“Oh. Well, I hope you’re right and that the spirits are on our side.”
Perhaps they were, for on that first evening in the Kuala Tembeling, Mat had news for Henri. Apparently the villagers recalled that several years ago a lone man—a foreigner—had arrived. He wanted to go into the jungle and had purchased a canoe from one of the village families. The next day he paddled off on his own and was never seen again. No one could recall the man’s name or where he came from. He did leave one thing, though. In halting Malay, he had asked the people of the village to keep it safe until his return.
Mat pulled out an envelope. Inside were two photos.
“Look, Henri. Is this you and your papa?”
Henri held up one photo. It was of a smiling man and a boy, maybe six or seven years old. They looked like they were in a park. Henri stared and stared. His father had left so long ago that it was hard to recall his face. The boy was familiar, but his resemblance to the Henri of today was only slight. “Can I see the other photo?”
Mat handed him the other photo, which showed a couple, a man—the same man as in the other photo—and a woman. “That’s my mother,” said Henri with certainty. He turned back to the other photo, the one of him and his father. A tear rolled down his face. Time and distance had obscured everything so that not only was he unable to recognize his own father, but he couldn’t see himself in the shy boy looking out from the picture.
The owner of the photographs had never returned to collect them, which wasn’t hopeful news. Still, this was the first evidence that his father had been in the jungle, and that gave Henri something to hold on to. He was anxious to go back into the jungle. If luck was with him, they would defeat Mrs. Black, capture Goliathus hercules, and, just maybe, learn what had become of his father.
In the morning the expedition party rose early and, with the guidance of the village shaman, made offerings to the spirits. To the river spirit they asked for calm waters for their canoes. To the forest spirits they asked for protection from rains, winds, and wild animals. And finally they gave offerings to remember the ancestor spirits. These spirits could not help them, but, if not shown proper respect, might become angry and put obstacles in their way.
The jungle was magnificent. The trees rose straight up hundreds of feet, creating elegant columns that seemed to scrape the sky. A canopy of brilliant, green leaves created a roof above their heads. Some leaves were as large as an elephant’s ear. Brightly colored birds of red, green, blue, and yellow flew from branch to branch in their heavenly realm, never in their lives having touched the ground. Henri and the others disembarked from their canoes and then stood for a full ten minutes on the riverbank, gaping at the awe-inspiring beauty.
Among the trees were millions of eyes scanning, waiting for signs of unusual activity. The cicadas and grasshoppers were to keep watch and, at the first sign of Mrs. Black or her bats, sound the alarm.
There had been no sighting of Agatha Black in the village, but Henri had no doubt that a rendezvous with his nemesis was just days away. His presence alone would lure her, and she would be sure to show herself if she believed that Henri was on the verge of capturing Goliathus hercules. This time, though, he would be ready for her.
As Robin and Maestro Antonio set up the hearing-aid machine, Henri listened to the wind and the voices it carried. The crickets chirped, “All’s well, all’s well.” The cicadas called, “No Black yet, no Black yet.” The grasshoppers and katydids trilled, “All quiet on the front, all quiet.” Hmm…thought Henri.
Nearby a particularly loud katydid with magnificent wings like a ballroom gown of brown and yellow said, “Good afternoon, Henri Bell.”
“Greetings, madame.”
“We are so pleased to see you.”
“Likewise,” said Henri. “Is everyone here and accounted for?”
“I believe so. I myself have seen the bees, wasps, blister beetles, and three battalions of army ants!”
“Impressive!” said Henri. “What about the moths? Are they here?”
“Look behind you, Henri Bell. They come.”
Henri turned his head and saw the moths move across the river. Their numbers were so great that a startled Robin and Maestro Antonio looked up from the hearing-aid machine as they heard the beating of a million wings. The men setting up camp shouted out in wonder as they too saw the advancing squadron move like a threatening storm cloud. With their keen eyesight, the moths immediately identified Henri. They moved toward him as one, and Henri heard his friend Art say, “Reporting for duty, sir!”
Ground troops amass in preparation for the battle. Illustration created by Maestro Antonio from his recollection one year after the jungle encounter.
With the hearing aid set up, Robin located one of her multi-legged recruits, who reported that the centipedes were positioned in trees around the area. Everyone was in place! Unbeknownst to Mrs. Black and her allies, the ground, the trees, and the air seethed with millions upon millions of creatures loyal to Henri Bell.
They went to sleep that night lulled by the gentle gurgle of the river and the continuous cries of “All’s well” and “No Black yet.” Henri listened for sounds out of the ordinary—a bat call, the swish of stiff silk—but nothing broke the relative peace. He slept deeply, uninterrupted.
The following morning, as he lay in his tent, it took Henri a few minutes to realize the reports had changed. He hurriedly put on clothes and crawled out of the tent to see the sun just rising. The calls reached his ears.
“Be alert, be alert!” said the crickets.
“Maybe Black, maybe Black!” came the high-pitched cry of the cicadas.
“Something coming from the west,” called the grasshoppers.
Henri woke the others, informed them of the new reports, and immediately struck out to get the latest information. He searched and found the katydid he had spoken to the day before. She confirmed what he had heard already. Someone or something was coming from the west. Gazing into the sky, Henri called out for his friend Art. In a minute, the moth appeared, accompanied by a small entourage.
“Something is coming,” said Art.
“Yes. I need to know whom, and I need to know when they will arrive. I am going to ask you to gather this information. Don’t put yourselves at any risk!”
“I shall personally see to it.” And with that, the moth took to the air, calling out for several of his family to join him.
At breakfast, Henri and the others stood by the campfire discussing what to do.
“If it’s Mrs. Black and her bats, then we can expect them to attack at night,” said Maestro Antonio. “That gives us the rest of the day to ready ourselves.”
“I have the spiders building a tremendous web,” said Robin.
“And I’ve found some plants that could help us in battle,” said Billy. “Come, I’ll show you.”
As in any jungle, vines grew abundantly, taking a stranglehold upon trees. One such ivy, known as the Rosary Pea, or Abrus precatorius, had beautiful seeds of black and red that produced lethargy and dizziness if ingested. The rengas tree, family Anacardiaceae, was, in fact, a shrub. Rubbing against its leaves provoked a reaction similar to poison ivy, something that each of them was all too familiar with. Billy had also located two different types of stinging nettles—one called a nettle tree and the other a Nilgiri nettle, which not only stung but caused blisters.
Maestro Antonio was thinking practically. “There’s a clearing over there,” he said, pointing to a spot not far from the campsite. “That might be a good place to stage the battle. The stinging nettles and the rengas trees are just to the south of it. Robin’s spiders have their web nearby too. I think if Mrs. Black tries to make a run for it, we should force her in that direction.”
“What do you think about shooting some Rosary Peas into the air once the battle begins?” Billy said, pulling out a homemade blowpipe. “It will be distracting to the bats, and if they are foolish enough to swallow them, they’ll get a dose of dizziness and abandon the attack
.”
“Good idea,” said Henri. “You know, Tony’s right. This is the perfect place. The trees surround the clearing so that our air forces can lie in wait. The ground is clear, so the ants and millipedes will have an uninterrupted path. There’s only one more thing: is Goliathus hercules even in this area? I haven’t seen any sign of them. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
At that moment, the moths fluttered down into the clearing. One rested on Henri’s arm. Panting hard, Art said, “Bats! Hundreds of bats! They will come tonight!”
The Battle Begins
Whoosh! Buzz! A moment before, the clearing, surrounded by majestic trees, had stood tranquilly like the nave of a cathedral. Now it was as if a twister raged in its center. Millions of insects had taken to the sky. The air was choked with the multitudes—bees, wasps, hornets, cicadas, flies, and mosquitoes. Their wings, like crystal prisms, caught the light with dazzling effect. It was ordered chaos.
The ground, too, had come alive, writhing and seething like boiling water. Army ants jostled with crickets, grasshoppers, and millipedes. Standing in the center of it all stood Henri, waving his arms as if he were an orchestra conductor and barking commands like a general. Robin, Billy, and Maestro Antonio gingerly stepped back from the preparations on the battlefield for fear that with one misstep they might crush a loyal recruit. The most enormous grasshoppers any of them had ever seen, with wings of pink and green, sailed by their noses. Robin felt the soft touch of a light wing against her cheek, and then a gentle breeze as the squadron of moths zoomed by. The bystanders worried that with a single intake of breath they might inhale a fearless fly that had been sent out on a reconnaissance mission. The air was so thick that the sun was obscured. A careless wave of the hand might result in casualties to their own troops.
Carefully Henri departed from the clearing. Robin took his place, the hearing-aid machine in hand. It was her turn to direct the allied forces to their places. Ultimately, when it came to the battle, she would stand beside Henri as his lieutenant, translating any orders into the tongue of the multi-legged. Henri returned to camp to inform Mat and the others that the battle was imminent.
“Have you seen any sign of Goliathus hercules yet?” he asked anxiously.
“Not yet,” responded Mat. “But we’ll keep looking.”
Henri nodded. “I think we should make some, um, offerings to the spirits. Whichever ones you think would be best.”
“Very good!” said Mat. “The men will be happy to do this.”
Henri walked to the river and sat down on the bank. For a jungle, it was unusually quiet—the calm before the storm. Beyond the chorus of “Be alert, be alert,” there was an absence of insect calls. Most had settled into the clearing in readiness—waiting, watching. Two magnificent black-and-green butterflies lazily fluttered by. A short time later, six yellow butterflies darted over the water. What a peaceful life, thought Henri. Butterflies were the only species they had not recruited for their forces. They seemed so fragile, so harmless. Suddenly he stood up.
“Hello, hello! Do you mind coming over here?” he called to the yellow butterflies. Very slowly, certainly not taking the most
direct route, the butterflies settled on Henri’s shoulder.
“You called, Henri Bell?” said one of them.
“Yes, I did. I need some messengers. I have an announcement that I want spread throughout the forest. You must tell it to everyone you meet.”
“Certainly, Henri Bell. What is the message?”
“The message is: Goliathus hercules—Serranga-orang, your insect brother, is here and wishes to meet you.”
“Are you sure?” the butterfly asked. “Tell everyone? What if we don’t find Goliathus hercules?” The butterfly anxiously flapped its wings.
“Tell it to everyone. Even if you don’t meet Goliathus hercules, the message will get to them.”
With that, the butterflies took to the air. Henri continued to sit by the riverbank, smiling to himself. There were no bigger blabbermouths than insects. If Goliathus hercules was in the area, the beetles would know soon enough that he was here waiting for them. In the space of an hour, Henri heard his message in the wind, whispered from tree to tree.
When you are anxious about something, time moves very slowly. At last, dusk was upon them. Quietly the expedition party moved to the clearing, where they hid behind trees and makeshift palm screens. Only Henri and Robin stood in the middle of the clearing. Henri made a quick check. He called out, and there was an angry buzz in response. The bees were ready.
They stood silently, looking westward. The insect chorus still chanted, “Be alert!” It had not changed since the morning. A feeling of queasiness was building in Henri’s stomach. He felt like retching but forced himself to take deep breaths. It wouldn’t do to show his nerves at a time like this.
He turned to Robin. “I want to thank you for being the best friend I’ve ever had. I just wanted to say that in case I don’t get the chance later.”
“Thanks, Henri. Thank you for believing in me and letting me come along. It’s been fantastic. You’re…You’re my best friend too.” She took his clawlike hand and held it in her own.
Slowly the moon began to rise. With an intake of breath, Henri let his insect side take over. His antennae explored the night air, searching for Goliathus hercules or for Agatha Black, the enemy—whichever came first. He picked up half a dozen scents upon the breeze—the smoldering campfire half a mile away, decaying weeds by the riverbank, the corpse flower’s thick and heavy odor, the nectar from the bloom of a frangipani tree, the musty smell of something, maybe a jungle rat, and, finally, Robin’s own unique scent. Focusing on the sounds of the forest, he could distinguish the millions of expectant whispers upon the ground, in the trees, and in the air.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. The alarm changed. “Alert, alert, danger, danger!” They all heard it.
“Who is it?” asked Robin urgently.
Henri cocked his head, sniffed the air, and smiled. He had been mistaken about the musty smell. They came from the east. “Goliathus hercules!” They had come! Henri’s smile quickly vanished as he heard their approaching voices.
“Bah! Serangga-orang, who is he?”
“How dare he come into our territory?”
“Come to taunt us? Come to challenge us?”
“We’ll tear him apart limb by limb and feast on his innards!”
Henri had amassed his forces strictly to defend himself against Agatha Black. Now he was wondering if he should have considered some way to protect himself from Goliathus hercules! But it was too late.
In a short time his keen eyes spied the flecks of gold reflected off their horns and elytra moving through the trees. Some walked and some flew. As the first ones entered the clearing, he called out, “Stop!” They did not listen and continued to move forward. It was like a sea of bubbling oil spreading before him. Their shiny black backs glistened in the moonlight. He heard Robin give a little whimper beside him.
“Please, stop!” Henri shouted again.
As the words came out of his mouth, he heard another sound. Like dominos falling upon one another, one by one, it started at a great distance and then sped up, moving closer and closer to the clearing. To those who did not understand, it sounded like a primal scream ripped from the earth’s center. For Henri, Robin, Billy, and Maestro Antonio, it was the call they had been expecting.
“Baaaaats! Blaaack!” The alarm sounded repeatedly, thunderous and united.
Casualties of War
Goliathus hercules stopped. While they understood the words, they did not know their significance. They looked at Henri, assuming he had caused this tremendous disturbance. They were surprised. He did not look back at them. It was as if he had entirely forgotten about them. This was strange indeed—never had their prey ignored their approach! Instead, Henri’s eyes went to the sky.
When at last the cacophony of sound ceased, there was an unsettling, tense silence. Henri calle
d out a series of commands.
“Attention! Enemy approaching from the west! Prepare for attack! Wait for my signal!”
Who was he talking to? they wondered. Perhaps he had gone mad. They saw nothing except a two-leg standing beside him. The two-leg spoke too, although it spoke in a language they couldn’t understand but recognized to be that of the multilegged. Very strange indeed.
Turning back to Goliathus hercules, Henri spoke quickly. “I am Serangga-orang. Tonight there will be a battle. We have a common enemy. Her name is Agatha Black. She is evil and has committed countless atrocities against the insect world. She will come with her allies—the bats. You are at risk, for it is Goliathus hercules she seeks to capture. The entire six-legged kingdom has united to fight her. I ask you now to join us in the battle.”
It was the Old One who stepped forward. He was the largest of the warriors, and Henri noticed the battle scars along his armored body. When he spoke, it was with dignity and authority.
“We will join no one,” the Old One said. “We fight only for ourselves. Tonight we fight you, the one who taunts us, humiliates us, and trespasses on our land. Prepare to die, stranger!”
“I will not fight you,” said Henri calmly. “In a short time we will all be under siege from a very powerful enemy. I will not divide my army and weaken my position. I have asked you to join us, but it seems you have chosen not to do so. I will not fight you, but if you attack my companions and me, I will defend myself.” Almost casually Henri returned to scanning the sky as if he were out for a pleasant evening of star gazing.
The Old One was silent for a moment. Henri’s response had been unexpected. This Serangga-orang had announced that he would not fight. Was he a coward or a fool? Well, it made no difference. This kind of impertinence would not be tolerated. Behind him he heard his troops muttering, jostling, anxious to begin the fight.
“Forward!” the Old One yelled.
Henri did not flinch, nor did he look away from the sky. Next to him Robin muttered a few unintelligible words.
In Search of Goliathus Hercules Page 19