Henri chose one of the large scarab beetles and clearly and audibly gave the instructions through a series of clicks and hums. He raised his hand, and the beetle took off, wildly flying off-kilter, up, down, and from side to side, before successfully landing on top of Professor Chadbourne’s bowler hat with a bit of a thud. The beetle took a quick break and then launched itself in the direction of Dr. Pratt’s hat in the same less-than-graceful style. He landed with a plop, and the audience clapped enthusiastically. Dr. Pratt walked up to the stage so Henri could remove the scarab, and they shook hands.
The chairman next selected a short, squat older gentleman who had not a hair left on his shiny head. “Please make your request, Mr. Heathrow.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Chairman. Well, as you can see, I am a little lacking on top.” He patted his bald head. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to provide me with a living wig of various insect species,” he said.
“Of course, sir,” said Henri. Together, he and Maestro Antonio selected a number of insects that, upon receiving their instructions, flew directly to the man’s head and landed nimbly. Eventually, they covered the top of his head, nicely giving him the most fantastic and elaborate hairdo. It was as if he had braids and a topknot! Maestro Antonio invited Mr. Heathrow to come to the stage and model his new hairstyle, which he did with an enormous grin on his face.
The chairman then selected a woman, a Mrs. Blackburn. From his vantage point, Henri could only see the top of a very elaborate hat adorned with bird feathers and even a stuffed wood pigeon. When she stood up, Henri saw that her face was obscured by a mourning veil. She was exceptionally tall and wore a stiff, black silk dress. His stomach turned.
“Please proceed, Mrs. Blackburn,” said the chairman.
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I do have one small request, but first if I may, I would like to make an observation. We have listened today to a very learned dissertation on insect communication, and I have no quibble with the facts stated. I do wish to note that the authors fully admit Mr. Bell actually hears the insects in full clarity. Am I the only one here who finds this odd? Such an ability suggests powers far beyond a mortal being!”
The audience looked absolutely shocked. What was Mrs. Blackburn suggesting?
“I have investigated Mr. Bell, and for the past two years he has traveled in a circus sideshow. During this time, he has gone through a remarkable transformation, or should I say, metamorphosis. He began as a normal-looking little boy, but I say—look at him now! Mr. Bell, I have one request: would you mind removing your hat?”
Maestro Antonio appeared tense. Professor Young seemed perplexed. Sitting in the front row, Henri’s mother, Robin, and Billy looked outraged. There was nothing Henri could do. He calmly removed his hat and put it on his lap. In the last three months, he had lost all his hair. His head was as shiny as Mr. Heathrow’s with one exception. On either side of it, he had two bumps, each the size of a quail egg.
“You see!” exclaimed Mrs. Blackburn. “He is a freak! A sideshow freak! This is not a boy! Perhaps he is a changeling! Look at his green pallor and his head. What is that forming on the sides? Horns? Perhaps we are sitting with the devil in our very midst! I, for one, shall not sit here listening to the enticements of evil!” With a dramatic turn and a swish of her skirts, she marched out of the lecture hall. There was a hush and then a murmuring.
The audience was shocked, although it was unclear whether they were surprised by Henri or by Mrs. Blackburn’s behavior. A dozen or so people stood up and exited the hall. Henri knew that suggesting someone was a changeling, the offspring of trolls, ogres, and other malevolent creatures, was a serious accusation, but surely none of these academics would believe Mrs. Blackburn, would they? Henri continued to sit, nervously turning his hat in his hands.
It seemed as if utter chaos was about to break out. It was Maestro Antonio who raised his hands to calm the crowd. His many years in the circus had taught him how to deal with unruly crowds.
“Ladies and gentleman, we have come today to hear of the latest breakthroughs in science. We are believers in facts, logic, and the scientific method. I fear to say that Mrs. Blackburn is surely no scientist, for she clings to old wives’ tales. Will we let superstition and prejudice guide us? Mr. Bell has the great misfortune to suffer from a grievous condition—alopecia—better known as hair loss. I see nothing sinister in this. It is our great hope that modern medicine will in the near future help him and that he will sport a healthy head of hair. In the meantime, he can wear a hat or, like Mr. Heathrow, enjoy a living wig, if he so chooses.”
There were some chuckles from the crowd.
“Please, Mr. Bell, I think none of us will object if you put on your hat.”
Henri did not hesitate.
“As to the unfortunate bumps on his head, it is true that he had hoped to hide them. They are the result of a particularly virulent reaction to chicken pox. Sadly a couple of his spots became infected, causing the skin to rise. He has the coincidental misfortune that they should appear symmetrically on either side of his head. While Mrs. Blackburn thought they were devil’s horns, I would not be surprised, at this meeting of entomologists, if you thought he was growing antennae!” Maestro Antonio gave a hearty laugh at his little joke, and most of the audience joined in with him. “Might it be possible to return to our demonstration, Mr. Chairman?” the maestro asked.
The chairman appeared a little unsure, but as he looked out into the audience, many raised their hands, hoping to be selected.
At the conclusion of the demonstration, there was resounding applause. The chairman took to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, superstition and prejudice have no business in our learned halls. Tonight the British Entomological Society and the Geographic Society announce that we are endorsing and supporting Mr. Bell and company on their search for Goliathus hercules. We wish them Godspeed!”
Many in the audience stood up and cheered. Henri and Maestro Antonio waved to the audience as Professor Young uncharacteristically raised a celebratory fist. Finally, the validation they had sought was theirs.
Now that Henri’s changing form had been pointed out, Professor Young was concerned, although he also was professionally interested.
“It’s a first, Henri! Man transforms into insect! I understand that it is, um…a little disturbing—perhaps a tad inconvenient—but just think: perhaps you’ll be able to fly! Wouldn’t that be remarkable? We must record this metamorphosis for the scientific community.”
Henri allowed the professor to weigh him, measure his growing antennae, and question him on his health each day. The professor had pointed out that perhaps, if Henri were able to change from human to insect, it might be possible to reverse the process as well. Henri desperately wanted to believe that. While he liked insects very much, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be one.
Henri’s mother never spoke of his condition. She was her usual loving and attentive self. Henri once recalled that when he was very small, he had asked her whether she had wanted a girl or a boy while she was expecting him. She had responded that it made no difference. All she wanted was a happy, healthy baby. “What if I was a fox? Would you still love me?” She had laughed and said, “Of course I would love my baby fox.” However, a fox is cuddlier than an insect.
The day of the departure to Malaya drew ever closer. The party would say good-bye to Henri’s mother, the professor, and all the menagerie insects that would return with Professor Young to America. He promised to care for them, and their offspring could await Henri and the maestro’s return.
At last, everything was ready. Maestro Antonio and Henri had met with various members of the Entomological and Geographical Societies and had agreed to gather specimens of plant and insect life. Billy and Robin dealt with the practical matters such as gathering tents, camping equipment, rain gear, more maps, two cameras, and notebooks.
On a rainy evening in September, the expedition party gathered at Waterloo Station. From there, they would tra
vel by train to the south coast, over the English Channel by ferry, and on to Paris by train again, where they would catch the Orient Express to Constantinople. It would be at least a four-month journey overland, along the old trade route known as the Silk Road, before they turned southward to British Malaya.
The train whistle blew to signal its impending departure. Henri moved to his mother. She hugged him close to her, but she did not cry. “Promise to write, dear.”
“Of course, I will. Don’t worry.”
“I won’t,” she said firmly. “Henri, I believe in you. I know you will be successful. I love you.”
“Thanks, I love you too.”
Henri turned to Professor Young. “Good-bye, professor. Don’t worry: Tony will keep up the measuring and recording.”
“Good grief, son! I’m not worried about that. Take care of yourself, Henri.” And for once, he dropped all formality and embraced Henri.
With that, the travelers boarded the train and entered their compartment. As the train pulled out from the station, Henri leaned out the window for one final good-bye. As he did so, he noticed someone else leaning out the window one carriage down—someone in a large black hat with feathers and a veil.
Henri drew back inside immediately and slammed the window shut.
Cat and Mouse
“She’s the Woman of a Thousand Faces!” Billy joked when Henri told the group that Agatha Black—aka Madame Noir and Mrs. Blackburn—was aboard the train.
“Ha-ha,” replied Robin. “Does she think we’re little children who don’t know any better? Fooled by her every disguise?”
“No,” said Henri. “She’s trying to torment me. It’s a game to her, and she seems pretty confident. Why else would she continue to show up in these ridiculous costumes?”
“You’re right, Henri,” said Billy. “These are the actions of someone toying with their prey. Like a cat playing with a mouse.”
Mrs. Blackburn did not emerge from her compartment until they reached Constantinople. When she stepped off the train, she was enveloped in black from head to foot in a burka. Among the devout Muslims of the city, it would have been the perfect disguise, had Mrs. Blackburn not been so tall. Henri laughed mockingly when he saw her step down on the platform; however, Mrs. Blackburn turned out to have the last laugh, for they quickly lost sight of her in a sea of anonymous women concealed in black.
The expedition traveled through Arabia by camel. It was not until they reached the lands of the Silk Road trade route that Henri would sight his nemesis again. They had given up the camels and now traveled by donkey cart. This was necessary in order to transport their many trunks of equipment and supplies over rocky, treacherous terrain. The donkeys were slow, and one day, a palanquin—a chair carried on four poles—and its uniformed bearers caught up and passed them. For the next three days, over desolate, dry earth, the palanquin was always in sight. They speculated on who might be traveling inside.
“Maybe a princess?” suggested Robin. “The daughter of an emperor?”
“Why does it always have to be a princess or something out of a fairy tale?” complained Billy.
“If it were a princess, I expect there would be an army escorting her. This person only has eight in her party,” replied Maestro Antonio.
They set up their tents each night upon ground that was not really desert but was nonetheless wasteland, rocky and unforgiving. On the morning of the fourth day, they saw just who rode in such grandeur. It was a woman—a tall woman in a black tunic. Her head was covered in an elaborately embroidered black cloth, and she wore a veil so that only her eyes and forehead were exposed.
“I can’t believe it!” said Robin.
“I can!” said Henri. “I’m going over there to settle this once and for all!”
Maestro Antonio put on his hat and joined him.
However, they didn’t get very far. They were within thirty yards of the camp when they were stopped by the four palanquin bearers, who held raised swords. A finely dressed man approached and bowed.
“Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Khan. May I be of assistance?”
“Yes, you may. We would like to speak to your mistress,” said Maestro Antonio.
Khan smiled. “I am sorry, but that is not possible. It is not appropriate for a woman to meet with strange men.”
Henri spoke up. “Could you give her a message?”
“Certainly,” replied Khan politely.
“Please tell her we’re watching her,” said Henri.
Khan looked perplexed but nodded.
“One other thing,” said Henri. “What is your mistress’s name?”
“In our culture, it is impolite to address someone by their given name,” said Khan. “The lady you speak of is the emperor’s wife’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s sister.”
Henri and Maestro Antonio looked at each other and then burst out laughing. “And I’m the King of Siam!” said Maestro Antonio.
Khan frowned and said, “She’s a very important person. Please wait while I deliver your message.”
A short time later he returned with the message that the emperor’s wife’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s sister sent her regards and invited them to travel to Tashkent with her party. She was making the journey so that she could purchase the finest Chinese silks at a workshop in that city.
“We’d be delighted to join her,” said Henri. He figured there was no harm in following and if she was indeed Agatha Black in disguise, they might get a better idea of her intentions. They trailed the palanquin for another four days before finally entering Tashkent, the city known as the gateway to the Orient and famous for its beautiful mosques.
They had to leave their carts at the outskirts of the city to follow the palanquin through the narrow, dark streets. The old quarter of the city was like a labyrinth. Streets meandered and forked so that Henri and the others soon lost their bearings. This made Henri nervous. Perhaps they were walking into some kind of trap. His anxiety became even greater as his ears picked up a sound—a sound so awful, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“What is it, Henri?” asked Billy.
“Don’t you hear it?” replied Henri, putting his hands to his ears. Henri sank to his knees. “They’re crying! They’re screaming in pain! Oh, it’s terrible!” Tears started to well up in his eyes.
“Who, Henri? Who’s screaming?” cried Robin.
“I don’t know,” groaned Henri. “It’s coming from that direction.” He pointed to the way the palanquin had gone.
“Come on!” said Maestro Antonio. He and Billy grabbed Henri under the arms and lifted him to his feet. They dragged him through the streets until they came to a gate with a sign over it.
They could see the palanquin had been set down in the courtyard. Henri could barely stand.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go in,” said Billy, looking at Henri.
“We have to!” cried Henri.
“This could be a trick!” said Robin.
“I don’t care! I can’t let them hurt them anymore! I can’t let them kill them!” Henri stumbled into the compound. The others followed warily.
Henri looked around frantically. All around the courtyard women sat at looms weaving, while others dipped silk threads into dye baths of brilliant colors. The courtyard was festooned with beautiful, shiny silk fabrics, hung to dry. Some of them still dripped with dye. They flapped in the breeze like long multicolored flags. It was a festive sight, but Henri still sensed pain and death. On the right, they saw Khan and the emperor’s wife’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s sister standing by steaming pots. Khan walked toward them. Henri stood rooted to the spot with his hands over his ears.
“Welcome to the Tashkent Silk Factory. Here you can see how silk is made.” He looked at Henri with some concern, obviously wondering if he was trying to slight him with his hands placed over his ears. He must have decided to ignore this peculiarity, for he continued, “Do you know how silk thread is made?”
They all shook the
ir heads.
Khan led them to a corner of the courtyard where trays of leaves were set out. Upon the fresh green leaves, thousands of caterpillars munched happily. “These are silkworms, the caterpillars that make silk. They eat only mulberry leaves. When it is time, they will spin their cocoons.”
He moved over to show them some nearby branches where caterpillars wound the silk thread they produced around their body. This created a cozy protective home, where they would transform themselves and later emerge as silk moths. Some of the cocoons were complete. Attached to a branch, they appeared as unmoving white capsules of about half a finger’s length. Henri watched and tried to listen to Khan, but he still held his hands over his ears, trying to keep out the horrible screams.
Khan directed them back to where the emperor’s wife’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s sister stood partially obscured by great billows of steam coming from the pots. “Here is where the silk thread is unraveled,” said Khan. They watched as a woman with about six cocoons in her hand prepared to drop them into the boiling pots.
Suddenly Henri understood. “Stop!” he yelled. “You’ll kill them if you do that!” He reached out and grabbed the woman’s hand. Everyone looked startled except the emperor’s wife’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s sister. She stared intently at Henri.
“But how will they reel the silk thread?” asked Khan in a reasonable voice. “The water softens the gum that holds the cocoon together.”
“Don’t you see? The boiling water kills the silkworm. It can’t survive that,” replied Henri.
“It’s true,” said Khan, “but I think it is a small price to pay to have the most luxurious fabric in the world upon the emperor’s wife’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s sister’s back. Today we have come to order a thousand yards of the finest silk this workshop produces.”
Henri was outraged. “Just how many silkworms will die for that?”
Khan turned to the woman who held the cocoons and spoke to her in an unfamiliar language. “She says they will need one million cocoons to produce that much cloth.” Henri still held the woman’s hand. Now he turned it over, pried open her fingers and removed the silk cocoons. He was shaking with anger. “One million dying is a small price to pay? Maybe to you, but not to them!” He held up the cocoons. “I hear them screaming. It is an agonizing death!”
In Search of Goliathus Hercules Page 14