Doctor Moreau…”
“Please, call me ‘Henri’.”
“Henri…” she seemed to taste the word as it emerged flawlessly from her lips, and Moreau felt a delicious shiver run down his spine.
“Henri,” she continued, placing one delicate and downy-furred hand upon his own, “please do not keep me a prisoner here. Is it not my duty as hostess to see to the needs of our guest?”
This should have served as a warning to Moreau, but all he could think about was the feel of her touch, her use of the word “our.” If he had not been lost within the golden light of her gaze before, he surely was, now.
“Of course, my dear. We shall have a proper dinner tonight, and I will make the introductions.”
“Oh, Henri,” she exclaimed happily, and squeezed his hand.
Moreau so wanted to take her then and there, decorum and science and propriety be damned, but he prided himself on his strength of character. After all, wasn’t he trying to usher in a new age?
That night, Moreau’s staff outdid themselves preparing a roast beef tenderloin with red wine and shallots, potatoes, carrots and crème brulee for dessert.
Aurélie, who was subject to The Law, would dine on fruits, green salad and warm bread.
Prendick, who had lost his luggage at sea, had had to borrow suitable clothes from Montgomery and Moreau. As Montgomery was a great deal broader in the chest and Moreau fuller in the belly, Prendick’s outfit looked as ill-fitting as a schoolboy’s hand-me-downs. He was embarrassed, because he admired Moreau as a man of science, and liked Montgomery as a straight-forward man of action and a raconteur.
Prendick fussed with his tie and pulled at his vest, aware that he should have worn suspenders, as his pants were perilously loose in the waist.
&nbs
p; All these thoughts disappeared when Aurélie entered the room.
She was on Moreau’s arm, but he might as well have been covered in black silk, like a stagehand in a London playhouse.
Aurélie was dressed in silver silk covered in sequins and rhinestones that captured the lamplight and made her seem even more ethereal and otherworldly, some creature descended from Olympus, perhaps, or Heaven itself. At Moreau’s request she kept her tail hidden, although that troublesome appendage often seemed to have a mind of its own.
When Prendick saw her true nature, he gasped. Aurélie was beautiful, but she was also clearly inhuman. Prendick wondered if he was dreaming, and whether such a dream might not become a nightmare at any moment.
“Mr. Prendick, may I present Aurélie,” Moreau said. “My dear, our guest, Edward Prendick of London.”
Prendick bowed and took Aurélie’s proffered hand. He kissed it lightly, the fine fur there tickling his lips. Aurélie felt the electricity of the moment and a delicious, tingling sensation moved down her spine and into her loins.
It was a feeling like wanting to hunt, and yet not.
“Charmed,” Prendick said, his voice a little hoarse.
“Aurélie is my proudest achievement,” Dr. Moreau said, and Prendick heard both the hubris and sense of entitlement in that choice of words. Still, Moreau was his host and he had no wish to offend the young… woman?
“And where do you hail from, Aurélie?” Prendick asked as they moved to the table.
“The island has always been my home.”
“Aurélie came here when she was very young,” Moreau explained. “Her people hail from Africa, originally.”
Prendick could see no way to ask what sort of creature she was without seeming rude. Her look, the very way she moved, reminded him of big cats he had seen in the London Zoo, and her spots were certainly like those of a leopard, although how could that be? Prendick did not believe in magic, and therefore deduced she must be the victim of some malady, an affliction like that suffered by Joseph Merrick, the so-called “Elephant Man,” although her appearance was infinitely more pleasing to the eye.
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