In Search of Goliathus Hercules

by Jennifer Angus

  “She might if she thought about it,” agreed Robin. “But she’s a greedy old witch and there’s not any profit in reading her own future!”

  Henri and Billy chuckled. “Well, just in case, we need to make this quick. Who’s going in and who’s standing guard? I’d like to go in,” said Henri.

  “Me too,” said Robin.

  “OK, I’ll stand guard,” said Billy. “I just had an idea. What if I stop and get Licorice, you know…the black panther? He enjoys a walk and I could just pretend we were out strolling if anyone comes around. You’d hear me talking and know you had to get going. Just slip under one of the tent’s sides.”

  Henri and Robin looked horrified at this suggestion. “Oh, come on!” exclaimed Billy. “He wouldn’t hurt a flea—no offense intended, Henri!”

  “Are you sure he’s that tame, Billy?” asked Robin in a quavering voice.

  “Tell you what, I’ll put him on a leash if you like.”

  “Oh, why would you want to do that? He’s just a harmless pussycat,” said Robin sarcastically. “Of course you’ll put him on a leash!”

  “Great. I’m glad we’re agreed that it’s a good plan.”

  They were now at the field where the circus tents were pitched. As they entered the menagerie tent, one of the lions let out a roar. This set the elephants trumpeting, the horses whinnying, and the dogs barking. “Just shut up, all of you! It’s only me,” yelled Billy. When they heard Billy’s familiar voice, the noise died down. “Thank you,” said Billy. Grabbing a collar and leash hanging from one of the tent posts, he went to Licorice’s cage. “Hey boy, we’re going for a walk.”

  “Oh, be careful, Billy!” whispered Robin.

  “Don’t worry. OK, he’s ready!”

  As they walked toward Madame Noir’s tent, Billy and Licorice led the way while Henri and Robin followed at a respectful distance. When they arrived, Billy said, “Licorice, sit!” and the big cat sat. Only his amber eyes were visible. The rest of his body was disguised by the night.

  There was no light or sound from inside Madame Noir’s tent. “OK, we’ll be out here patrolling. Anyone comes along, you’ll hear one of us,” laughed Billy.

  Robin pulled out two candle stubs and a box of matches from her pocket. Henri lit the candles, and Billy held open the tent flap for them so they could go inside.

  Madame Noir’s tent was divided in two by a paisley curtain. The front was where she did her readings. One table held a crystal ball, and on another table sat a very ornate tea set and a couple of tea canisters.

  Henri lifted the dividing cloth, and they both passed through to Madame Noir’s living quarters. Robin gave a little gasp as she looked around, for the scene that met their eyes could have been taken right out of the Arabian Nights. The candlelight picked up the gold thread, beads, and sequins of elaborately embroidered tapestries that adorned the tent walls. Luxurious silk cushions abounded on both her bed and the floor, which was covered with a silk oriental carpet.

  The bed had an elaborately carved wooden headboard. It was a jungle scene. Among the curving, leafy branches were hidden various animals both large and small. There were rats, squirrels, monkeys, tigers, elephants, and even insects like cicadas, grasshoppers, and stag beetles. It was like the Garden of Eden, except that in the sky of the carved tableau were bats—hundreds and hundreds of bats. They flew toward a chiseled full moon. In this world, the bats were clearly rulers.

  “I wouldn’t want to go to sleep with that above my head,” whispered Robin. “I’d have nightmares.”

  Henri nodded. There was something eerily familiar about the scene. He recalled an illustration he had seen of bats silhouetted against a nighttime sky. Where had he seen that? Perhaps a book in the library the other day. Looking away from the bed frame, they saw a wardrobe carved with the same lush tropical leaves. Robin opened it, but all that hung there were Madame Noir’s long silk dresses. A light breeze caused the dresses to sway on their hangers, and the silk made a swishing sound. Henri felt himself tense. Now, that sound; it was familiar. Where had he heard it before? Think!

  “Nothing here.” Robin quietly closed the door.

  To the left of the wardrobe was a table with a pile of books. Henri picked them up, and as he leafed through the volumes, he realized that they were all about Southeast Asia, its geography, its peoples, its plants, and its animals. How odd, thought Henri, that he and Madame Noir should share an interest in that part of the world. His father and now his mother were there in British Malaya. And Goliathus hercules, the supposed man-eating insect said to be native to the region. Why was Madame Noir interested? As Henri stood thinking about this remarkable coincidence, the silence was broken.

  “Henri!”

  Henri jumped. “What?” He looked at Robin’s white face.

  “That plant behind you!” She pointed a shaky finger at it. “It was going to bite you.”

  Henri turned quickly. He held the candle up. The plant was still. “What are you talking about? Plants don’t bite.”

  “Henri, it was. It had its mouth or jaws or whatever you call them open.”

  Henri examined the plant. “Robin, I think this is a Venus fly-trap. It’s a carnivorous plant.”

  “See! It was going to eat you!”

  Henri laughed. “It doesn’t eat people. It eats insects. That would explain why Madame Noir was collecting insects. She was going to feed them to these plants.” Henri felt pleased that he had come up with an explanation for her eccentric behavior. It made him feel a little less nervous.

  “Yeah, well that doesn’t explain why she was eating them herself. Henri, move away from that plant. I know what I saw.”

  “Oh…if it makes you happy, but really it doesn’t eat people. Look…” and he poked at one of the podlike leaves. As he did so, it suddenly opened up and then closed its serrated jaws around Henri’s finger. “Ow!” yelled Henri. He pulled his finger out with little difficulty, but he was shaken. “It’s not supposed to do that!”

  “Get away from it, Henri! Let’s get out of here.”

  “No, we’ve come this far. Let’s see what’s in these boxes.”

  Robin had found a jewelry box and a larger wooden box. Henri opened the jewelry box first. Sitting on top were the beetle earrings that Madame Noir had been wearing the night before. He felt the sick feeling rising in his stomach once again. “Those are what she was wearing last night,” he mumbled. He couldn’t bear to touch them. Robin picked them up.

  “They’re sort of pretty, but kind of grotesque too. And look at this.”

  She pulled out a necklace of metallic green beetle wings strung onto a cord. They looked a bit like long, green, pointy fingernails. Between each beetle wing was a white button. Robin put down the necklace and pulled out a bracelet also made of beetle parts, and another still in which small blue-green beetles were encased in glass. There was a crack in the glass.

  “All of this stuff is made of insects. Henri, are you OK?”

  Henri stood with his hands over his stomach. “No, not really. I don’t know. When I see that jewelry, I think it’s the dead insects that make me feel nauseous. Put it away, will you? Is there anything else in there?”

  “Yeah, some mourning jewelry. You know, the kind of things you wear when someone’s died. They put a lock of hair or a picture of the dead person on it. Creepy, if you ask me.”

  Robin returned the items to the box, closed the top, and turned to the bigger wooden box. Henri took off the lid. There lay a collection, an insect collection—but not an ordinary one. There were all manner of insects—beetles, butterflies, grasshoppers, and cicadas. However, they were not pinned or labeled in any traditional way. The insects were threaded on long hatpins, as if they were on a gruesome shish kebab. An image flashed to Henri’s mind of a hand holding a long hatpin, which was poised like a dart in the air.

  The fancy silver, glass, and pearl heads of the pins gleamed in the dark. The labels beside them, written in a tight script, made no sense.
Henri read Ethel W., Niagara Falls, 1880 and Mildred M., Kenya, 1875.

  Henri’s eyes scanned the box. What was this monstrous collection? And then his eyes alighted upon a large beetle. He wasn’t sure what kind it was—a rhino beetle, perhaps. The beetle had been stabbed with a pin, a mourning pin. It had a picture.

  The picture was of Henri’s father. The label read, George B., British Malaya, 1888.

  Henri let out something between a gasp and a wail. He was certain he was going to vomit.

  At that very moment, there was a rustle, a swish—like the sound of a stiff silk dress in motion. A second later, they heard a deep, rumbling roar.

  En Francais

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” asked Madame Noir.

  “Walking Licorice,” responded Billy.

  Madame Noir’s eyes narrowed. “Is it really a good idea to walk a dangerous animal that blends into the night at this hour?”

  “Licorice isn’t dangerous. Are you, boy?” Billy gave him an affectionate scratch behind the ear, and Licorice purred in his deep growl.

  “He’s a nearly two-hundred pound black panther!”

  “That’s right,” said Billy cheerfully. “You really know your cats, Madame.”

  “Oh! Stand aside, you idiot. I don’t want to catch you walking that beast near my tent again. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t know why you’ve taken such a dislike to him. He hasn’t done anything to you. What about Peppermint the Siberian tiger and Butterscotch the lion? Can I walk them by your tent?”

  “You cheeky, impertinent boy! I will speak to Herbert Kramer about you! Move out of the way or there will be consequences.”

  “No need to get yourself in a tizzy, Madame. We’ll be on our way. Good night! Come on, Licorice. We’ll go some place where you’re more appreciated,” Billy said in a loud voice.

  He heard Madame Noir let out a frustrated “Ugh!” as she swept into her tent with a swish. He hoped he’d given Henri and Robin enough time to get out. He also hoped that she wouldn’t follow through on her threat to speak to Herbert. The lion tamer wouldn’t mind Billy walking the cats, but he wouldn’t be happy to hear that Billy had been rude to Madame Noir.

  Fortunately, the time she’d taken to tell Billy off had given Henri and Robin the seconds they needed. They were able to replace the lid on the insect collection and slip under the tent wall undetected.

  Then they ran. Instinct made them stick together. When they neared the flea-circus tent, they slowed. Henri leaned over, his hands on his knees, and threw up. Robin stood beside him, not knowing what to do. When he straightened up, Henri said, “You better get back to your tent.”

  “Will you be OK?”

  “I think so.”

  “All right. See you tomorrow. Bye.”

  It took Henri a long time to fall asleep. Over and over again he went through an inventory of what he had seen in Madame Noir’s tent. First and foremost, there was the beetle stabbed with the mourning pin containing the picture of his father. It was labeled with his father’s name and the location he was last seen, British Malaya, and the date of 1888 was approximately the time he went missing. What did it mean?

  “Henri, can I come in now?” Maestro Antonio called from outside the tent the next morning.

  Henri turned to Robin and Billy. “You’ve got to leave! We’ll talk more tonight,” he whispered.

  “Come on,” said Billy, and he and Robin dropped to their stomachs and slid under the tent wall.

  “Come in,” Henri called, “but we’re not quite ready to show you the new routine. It’ll take a bit more rehearsal,” replied Henri. He had told Maestro Antonio that he and the fleas were working on some new tricks, and he wanted it to be a surprise. The maestro was happy to oblige and stay out of the tent. Henri ran the whole show now. All Maestro Antonio had to do was sell tickets, make the announcements, and count the money at the end of the day. He was pleased to wander about the circus, catch up on any gossip, and maybe have a few rounds of dominos with Andre, the World’s Strongest Man.

  “You know, the show is running really well,” the maestro said as he came inside. “Don’t know how you do it, Henri. You’ve got a real gift!”

  “Thank you, Tony. Actually, I’m hoping to bring other insects into the show.” In fact, first thing that morning, the insects he had spoken with the night before had started to show up in the tent. They came out of dark corners, they crawled under the tent walls, and sailed in when a gust of wind caused the tent flaps to rise. It seemed that every insect he had invited had taken up his offer and was anxious to begin rehearsal.

  He showed Maestro Antonio the glass case, which was crammed with all manner of insect life.

  “Wow! If this works out, we may have to get some more traveling cases for these critters,” the maestro said. “Speaking of travel, Henri, I have news. After our run here, the circus will be splitting up until next spring. The big top folks are going to winter in Florida. All the sideshow acts, we’re going to Mexico. I think the flea circus is going to do really well down there. What do you think? Excited?”

  “Splitting up?”

  Maestro Antonio could see that Henri looked a bit glum, although he couldn’t imagine why. “I’ll bet there’s lots of new insects down there for you to see. You’ll enjoy that, I’m sure,” he said encouragingly. He was well aware that Henri’s interest in insects extended beyond fleas.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure it will be fascinating,” Henri said.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to rehearsing, then,” said Maestro Antonio, and he walked out of the tent.

  Henri sat down, overwhelmed. He finally had some friends, but now the circus was splitting up and Robin and Billy would be in Florida while he’d be in Mexico. In Mexico with Madame Noir. Henri shuddered at the thought.

  That morning, he and Robin had told Billy about seeing the insect and mourning jewelry in Madame Noir’s tent, but Henri hadn’t told them that one of the photos was of his father. Why? It felt as if once he said it aloud, it would be true. Father is dead.

  All Robin and Billy could make of the frightening insect collection was that it was eccentric. “What do you think the labels with people’s names on them mean?” asked Henri.

  “Maybe that particular person caught the insect?” suggested Robin.

  “I think that usually a label is supposed to have the name of the species, the place it was collected, and the date of collection,” said Henri. “I’ve never heard of including the name of the collector. It’s very odd.” He thought how lovingly he prepared his own collection of former insect friends and associates compared to the brutality of the fortune-teller’s skewered victims on hatpins.

  Again, Henri’s mind flashed back to a black-gloved hand holding a sharp hatpin in the air as if ready to strike.

  Robin was more concerned about the Venus flytrap. “Why do you think that plant attacked you?” she asked.

  “It didn’t attack me. I stuck my finger into the trap.”

  “Maybe it thought Henri was an insect?” Billy said with a laugh.

  Henri laughed and then stopped. The plant should be interested in insects, not people. None of it made any sense.

  That night, after the last show ended, Henri was anxious to meet with Robin and Billy, so he went to the menagerie tent. As he entered the tent, he smiled to hear Billy singing to the cats. He followed Billy’s voice to Licorice’s and Peppermint’s cages.

  “Le petit chat noir!” Billy sang as he finished the song.

  “Bravo,” said Henri. “What are you singing?”

  “Oh, it’s a song Herbert taught me. It calms the cats down.”

  “Is it French? What does it mean?”

  “Yeah, Herbert’s from Quebec. It’s just a children’s song about a little black cat. Isn’t that right, Licorice, my petit chat noir?”

  “Noir… as in Madame Noir?” asked Henri anxiously.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Noir means black, so in English she’d be
Mrs. Black. Not that I speak French.”

  No it couldn’t be, Henri thought desperately.

  Just then, Robin came into the tent. “I thought I might find you two here. There’s Licorice. What a good boy,” she said. She turned to Henri. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  “Something like that—a memory from the past, anyway.”

  Billy and Robin listened incredulously as Henri told them about Mrs. Agatha Black of Dutch Elm Farm.

  “Now that you mention it, Madame Noir joined the circus only recently,” said Robin. “Just before you came. But Henri, do you honestly think that Agatha Black would go to the trouble of creating a disguise and joining the circus just to follow you?”

  “Yes, I do. She’s had it out for me from the first day we met.” Henri knew he must sound like a puffed-up, self-important idiot.

  “But why?” Robin asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I have something she wants, something she needs.”

  “Henri, you’re a kid. What could you have that she wants?” asked Billy.

  Henri gave a knowing glance to Robin, and then, taking a deep breath, he said, “Well, I can talk to insects.”

  “What?” said Billy, looking completely puzzled.

  “He can talk to insects,” said Robin.

  “I heard that the first time, thanks. I still don’t understand.”

  Henri stood up and walked over to one of the gas lamps that lit the tent. As usual, moths fluttered about it, mesmerized by the light. Henri made a muttering sound that was unintelligible to the other two. The moths moved away from the lamp and flew to Robin and Billy, where they started to fly in a circle around them. Henri went to three more lamps and made the same sounds. Again, the moths moved from the light and joined the circle until it appeared as if Billy and Robin were surrounded by a whirlwind of moths. Henri made another sound, and still more moths came from every corner of the tent, joining the crowded dancing circle.

  Billy stood with his mouth hanging open. Robin’s smile stretched wide across her face, and she hopped from foot to foot in her excitement. Henri made another sound, and in an instant, the moths dispersed and everything was as it had been the minute before.