In Search of Goliathus Hercules

by Jennifer Angus

  “Good-bye, Henri, and good luck.” And then Dom flew off Henri’s hand and back into the house.

  As Henri walked down the steps, a carriage raced by on the road, leaving a billowing cloud of dust. It was headed toward town and the circus. Although he wasn’t certain, Henri thought he saw the pale, pinched face of Agatha Black looking out at him from the carriage. He hoped he was wrong.

  He stopped, took a deep breath, and paused for a moment. From the trees, the flowers, the bushes, and the sky came a million voices all calling, “Good-bye, Henri Bell. Good luck.”

  And with that, Henri set out down the road.

  “Perhaps if I had seen the fortune-teller at the circus, she would have foretold that Henri would run away, and I could have stopped him!” cried Great Aunt Georgie. She sat upon Henri’s bed with his note in her hand.

  “Rubbish!” said Dom the fly, standing on the windowsill in Henri’s room. “Fortune-telling! Absolute rubbish—and a fly knows rubbish! Good thing she wasn’t open for business so you weren’t able to throw your money away. Anyway, you know he had to leave. Really, it’s for the best.”

  “But I am responsible for him. His mother entrusted him to me, and now he’s gone, run off with the circus! He’s only ten years old!”

  “Yes, that’s true, but he is quite mature for his age. Imagine if he were an insect and ten years old. He would be the wisest, most knowledgeable of our kind!”

  “Dom, you are digressing! Besides, no insect lives that long,” replied Great Aunt Georgie.

  “Not true! Goliathus hercules is supposed to live a very long time,” said Dom in a rather know-it-all voice.

  “Really, Dom! You are quite obsessed with that creature. It is probably just a fairy tale, a monster made up to frighten disobedient children,” said Great Aunt Georgie in a rather exasperated tone.

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. Henri will find out if it exists,” replied Dom. “He’s going to become an entomologist, and he’s going to seek Goliathus hercules and bring one back alive.”

  “Why would he put his life in danger on such a foolhardy quest? It’s preposterous!” argued Great Aunt Georgie.

  “The fact of the matter,” said Dom, “is that he was probably in more danger when he was here on Woodland Farm than he will ever be on the road with the circus or searching for Goliathus hercules.”

  Great Aunt Georgie cast her eyes down. Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. “You’re right, Dom. Of course, you’re right. I didn’t know he had the gift. If I had, I would never have let him come here. I worry so much, but at least he will escape Agatha Black! Eventually she will find out that he is gone. When that day comes, we must deny any knowledge of his whereabouts. I will burn this note.”

  “Yes. Destroy any evidence,” agreed Dom. “What do you think she is up to? What does she really want?”

  “I’m not sure. You know, I thought I had met a kindred spirit in Agatha because she loves collecting as much as I do. She seemed like such a dear friend, and I confided in her! Every day, I regret that moment of weakness when I told her of my money troubles. When she offered to lend me money so I could save the farm, I was without any other option.” She let out a sob.

  “Now, now, Georgie! Don’t upset yourself. You couldn’t have foreseen it,” Dom told her.

  “I should never have revealed my ability to speak to insects. I felt so indebted to her that the least I could do was help with her seed collection. I naively thought that calling a few six-legged friends to her house would help Agatha acquire a few special seeds, perhaps those gallnuts that some wasps lay their eggs inside.” Great Aunt Georgie sighed. “She fooled me at first, asking me to summon insects so she could observe their habits. But then she started collecting them—putting pins through them!”

  At this, Dom shuddered.

  “She told me not to be so sentimental, that it was all for science,” said Great Aunt Georgie. Again and again I have been forced to use my gift to do her bidding. Any insect that responds to my call but is already in her so-called collection, she feeds to her pets. Whenever I refuse to assist her, she threatens to call in the loan, and then I will lose the farm and the family home in England!”

  “Georgie, I’ve told you before that you needn’t defend yourself to me. I know that you are a friend to the insect world no matter what. I know you have no choice. We will keep trying to think of a way to free you from her grasp!”

  For a moment, they sat in thoughtful silence. It was Great Aunt Georgie who broke it. “Dom, do you think I should have admitted to Henri that I have the gift too?”

  “It might have helped him understand, but I don’t know. It might have frightened him too. You did what you thought was right,” replied Dom.

  “Yes, I was just trying to protect him from Agatha, but you know that she sensed it the moment she met him. Dom, I don’t want Henri to be part of Agatha Black’s collection!” and she started to cry again.

  “Now, now, Georgie, don’t fret. Let’s go to the parlor and burn that note.”

  Great Aunt Georgie stood up, the note clasped in one hand and the button from Henri’s hat in the other. “Yes, I must pull myself together! I wonder where I should put this button. Should it be where the turquoise button used to be?”

  “It should be in a place of honor! Beside the Duke of Wellington’s button, I should think.”

  “Of course. You are absolutely right, Dom.”

  “Again!” the fly said smugly.

  Auditions?

  Six months had passed since Henri had transformed himself from Henri Bell of London, England, to Enrico Bello, flea-wrangler in Maestro Antonio’s Amazing Flying Flea Circus. During the day, he stood in his costume and greeted spectators entering the tent with, “Buongiorno, signore e signori!” in a rather poor imitation of an Italian accent. However, no one appeared to notice he was a fake. The audience was caught up in the excitement of the circus and seemed to have checked any disbelief at the door.

  “I feel a bit silly in this costume,” Henri told Maestro Antonio one evening. He was convinced the maestro had purchased it from a hotel bellhop.

  “The main thing is that you are not to be confused with paying customers.”

  “That certainly will not happen,” said Henri, lowering his chin and gazing down the front of his red jacket with gold buttons to his blue trousers with gold side-stripes. He still thought he looked like a trained monkey in his hat.

  “Henri, we are a sideshow act,” said Maestro Antonio.

  Henri had quickly learned that there was prestige in having a fancy costume. The more elaborate the costume, the more important the performer, and the most important performers were in the big top.

  “Now, that’s not to say that I think the big top acts are any better than us,” continued Maestro Antonio. “In fact, Henri, if there were a competition today, I believe that our little show would win first prize because it’s quite simply the most entertaining and novel act of the lot!” Maestro Antonio’s last sentence was said in his most theatrical voice, as if he were announcing it from his ticket podium in front of the flea circus’s tent.

  Henri laughed and, for the moment, forgot his costume concerns, although the fact of the matter was that he would like to be respected by his circus peers. So far, they were not very welcoming. They seemed suspicious of him and made fun of his English accent. In Henri’s opinion, if there was anyone to be suspicious of, it was Madame Noir, the fortune-teller, who didn’t appear to socialize with any of the circus folk.

  One day, curious to catch a glimpse of the mysterious seer, Henri had stealthily poked his head through the gauzy silk that draped the entrance to her tent. The tent was very dark and reeked of incense. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he made out the figure of Madame Noir seated at a small table. Her pale face was covered with a veil and her eyes were closed. Henri was about to withdraw his head when, suddenly, Madame Noir’s eyes opened, and in a low growl with a trace of a French accent, she spoke: “The crystal ba
ll foretold that you would pay me a visit.”

  Henri jumped. “Sorry, wrong tent!” he muttered and ran away as fast as he could.

  While Henri was unlikely to become fast friends with Madame Noir, Maestro Antonio was kind. After a few days on the road, he had told Henri to just call him Tony.

  The circus moved from town to town by train. When they reached the next town, the big top was raised and the smaller tents were always set up around it in the same order and placement. There was also a daily routine. “There are six shows per day,” the maestro explained. “More, if we think we have an audience. After the last show, you’ll be in charge of moving the benches so we can lay out our bedrolls. All meals will be taken in the mess tent. We have a set mealtime, Henri. Don’t show up earlier and don’t show up later.”

  “Yes, Maestro Antonio, um…I mean…Tony.”

  Henri found that, at mealtimes, the most extraordinary and unlikely people sat together. Hope and Charity, the Siamese twins, were great friends with Gertrude the Fat Lady. Usually Henri and Maestro Antonio sat with Andre the World’s Strongest Man, Herbert Kramer the Lion Tamer, and his assistant, William, more commonly known as Billy. The maestro introduced Henri to his colleagues as “Henri Bell from London, England; stage name, Enrico Bello.

  “The lad comes from a fine circus family, and the innovations he has brought to my flea circus—well, really, you must come and see for yourself! Drop by anytime, and if there’s a vacant seat, you are welcome to watch the show at no charge. But I must tell you that these days, it’s standing room only!” the maestro bragged.

  Henri felt proud, for indeed, just as Maestro Antonio said, it was he who was responsible for the flea circus’s success. Ticket sales had doubled, nearly tripled. It helped that Henri was a keen observer of nature. He noticed almost immediately that the thing the fleas did best was jump. Not just little leaps but great bounds nearly one hundred times their own height. Henri wanted to capitalize on this amazing ability with an act that showed off their true talent.

  Henri also knew the fleas would be happier in the circus if they were there by their own free will, so on his first full day of work, he met with them to discuss who wanted to stay and who wanted to leave.

  “I’ve had it. I don’t like the limelight,” said Sophia. “Count me out.”

  “But Sophia, you’re so good,” cajoled Henri. “No one else seems to understand showmanship—I mean, showfleaship. You know how to make the act exciting! Remember that time you jumped onto the chariot with Umberto and waved to the crowd? It was great. You have natural instincts.”

  “Sorry, Henri. I like the show, but I don’t like the pressure of performing.”

  Despite all his compliments, Sophia could not be persuaded to change her mind, but she did agree to stay on as trainer and choreographer. The rest of the fleas had agreed to keep performing, but auditions would have to be held to replace Sophia.

  “Where can I find some recruits?” Henri asked the fleas.

  No one responded. Finally, Maria said, “I’m afraid we don’t know, Henri. We never leave this tent.”

  “Right. I’ll figure something out.” Henri noticed Rex, Maestro Antonio’s mangy old dog who always napped in the tent. Since sleeping was all Rex appeared to do, it seemed to Henri that the least the dog could do was donate a few fleas. Carefully combing through Rex’s fur, Henri managed to gather about a half-dozen fleas. He dropped them into the glass case. Right away he noticed that Rex’s fleas were smaller than the performing fleas. They huddled in a corner together, cowering from the gaze of the circus fleas who seemed to find something very, very amusing. Henri felt himself turning red when he had to ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “Ho, ho, ha!” Fabio finally managed to say, “We can’t work with them! They’re so small!”

  “OK, so maybe they’re a little young. They have some growing to do, but I am sure they have potential,” replied Henri.

  Finally, Maria stepped forward and said, “Henri, they are dog fleas.”

  “Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you dog fleas?”

  “No! We are human fleas. That is, we generally reside on people. We are the largest type of flea there is,” said Maria.

  “And don’t forget—the smartest!” piped up Liora. “We can’t work with those simpletons.”

  “Oh.” Henri wanted to argue that, given the opportunity, the dog fleas would probably be every bit as intelligent as human fleas, but there was little point. The dog fleas were so tiny, they would be even harder for the audience to see. As he scooped up the little group, still crowded in the corner, he realized that fleas had their own prejudices and were no more open-minded than people.

  Returning the fleas to Rex seemed a bit mean, so Henri stepped out of the tent and, seeing a rat lurking near a rubbish bin, tossed the dog fleas in the rat’s direction. He hoped they would find a new home in its gray fur. “Sorry,” he said as he threw the fleas. “It turns out we won’t be needing your services after all. Thank you. Best of luck in your future endeavors.”

  Where was he to get human fleas? Fortunately, or unfortunately in this case, he didn’t have any himself. Henri imagined walking up to the various circus folk and asking, “Do you have any fleas you can spare?” All he was likely to get was a punch in the nose! Well, at least he could ask the maestro.

  “Sir, bad news. We’ll need a replacement for Sophia. Do you have any spares?”

  “Fleas are hard to come by, Henri,” said Maestro Antonio. “You need the right circumstances, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I think I do, sir. It’s a delicate matter.”

  “Exactly! Well, I have a couple. Recently received them. Shipped by a friend of mine who lives in a warmer climate. They’re a little easier to get down there. Really, it is amazing how you can just post them in the mail. Just a minute.”

  Maestro Antonio rummaged in his trunk and then pulled out a matchbox. Henri opened it and saw two rather groggy-looking fleas.

  “Now, be careful with them, Henri.”

  “Yes, sir, I mean…Tony.” Henri took the new recruits back to the glass case and dumped them out of the matchbox. He could see they were exhausted and obviously famished. Pulling out his penknife, he made a small incision in his left thumb and squeezed out two drops of blood to feed them.

  “Hello. Welcome to Maestro Antonio’s Amazing Flying Flea Circus. My name is Henri and I’m, um…the trainer.”

  “I’m Pedro, and this is Pablo,” said one of the fleas.

  “Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You have arrived at precisely the right time to audition for our world-renowned circus.”

  “What’s an audition?” asked Pedro.

  “What’s a circus?” asked Pablo.

  So much for human fleas being bright, thought Henri. “A circus is a performance in which fleas, in this particular case, perform tricks. An audition is a kind of test in which we see if you are good enough to perform with the troop.”

  “Oh,” said Pedro. “No, I don’t think I want an audition.”

  “Me neither,” said Pablo. “It sounds like a lot of work.”

  Henri had not anticipated this response. He looked at the other fleas, but of course they were too small so he couldn’t read their expressions. He decided to try another tactic. “Pedro, Pablo, did you enjoy that meal you just had?”

  “Sure did. Could do with some more.”

  “Well, let me tell you that all working fleas receive a hearty meal after each performance. And, um…those fleas who choose not to perform are asked to leave and, of course, are not entitled to partake in the rewards that come with the job.”

  “Hmm…I changed my mind,” said Pedro.

  “Me too,” said Pablo. “I want an audition.”

  And with that, Pablo and Pedro auditioned successfully and became the newest members of the flea circus. The veteran fleas began to show them the basics; however, Henri could not imagine either of them taking over Sophia’s balancing a
ct. As he sat watching them practice, he heard a small voice. It was Maria.

  “Henri, may I offer a suggestion?” she whispered.

  “Of course,” said Henri.

  “Well, this may not sound very good, but…generally speaking, I think that you will find that female fleas are better performers. I’m not sure why. I suppose we love to jump. I think that you’ll discover that the boys are, um, a bit lazy, and I mean no disrespect to Fabio, Umberto, and Giovanni, but it’s we girls who carry the show.”

  “Thank you, Maria. Pedro and Pablo appear to be proof of your point,” Henri replied. He watched Pedro make a leap for the moving chariot and miss because his jump was too short.

  Break a Leg

  Problems! Why were there so many problems? Henri decided to write them down on paper and put them in order according to urgency:

  Replace Pedro and Pablo. They are terrible!

  Find something Pedro and Pablo can do without injuring themselves or anyone else.

  After Henri had written these down, he realized that everything pointed to the fact that he needed not just more fleas—he needed talented ones.

  Despite nearly a week of training, neither could balance on the ball, and one night they almost ruined the chariot act when Pablo got himself wedged in the spokes of one of the wheels. The chariot had come to a grinding halt, causing Giovanni to crash and Umberto to tumble out, head over heels. Still, as a veteran of the flea circus, Umberto did manage to make it look like a planned tumbling routine, so that the audience didn’t seem to recognize that this was a complete disaster. After the show, Maestro Antonio said, “Henri, I commend you on adding a new twist to the routine, but in the future, would you inform me of any changes to the program prior to the start of the performance?”

  “Yes, Tony, sorry about that,” Henri replied. He had to remove the stuck Pablo from the wheel with the dreaded tweezers. Groaning, Pablo complained that his back was broken, although this clearly wasn’t the case since he moved as quickly as any of the others when the blood droplet meal was served.