In Search of Goliathus Hercules

by Jennifer Angus

  “Henri. Henri Bell.”

  “Henri, you’re not from around here. I can tell by your accent. You have some experience with a flea circus?”

  “Actually, yes. Yes, I do. Back in London, I worked with my family’s flea circus.” Obviously it was a lie, but Henri knew he had only one chance to convince Maestro Antonio.

  “Really?” The maestro suddenly looked much more interested. “What brings you to America, Henri?”

  “Um…I’m living with my great aunt on a farm near here.”

  “An orphan. Sorry to hear that, kid. That’s tough, really tough.”

  Henri decided not to correct him. He looked down, pretending to be sad, and said, “Yes, I miss my family, and I’d really like to be back in the circus business. It would remind me of home.” What a whopping lie! “Maestro, if you’ll just give me half an hour with your fleas, I’ll prove how useful I can be to you.”

  Maestro Antonio looked down at him, sizing him up. Finally he said, “OK, kid. Just promise me you won’t kill any of them. They’re my bread and butter. No fleas, no show.” Henri nodded. “OK, I’m going out to sell tickets for the next show. Good luck,” and he turned and headed out of the tent.

  Henri turned to the glass case. What to do first? Introduce himself, of course. He knew the fleas were hungry, so feeding them might well earn their loyalty. But he knew that fleas consume just one thing: blood! He looked over at the mangy, sleeping dog. No, he couldn’t do that.

  Henri picked up the magnifying glass and cleared his throat. “Um…excuse me.” All the fleas looked up and into his face. They looked terrified.

  “It’s not the maestro. Who is this new one? I can understand what he’s saying!”

  “Shut up, everyone,” said Maria, the flea in the tutu.

  “Ah, sorry to bother you. I’m Henri, and I have come to help Maestro Antonio with the circus. I know you’re all hungry. I overheard you talking before.”

  “You got that right!” said the hungry flea, Sophia.

  Taking a small penknife out of his pocket, Henri opened it and raised it to his thumb. He made a small cut. It didn’t hurt much. He actually had to squeeze it to make the blood come out. He let three drops hit the floor of the center ring. There was a frantic scurrying as the fleas ran toward the blood.

  “It smells so delicious!” said Sophia, and she jumped to the edge of the pool of blood and stuck her head in. Fabio the flea cannonball leaped into the center ring, joining her, and the two of them gorged themselves. Maria approached and daintily took a sip. Out of the shadows, another flea approached. It moved very slowly and Henri realized that this one had not performed in the show.

  “Come on. Move out of the way and let Umberto have a bit,” Maria said to the other fleas.

  “What about me?!”

  “And me!”

  Henri moved the magnifying glass around and realized he had forgotten about Leonardo, glued to the trapeze, and Giovanni, still attached to the chariot lying on its side.

  “Oh, sorry!” said Henri. “Don’t be afraid. I’m just going to pick up the chariot and put it back in place. Let me know if I’m hurting you at all.”

  Slowly, Henri put his hand down into the case and carefully picked it up. He gently placed the chariot, with Giovanni still tethered to and dangling off of it, back in the center ring. As he did so there was a great deal of coughing and sputtering.

  “Hey, get that stuff out of here!” one of the fleas said.

  “Yeah, it’s making me nauseous!”

  “What?” said Henri.

  “The chariot!” And then Henri remembered that the maestro had dropped a powdery substance into it. Taking out his handkerchief, Henri wetted a corner with his tongue and wiped out the back of the chariot.

  “Ahhh…What a relief,” Henri heard a flea say.

  “Yes, yes. Much better.”

  Henri brought the handkerchief up to his nose and smelled it. Camphor! It was used in mothballs, and fleas must not like it. That would be why Giovanni charged around like a mad flea trying to get away from the strong odor.

  “Hey, I’m still hungry up here!”

  “Oh, sorry. Are you ready?” and Henri positioned his thumb above Leonardo and squeezed a large drop of blood onto the flea’s head.

  “Bon appétit,” said Henri.

  The blood was quickly consumed, and all the fleas looked up expectantly at Henri.

  “I’m sorry,” said Henri. “I know it wasn’t much, but if you’re too full, you’ll feel sleepy and won’t want to perform.”

  “I don’t want to perform regardless of whether I’m hungry or not! I like the quiet life, but it’s not like I have a choice. Perform or get squished,” said Sophia.

  “Oh,” said Henri. “Well, perhaps in the future we can have auditions? The fleas that perform will be here of their own free will. What do you think? Also, I think we can tie a good performance to a reward of a good meal. How about that?”

  There was a general murmuring of agreement.

  “OK. Now we have to get ready for the next show. There was some sloppy work in the last one.”

  “That’s not our fault,” said Maria. “It’s the maestro. His timing is off. When he points his camphor-smelling finger at me, I have to jump. I just can’t stand the smell. If he let me choose when to jump, Leonardo would always catch me and I’d land in the teacup every time. And by the way, Leonardo is a girl. Maybe she should be called Liora?”

  “Maria is right,” said Giovanni. “The camphor is choking me. If you just give me a cue, I’ll pull the stupid chariot. Just let me know how many times to go around, and I’ll do it. Anything but the camphor.”

  “OK, so noted. Leonardo shall now be known as Liora, and no more camphor,” said Henri. “Sophia, I’m impressed with how you stay on the ball, but could you do it a bit more gracefully?”

  “How graceful would you be if you had just been spun around a hundred times at high speed? It’s everything I can do not to vomit all over the stupid ball. I’m strong. I could roll it myself if the maestro let me. And the tweezers! I don’t like the tweezers. They squish me.”

  “Well, I’ll speak to him about it,” said Henri. “Now, Fabio, can you make a bit more of an effort to hit the target?”

  “Effort! It’s not about effort. It’s physics, boy! The cannon’s got a curve. The idiot maestro points it directly at the target, but it shoots me to the left every time. Just point the cannon a bit more to the right, and I’ll ring that bell.”

  “OK!” said Henri. “Excuse me.” He moved the cannon as the flea suggested.

  “All right, the show’s going to be starting soon, and I know we have a lot more to talk about, but we’ll do that after. Remember: put on a good show, and there’ll be a tasty meal for everyone!”

  The fleas nodded in agreement. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Henri. “What about Umberto? Is he in the show?”

  “He used to ride the trapeze, but when he was pulled down, the glue left two of his legs up there,” said Maria. He’s managed to hide from the maestro; otherwise he would have been squished a long time ago.”

  “Ouch! Sorry to hear that, Umberto. Do you think you could ride in the chariot and wave a flag?”

  “I could do that if someone helped me up,” came Umberto’s feeble voice. They helped Umberto up, and Maria ripped a piece off her tutu and gave it to him for a flag.

  “Great!” said Henri. “Places, everyone!”

  The audience for the next show was slowly trickling in. Henri knew he must have a word with Maestro Antonio before it began.

  “Sir, we’re ready,” Henri whispered. “Just one thing: I’ll need to be standing beside you to speak to the—” Quickly Henri thought better of telling the ringmaster that he was speaking to the fleas. That would sound crazy. “I mean, to prompt the fleas.”

  Maestro Antonio frowned and then said, “It won’t look very good. I’m the ringmaster, after all.”

  “You can say I’m your assistant,” re
plied Henri with a smile.

  “Well, fine, but you’ll need a costume. Don’t have one right now, but I’ll get you a hat.”

  He found a round, flat-topped hat, the kind Henri had seen an organ grinder’s monkey wear. He felt foolish, but this was not the time to be fussy about his appearance.

  “One other thing,” said Henri. “You won’t need to use any camphor. Don’t worry! Everything will be fine.”

  Maestro Antonio didn’t look happy. He shrugged, but he said nothing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Maestro Antonio’s Amazing Flying Flea Circus. I am Maestro Antonio, and this is my assistant Hen—I mean, Enrico!”

  “Take a bow,” whispered the maestro.

  Henri took a deep bow, holding on to his hat so it wouldn’t fall off. Maestro Antonio began to introduce the graceful and lovely Sophia. Henri leaned over and said, “OK, Sophia! Your turn!”

  Sophia leaped onto the ball and began rolling it with masterly control. Frontward, backward, sideways, and around the ring. Maestro Antonio, who had been about to pick up the tweezers, looked shocked. Then, in his booming voice, he said, “How’s that, ladies and gentlemen?” and the audience went wild with applause. Henri leaned down and said, “Good job! Can you finish it up with something a little special?”

  “You bet!” said Sophia. She brought the ball to a stop, and with a flurry of her legs, set it spinning. Then, with a great leap, she sprung up in the air, did a flip, and landed on the still-spinning ball. The audience clapped and yelled, “Bravo, bravo!”

  Giovanni was up next. On cue, he began to pull the chariot around the ring. Henri had told him ten laps would be good enough. As he whizzed around the ring, Henri said to the audience, “Not only does he pull ten times his own weight, but take a look: he has a passenger. The Great Umberto is waving a flag at you!”

  The spectators focused their opera glasses, and up went a cheer. Henri looked at Maestro Antonio, who smiled and whispered back, “Good job, kid, but I do all the announcing.”

  “OK,” whispered Henri. “Then tell them that Sophia has just jumped on too,” for she was now waving madly from the chariot next to Umberto.

  The former Leonardo—now Liora—and Maria’s act went off without a hitch. Maria landed in the teacup and crawled up to the rim to wave to the crowd. Fabio hit the target and the bell rang. There was a big round of applause, and when the show ended, Henri overheard people saying that it was the best act they had seen at the circus.

  “Well, I don’t know how you did it,” Maestro Antonio said when the tent was empty, “but you turned this flea circus around. Henri, I would like to offer you a job. How about room and board and a dollar per week? I’ll throw in the costume too. Do you think your aunt would let you?”

  “Wow!” said Henri. “Sure, I think Great Aunt Georgie won’t mind.”

  “Well, ask her. I don’t want anyone accusing me of kidnapping you. The circus will be leaving town at nine o’clock tonight. If you’re coming, I’ll expect you back here this evening.”

  “Right!” said Henri. “Thank you, sir.”

  Ambassador to the Insect World

  Before he left the tent, Henri, true to his word, squeezed out three more drops of blood for the ravenous fleas on the circus floor. Another drop went into the waiting mouth of Liora on the trapeze. He congratulated everyone on a job well done and told them he had to go home and pack his bag. They would have to bumble through two more performances without him, but he had asked Maestro Antonio to knock on the glass, which would be Sophia’s cue to start the show.

  Then Henri stuffed the hat Maestro Antonio had given him into his coat pocket and exited the tent. It was only two o’clock. There was still another hour before he was to meet Great Aunt Georgie but he had no intention of making this rendezvous with her. Instead Henri quickly walked the two miles back to the house alone hoping he wouldn’t meet anyone he knew and certainly not Great Aunt Georgie.

  As he walked, he thought about the adventure he was about to embark upon. He could ask Great Aunt Georgie for her permission to join the circus but he felt quite sure she would never agree. His mother had found that she couldn’t sit still and wait for news of Father—well, neither could he! Maybe once he was on the road he could find his way to Asia too and help somehow.

  The days at Woodland Farm had been dull until three days ago when he first conversed with Dom. Now he knew he had a calling, a gift. His ability to understand and speak to insects was his ticket to an exciting journey and maybe a little collecting!

  The house was silent. Quickly Henri went upstairs and gathered his belongings. He gently packed his tattered postcards from Father and almost as an afterthought, he threw in the five-year diary. Lastly, it seemed like a good idea to borrow the Insect Transformations book.

  Henri put the bag in the hallway and went down to library, where he took out paper and a pencil from Great Aunt Georgie’s desk. Then he pulled from his pocket the hat Maestro Antonio had given him. There was a small brass button on the hat, and Henri cut it off with his penknife. He picked up the pencil and began to write.

  Dear Great Aunt Georgie,

  Thank you very much for looking after me. I have been offered a job with Maestro Antonio’s Flying Flea Circus, and I have decided to take it. I will be his assistant. You see, I can talk to insects. I think you can too.

  I know it is better if I leave because I keep getting into trouble with Mrs. Black, and I don’t want to upset you and cause problems. Please don’t worry about me. I will be fine. I will write to you often and let you know how I am and what I am doing. Maybe I will have some adventures and stories to tell, just like you!

  Aunt Georgie, I didn’t tell you before, but I took the turquoise button, the one from Peru. I didn’t mean to steal it. I was just going to borrow it, but I had to give it away to someone who needed it more than me. I’m really sorry. I know it means a lot to you. I can’t replace it, but here is a new button for your collection. It’s from my circus costume. Maybe one day I’ll be famous. I don’t know what I’ll be. Maybe one of those people who studies insects—an entomologist, I think they are called.

  Your loving nephew,

  Henri Bell

  Henri left the note and the button on the bedside table in his room. He looked around the room and found Dom on the windowsill.

  “Dom!” said Henri. “I’m really glad to see you. I’m leaving.”

  “So I see,” said Dom.

  “I have a job with the flea circus. They need me because I can talk to the fleas!”

  “I don’t like fleas,” said Dom. “They’re bloodsuckers.”

  “You know, for a fly, you’re very judgmental. It’s not their fault they drink blood,” said Henri.

  “To each his own,” responded Dom. “So, you’re setting out on an adventure. I knew you would. It was only a matter of time. Where are you going?”

  “Oh, I didn’t ask where the circus is heading,” said Henri. “You know, Dom, it feels good to just be going somewhere, anywhere.

  I feel like I’m doing something, getting closer to my father, not just sitting around and waiting like a helpless little boy.”

  “I understand. He’s in Southeast Asia, right? You know that beast, what’s its name? Oh yes, Goliathus hercules! That’s where he resides. Maybe you can meet him. If anyone can do it, you can. You’ve got the special ability.” And Henri was sure the fly winked, if such a thing were possible.

  “Dom, you’re right! Maybe I’ll be a famous entomologist who captures Goliathus hercules!”

  “Good to set goals,” said Dom. “But go easy on him, Henri. He’s probably not as terrible as he’s made out to be.”

  “I could never again kill an insect,” Henri said. As soon as he said it, he realized it was as much a confession as a proclamation. It was then that Henri noticed a butterfly, a moth, and a green beetle all lying dead on the windowsill.

  “What happened here?” asked Henri.

  “Hmmm…Over
excitement from your hero’s welcome, I think.” Henri looked upset. “Not to worry, not to worry. It was their time. They died happy,” Dom reassured.

  Henri had a thought. “Dom, do you think it would be OK if I kept them?”

  “You mean like in a collection?” said Dom.

  “Well, sort of, but not in a disrespectful way. I told you I will never kill another insect, but if it dies naturally…Dom, I have a chance to educate humans. I think my job in life is to be an ambassador—an ambassador to the insect world.”

  “That’s an interesting idea, Henri. I hadn’t thought of it that way before,” said Dom. “Tell you what: I leave, I mean, I bequest my humble body to you upon my death,” he said.

  Henri was touched. “Thank you, Dom.” He pulled out the five-year diary from his bag and tore out three pages. Then he carefully wrapped the insect bodies in the paper. He pulled out an old cigar box from under his bed containing a motley assortment of trinkets—a scratched marble, three jacks, a few bottle caps. He dumped those out on the bed, then carefully placed the shrouded bodies in the box.

  A new thought had occurred to Henri. “Dom, will I see you again?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Dom responded, “I expect not, Henri. You see, my life is already more than half over. Compared to a human being, the life of an insect is but a fleeting moment.”

  Henri’s face turned grave. “I’m sorry, Dom.”

  “No need to be sorry. When I kick the can, I will have led a full life. A fly can do that in Great Aunt Georgie’s house since there are no fly swatters,” Dom said jovially. “And Henri, though I may not be here when you return, my descendants will know you and welcome you because you are famous in the insect world! When you come to this house next, they will dive-bomb your ears in celebration!”

  “OK, Dom! Thanks.” Henri laughed. “I’ve got to go now.” He picked up the cigar box with its precious contents and stowed it in his bag.

  “I’ll see you to the door,” said Dom.

  Henri went down the stairs and opened the front door. Something light tickled his hand, and, looking down, he saw Dom. He brought his hand up to his face, and looking directly into Dom’s huge fly eyes, he said, “Good-bye, Dom.”