Metamorphosis

by Sesh Heri

  “We’ll start off by ferry to San Francisco,” Jack said. “Then north again on the Tiburon ferry. And then the rest of the way by train, up through San Rafael, then on northward skirting San Pablo Bay, and then finally north to Sonoma.”

  “Splendid!” I said.

  “Oh,” Jack said, “it is! You’ll see. Do you ride, Bess?”

  “Ride?” Bess asked.

  “Horses,” Charmian said.

  “Oh,” Bess said. “A little.”

  “We’ve got a great day planned for the two of you,” Jack said. “We’re going to take you up to the top of Sonoma Mountain.”

  “That, I’d like to see,” I said.

  Bobby stuck his nose through the bedroom door.

  “Hello, Bobby,” Jack said. “Haven’t seen you since you tried to steal the Thanksgiving Day turkey.”

  Bobby came forward, wagging his tail. Jack knelt down and began petting him.

  “He’s a fox terrier,” Charmian noted. “Our Possum is a fox terrier. They should get along very well.”

  “Bobby’s an escape artist, too,” I said. “He has his very own straitjacket. Don’t you, old boy?”

  I stepped forward. Suddenly Bobby’s ears went back and he cowered against Jack’s legs.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Charmian asked.

  “He hasn’t been feeling well lately,” I said.

  “Just artistic temperament,” Jack said. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

  Bobby started wagging his tail again and licking Jack’s hand.

  In a moment the bell man came in and got the last trunk. We all went out with him and followed him down the stairs. We got to the lobby and I settled our bill with the desk clerk. When I turned around, I saw that Jack and a bell man had already loaded our cases into a taxi waiting outside. Charmian, Bess, and Bobby all sat inside the automobile.

  I went out of the hotel. Jack was standing by the taxi, holding open its back door. I tipped the bell man, got into the taxi, and Jack got in behind me and closed the door. I sat next to Bess with Bobby on her lap, and Charmian and Jack sat facing us.

  “Down to the ferry dock,” Jack said to the driver, and we were off once again.

  This time, however, Jack and Charmian spoke not a word. Their demeanor was exactly the opposite of what it was the day we had all went to the fair. I wondered if the events of the prior day had anything to do with this sudden silence, or if some other matter I knew nothing about had brought a cloud over our situation. Then it occurred to me that perhaps this was merely the end of a holiday of sorts for Jack and Charmian. A return to their ranch may have signified to them a return to the routine of their daily lives. I considered this idea a moment, and then rejected it on the grounds that I didn’t believe they had a routine of any sort— at the ranch or anywhere else. I would later learn that I was wrong about all this. Jack did have a routine, very much so. The mornings he devoted to writing and answering correspondence; the afternoons he devoted to his ranch. At the moment I didn’t understand that this silence was about something else entirely; it was created by that secret that Charmian had tried to tell us about Jack the day before. Now I could only speculate and wonder if I had done something to offend him.

  “Well, we’ve had a great time while we’ve been here in Oakland,” I finally said, trying to open a conversation.

  “It has been a great time,” Jack said quietly. “But it is not over with yet, so please do not speak in the past tense. Say that you’re having a great time.”

  “I’m having a great time,” I said. I looked over to Bess, and asked, “Right?”

  “We’re having a great time,” Bess said flatly.

  I looked over to Charmian who was studying Bess.

  Charmian gave a fleeting smile, and then her expression went back to a kind of dreamy stare.

  “I’m glad,” Jack finally said. “But we shall try to do better today. You’ve been cooped up in that theatre practically all this week. Sonoma Valley will be a tonic for you. It is for me.”

  I tried to think of something else to say. But my mind started to freeze up, just as it sometimes did when I was presented with a particularly difficult challenge escape. For several moments I thought of making one comment or another, but then gave up.

  We soon reached the ferry dock, the long “key” pier out on the bay. We all got out of the taxi. Jack paid the driver, and then the driver, Jack, and I carried our trunks to one of the pier cars. Then the four of us— five of us including Bobby— got on board the car and it soon began its three-mile long journey to the end of the pier.

  In the terminal, Jack and I got our tickets, and then got a porter to cart our trunks to the deck of the San Francisco ferry. All of us, Jack, Charmian, Bess, Bobby and I stood on the deck waiting for them to draw up the gangplank. Soon the gangplank was drawn up, the ferry boat departed the pier, and we were off across San Francisco Bay. We all stood on deck next to our trunks. Charmian and Bess stood side by side talking quietly. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  Jack handed me a telegram— a coded telegram. He also handed me another slip of paper with words written on it in pencil— the telegram’s decoded message.

  “Got it this morning,” Jack said.

  The decoded message read:

  “Turn-off switch is now being constructed for device stop Houdini will be required to return to device and install turn-off switch stop Kolman Czito will make contact some time tonight at your ranch stop Tesla.”

  “Got a match?” I asked.

  Jack handed me a match box. I took one out, lit it and burned the telegram and the other scrap of paper.

  “That man behind the window there watched you do that,” Jack said as I dropped the last, ashen corners of the papers into the bay.

  “Think he’s a spy?” I asked.

  “No,” Jack said. “He’s staring right at us. I think he just recognizes us. Ah— he turned away in embarrassment. He realized I was talking about him.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a spy,” I said.

  “No,” Jack said, “but, of course, that doesn’t mean that we’re not being watched by someone from some position.”

  “We probably are,” I said. “What about up at the ranch? Have there been any spies up there?”

  “Ha!” Jack exclaimed. “The place is full of them, I’d bet. Hiding behind every tree. Or maybe I’m just going crazy.”

  “I’d bet there would be a lot of places for them to hide,” I said.

  “Yes,” Jack said, “if they didn’t tarry too long. Eventually, though, somebody would spot them— my stepsister, or one of the hands.”

  “So you haven’t actually seen one yet?” I asked.

  “Well,” Jack said, “that would be hard to say. I’ve seen many things up at the ranch, and some of those things…I couldn’t really tell you what they were. Some of them may have been German spies— or they may have been men from the Red Planet.”

  I looked back over to Bess and Charmian. They were still talking quietly.

  “Does Charmian know anything about what you’ve been seeing up at the ranch?” I asked.

  “I’ve mentioned a few things to her,” Jack said. “I had to. Some of the government scientists came on to the ranch, and she saw them. At first I told her they were studying earthquakes. Later, I told her about some of the manifestations I had experienced. I told her the scientists were studying them. I think she just believes it’s all a bunch of ghost stories spun out of my own delirium tremens. I suppose I’ll have to let her continue to think that.”

  “She must be pretty worried about you then,” I said.

  “Oh,” Jack said, “Charmian’s not much of a worrier.”

  “How about you?” I asked.

  “Me? Not at all,” Jack said.

  Again we approached the San Francisco Ferry Building with its giant numerals “1915”. And still the gray sky hung over the city. We got to the dock, and Jack found a porter to carry our trunks to the Tiberon boat. Bob
by tugged at his leash as Bess led him along the pier. Jack and Charmain stopped and exchanged several words, and then we all got on the Tiberon ferry.

  We all stood silently at the railing on our boat ride north across San Francisco Bay. We passed Alcatraz with its ever-flashing lighthouse, and moved on north to the Marin headlands.

  In Tiburon we all took a short cab ride to the train station. We made it just in time to board a Southern Pacific train bound for Glen Ellen. I supervised a porter while he loaded our trunks into the baggage compartment and then went forward and joined the others in the passenger car.

  I sat down next to Bess who had a seat by a window. Across the aisle from me sat Jack, and next to him, by the windows on the other side of the car sat Charmian.

  “What is this, Jack,” I asked, “some kind of milk train?”

  “Well, that’s just about exactly what it is,” Jack said. “It services all the small towns north of here.”

  The train started off from the station. In a moment, I glimpsed the blue sheet of water to the east that was San Pablo Bay. The train took a curve into the hills, and I lost sight of the water.

  “Suddenly San Francisco and Oakland are far away,” I said.

  “That’s what I like about this country,” Jack said. “In a flash you are out of civilization— out of sight, out of mind of civilization.”

  The train kept on a route through the hills, then gradually curved east. In a few minutes, we were slowing down and beginning to pass a scattering of houses.

  “We’re coming up on San Rafael,” Jack said. “We’ll be making a quick stop here and at a couple of other small stations up the line a bit, and then proceed without interruption to Glen Ellen.”

  The conductor came through singing, “San Rafael! Next stop San Rafael!”

  The train slowed and came to a stop at the station. A number of new passengers entered our car and sat down. As this happened, I paid no particular attention. I now believe that it was at this stop, or perhaps the next one, that the Martian I had thought of as “Mr. Mustache” entered the train, for I know I didn’t see him in Tiberon, and our passenger car was nearly empty then. It is also possible that the Martian had suddenly appeared on the train north of these towns, since he was capable of instantaneous inter-dimensional transportation.

  We had already stopped at a second little town and started down the track again when the conductor came up to me.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the conductor said.

  “Yes,” I said. “What is it?”

  “There seems to be a problem,” the conductor said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Man back there claims you’ve stolen his trunk,” the conductor said.

  “What man?” I asked. “Where?”

  “He’s in the back of the car on the platform,” the conductor said.

  “Why doesn’t he come here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” the conductor said. “It is a bit peculiar.”

  “If he has an accusation to make, let him make it here,” I said.

  “I tried to get him to come up here, but he won’t,” the conductor said. “He wants you to go back there.”

  “He does, does he?” I asked. I stood up. “All right,” I said. “Let’s see what this wisenheimer wants.”

  I followed the conductor to the rear of the car and stepped out on to the platform. I was suddenly confronted with the Martian— “Mr. Mustache.”

  “All right,” Mr. Mustache said to the conductor. “That will do. You can go back inside now.”

  “I’m in charge here,” the conductor said. “I’ll decide who goes inside.”

  “Shut up and mind your own business,” Mr. Mustache said.

  “Look, you—“ the conductor started.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I know this gentleman. This is a personal matter. I’ll handle this.”

  “I don’t know,” the conductor said.

  “That’s all right,” I said, slipping a five dollar bill into the conductor’s hand. “This is just a polite discussion here.”

  The conductor looked at me warily, then over to Mr. Mustache, then at the five dollar bill.

  “Well,” the conductor said, “if it’s personal…”

  “We’ll be civil,” I said.

  The conductor shook his head, but then pulled open the door and went back inside the car.

  “You were in the theatre before,” I said.

  “How observant,” Mr. Mustache said.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “What else?” Mr. Mustache asked.

  He suddenly raised his hand and aimed some kind of small pistol at me. Before he could fire, I struck his arm. A silent ray of light shot out of the weapon and melted a hole in the metal wall of the passenger car behind me, over my head. I could feel the heat behind me and smell the metal.

  I grabbed Mr. Mustache’s wrists and pushed him back against the platform railing. In the process, his ray gun fell from his hand and down on to the track bed below.

  Mr. Mustache broke free of me, and then swung out, slugging me in the chin. I fell back upon the opposite railing. When I regained my balance I saw that Mr. Mustache had jumped up on to the ironwork of the platform and placed his feet on to the wheel of the handbrake. Just as I started up, he reached up with his hands, sprang his legs like a cat, and pulled himself up on to the curving roof of the passenger car. I grabbed for his feet, but he pulled them up too fast, and I only grabbed air.

  I climbed upon the iron railing myself, and made my own jump, grabbing on to a slot of metal just beyond the curve in the roof of the car; it was an opening in a ventilator. I pulled up quick and clambered up to where the roof leveled out. As soon as I got to the level roof, I looked up and saw Mr. Mustache walking along the top of the passenger car. He suddenly stopped.

  Then I saw Jack climb up on to the roof from the front end of the car.

  I started forward, fighting for balance as the train lurched and jerked its way along the tracks. A sudden jerk nearly sent me flying off into the sky. I stopped and fought to plant my feet.

  “Watch him, Jack!” I shouted.

  Mr. Mustache took out the little metal box he had used before in that alley in Oakland. I knew it was some kind of device to allow him to instantly disappear.

  “He’s got something!” I shouted. “Watch it!”

  Jack came forward, balancing on the roof of the car like a tightrope walker. Suddenly, Mr. Mustache disappeared.

  “Damn!” Jack shouted.

  “Just like before,” I said.

  “Hey!” Jack shouted. “He’s behind you now!”

  I spun around. Mr. Mustache was on the roof at the rear of the car. He started toward me— then disappeared.

  “Behind you again on the other side!” Jack shouted.

  I spun back around. Mr. Mustache was standing right behind me, right between Jack and me again, and he grabbed hold of me and tried to shove me off the roof. I broke his grip on me with a powerful movement of my forearms, then hooked my right leg behind Mr. Mustache’s left and kicked my heel into his calf while, at the same time giving a hard sudden, push to his shoulders with the palms of my hands. Mr. Mustache flew back against the sky and then out over the side of the car.

  Jack came up to me and we looked back down the length of the train track.

  We saw that Mr. Mustache had hit the ground along an earthen embankment. A moment after we caught sight of him, he disappeared. He was instantly gone.

  “That was him,” I said, “the one who tried to sabotage the water cell. He came back yesterday— and then disappeared again, just the way he did now.”

  “A Martian,” Jack said.

  “A Martian,” I said.

  We walked back along the length of the car and started climbing down to the rear platform.

  “I looked to the rear of the car,” Jack said, “and saw you decking the train through the window of the door. I thought I should come lend a hand.”

>   “It’s a good thing you did,” I said.

  Just as Jack was climbing down behind me, the conductor stuck his head out the door.

  “What’s this?” the conductor asked. “What’s going on out here?”

  “A discussion,” I said.

  “Where’s the other man?” the conductor asked, craning his neck around.

  “Right here,” I said, indicating Jack.

  “That’s not him,” the conductor said. “He had a mustache.”

  “It was fake,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right,” Jack said.

  “What do you take me for?” the conductor said. “He’s not the man. Where is he?”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m Houdini, Harry Houdini. And this is Jack London. You’ve heard of us.”

  “Well, sure,” the conductor said. “I know who you are. But that other fellow—“

  “He had to leave,” I said.

  “Leave?” the conductor said. “What the hell you mean leave?”

  “Vamoose,” Jack said, “depart, exit. He had to go.”

  “Go?” the conductor demanded. “Where? Where the hell could he go? This train must be doing twenty-five, thirty miles an hour.”

  “That was Ned Gooding, the acrobat,” I said. “You’ve heard of him.””

  “No,” the conductor said.

  “Why not? He’s famous,” I said.

  “Never heard of him,” the conductor said.

  “The famous train jumper?” I asked.

  “What’s going on here?” the conductor asked.

  “A bet,” Jack said. “We bet old Ned that he couldn’t jump off this train.”

  “Nobody could jump off this train and live!” the conductor shouted.

  “Ned just did,” I said. “He won the bet.”

  “I got to stop the train!” the conductor shouted.

  “There’s no need for that,” I said. “You know who we are, and if we tell you something, you know you can take it to the bank.”

  “Take it to the bank?” the conductor shouted. “Don’t try giving me any more money!”

  “Look here,” Jack said, “if there’s any problem, you can find me up at my ranch in Glen Ellen. Everybody knows where it’s at.”