In Search of Goliathus Hercules

by Jennifer Angus

  Henri’s mother and Professor Young were regular visitors at the Natural History Museum’s library, where they scoured obscure books and articles, hoping to find a clue to Henri’s mysterious “illness,” as they referred to it. They had yet to find an answer, but as Henri’s mother said, “As long as there are still books to be read, we have hope!”

  When Henri’s mother came for her daily visit, Prince would fly or scurry toward her, like a dog eagerly greeting its master. She had recovered from her fright and had grown somewhat accustomed to his landing on her shoulder. She even learned a little bit of insect.

  With his latest cut-paper creation clutched between his pinchers, Prince would present it to Henri’s mother. He would insist that Henri translate as he described his artwork. Although no one quite understood why, Prince clearly adored Henri’s mother. In turn, she was touched by his attention.

  “I think they just keep getting better and better. Look at this a butterfly. It’s wonderful, Prince,” said Henri’s mother, smiling at the beetle. “It’s funny. There’s something familiar about these scenes. I look at them and they remind me of places where I’ve lived and traveled. They’re beautiful.”

  After the day’s last show, Robin, Billy, and Maestro Antonio helped Henri feed the insects, and then they returned to the hotel. Henri, however, preferred to spend the night in the exhibition hall with the circus insects. He seemed to be coming more and more nocturnal in his habits. Sometimes it was a real chore to stay awake in the day, but at night he felt alert and more alive. Back at the hotel, it was very dull to sit alone in his room, wide awake. At the circus, there were plenty of insects stirring and many were quite chatty.

  Another reason Henri liked to stay at night was that it gave him a chance to talk at length with Prince, who was no longer locked in his cage because he’d proven himself trustworthy. Now Henri sat down by the table where Prince was perched and took off his jacket and his shirt. It was time to relax. As usual, Prince was cutting out a picture. Henri leaned over to look at it. This time the picture was of a tree and a house and what appeared to be two people in front of the house, a couple embracing.

  “I’ve seen that house before,” said Henri. “It looks exactly like our old house here in London! The house I grew up in!”

  Prince said nothing.

  “Prince? How do you know that house?”

  Finally, Prince replied. “I’m sure there are many houses like it. I saw a picture of it in the newspaper.”

  “Yes, of course. Very strange. Very strange, indeed,” said Henri, as much to himself as the beetle.

  Suddenly Henri was struck with a thought. “You know, I’ve been wondering. A lot of your pictures are of people and children. How do you know so much about them? You’ve never seen a child fly a kite or play ball,” he pointed out.

  “How do you know I haven’t?” asked Prince. “I told you a long time ago that I had some experience with two-legs.”

  Henri kept thinking. “Wait a minute! I remember another picture you cut of the birds; they were all British birds: robins, finches—not tropical ones. I suppose you’re going to tell me that you saw those in the newspaper too!” he said. He stood up suddenly. “Prince, it’s time you told me the truth! You’ve been to England before!”

  Just then, there was a great deal of coughing and spluttering. “Henri, Henri! I’m dying of thirst! I need some water!”

  It was one of the huge tropical honeybees they had brought back from Malaya. In fact, the expedition party had brought back a whole hive. The bees’ ominous buzzing accompanied Prince’s dramatic opening descent in the show.

  “All right, all right,” Henri replied. “Sorry we forgot it earlier. Prince, you stay here while I get the water. Promise me you won’t go anywhere! We are going to finish this conversation.”

  “I promise,” said Prince quietly.

  Henri picked up a bowl and headed toward the large and picturesque water fountain in the middle of the huge exhibition hall. It was dark, but it made no difference to Henri. His night vision was excellent now. Although there were no people in the hall, it was far from silent. Echoing off the walls, Henri heard the calls of the monkeys in Carl Hagenbeck’s monkey paradise exhibit. There was squawking and sniffling from various other creatures that Henri couldn’t fully identify, perhaps an anteater or a wallaby. All sorts of strange animals had been gathered specially for the exposition. Near the fountain, a few pigeons still strutted about, hooting.

  Henri dipped the bowl into the fountain and started back. He was halfway there when a horrible screech rang out through the hall. Henri dropped the water bowl and ran toward the insect circus room. He could hear a cacophony of insect cries, all in the most agitated state of alarm.

  As he crossed the threshold, a horrific sight met his eyes. There stood Mrs. Black.

  She leaned over the wooden table. Her mouth was set in the smile that haunted his dreams, but her appearance was far worse than any of his nightmares could have prepared him for. Her face was terribly disfigured by a diagonal scar across her face—a deep, angry red gouge that ran from just above her right eye down to the left side of her mouth. For a moment Henri forgot to breathe.

  Then he heard the sound of Prince’s pinchers. Henri looked down and saw that Mrs. Black wore a falconer’s glove, and in her hand, she held Prince! Gnashing and thrashing in a tremendous effort to escape, the beetle fought with all his might.

  Henri did not think. He simply launched himself into the air.

  To his complete surprise, a set of wings sprang from his back, and in a single leap he was upon his nemesis. The old sick feeling rose in his stomach, and in an instant he spat venom into the face of his sworn enemy. She cried out and the two crashed to the floor.

  In the fall, Mrs. Black loosened her grip and Prince freed himself. Seeing Prince take flight, Henri yelled, “Get out of here! Stay away from her!”

  On the floor, Henri struggled to hold down Mrs. Black, but she was far larger and heavier than he. In a flash, she had reversed their positions. Using her weight, she easily pinned him to the floor. She wiped the acidic venom from her face with the sleeve of her dress and then withdrew from her hair the long, sharp pin that Henri had seen in Great Aunt Georgie’s parlor so long ago. Now she held it in a threatening manner just above Henri’s heart!

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here! You always make everything difficult,” she panted.

  Raising his head, Henri projected another shot of venom toward her face, but Mrs. Black anticipated it and moved her head in time.

  She let out of a bark of laughter. “Now, now! That wasn’t very nice. There’s certainly no need to make a fuss. I have come for just one thing—the beetle. You’re going to let me take him, Mr. Bell,” she said in a matter of fact voice.

  Prince circled in the air above them, unsure what to do. Clearly Mrs. Black held the advantage with Henri pinned to the floor and the deadly pin poised to stab at any moment.

  “And why would I do that?” retorted Henri, still struggling. “He’s worthless to you. We are the ones who discovered him and brought him back. There will never be any glory for you!”

  “It is disappointing that I was not successful,” responded Mrs. Black in a conversational tone. “But I have far greater plans for this bug than you can imagine! He is going to come with me… and he will do my bidding.”

  “I don’t think he will!” gasped Henri, still wriggling, still looking for a way to free himself.

  “You will make him, On-ree. I must admit you have control over six-legged pests. The same way I have control over—well, it doesn’t matter. You will make the bug work for me because if you don’t, I will reveal to the world just what you are! A freak! Don’t think that people haven’t noticed the change in you. They’re talking, they are wondering, and it would give me nothing but pleasure to reveal the truth! Perhaps I will be celebrated after all when I make the announcement! Maybe I’ll get to keep you in a cage as one of my pets!” Agatha Black threw
back her head and laughed.

  Enraged, Henri used every ounce of the strength he possessed and managed to free one of his arms. He quickly reached out and tried to snatch the hatpin from his enemy, but his hand, more of a claw now, was clumsy. He missed.

  Startled, Mrs. Black stared down at him, her eyes narrowed. She growled, “I think I have changed my mind. I believe I’ve had quite enough of you, Mr. Bell!”

  She raised her arm, took aim at Henri’s heart, and then plunged the pin downward. Henri closed his eyes and braced himself for

  the pain.

  “Noooo!”

  That wasn’t his voice—it was Mrs. Black’s. Henri opened his eyes and to his horror, skewered on the pin, wings wide open, was Prince! Mrs. Black dropped the pin and with it, Prince. She leaped up and, with the abnormal speed he had witnessed once before, raced from the room.

  Henri quickly sat up. Prince writhed on the ground.

  “Prince! Prince! Oh! I’m going to pull that pin out!” cried Henri, tears streaming down his face. Grasping hold of the pin’s pearl head, he pulled it as gently as he could out of the beetle’s body.

  “I told you to get out of here! Why didn’t you go? You should have protected yourself!” shouted Henri in despair.

  Prince heaved and gasped for breath. “I couldn’t let her kill you, Henri. I couldn’t.” He had sacrificed himself to save Henri.

  “It’s going to be OK. You’re going to be fine,” said Henri unconvincingly.

  “Henri, I don’t have much time left. I need to tell you something.” Prince stopped, caught his breath and continued, “I have been to England before. London was my home. I have been to the house you grew up in.”

  “What? How?” spluttered Henri.

  “Henri,” said Prince. “I am your father.”

  Life Changes

  Suddenly everything made sense—the photographs left in the village, Prince’s willingness to leave the jungle, his knowledge of the English landscape, and his keen interest in everything to do with Henri.

  “Why did you attack me in the hotel room?” whispered Henri. Rivulets of tears poured down his cheeks.

  “I was upset that you frightened your mother…my wife, when you showed her what you are becoming,” panted Prince. He let out a gasp of great pain but continued. “I was distressed that you thought that I had just up and left you. I never wanted to do that. This sickness, this disease, whatever it is, it controls you…” His voice was getting weaker.

  “Father, Father!” Henri picked up the beetle so he could hear him better.

  “Tell your mother I love her. I love you, Henri,” and with a last wheezy breath, Prince went still.

  Gently, Henri laid him on the floor and curled up beside the beetle he now knew to be his father. The insects of the circus fluttered and hopped about them.

  “Henri! Henri! Are you all right?”

  But he did not answer them. The floor was cold, but Henri didn’t care. Mrs. Black might return, but he could not bring himself to do anything. He cried and eventually fell into a tormented and restless sleep.

  “Henri! Henri! What happened?” exclaimed Robin. It was morning.

  And then Robin saw Prince.

  “Prince! Prince, is he…is he dead?” she asked.

  Henri sat up. He picked up the body of his father and cradled it in his hands. He nodded and felt the tears pricking his eyes again. Stiffly he stood and placed Prince on the table among the disheveled colored papers, his last picture of the house torn in two. Henri picked up the pieces and laid them side-by-side to form the scene.

  Henri opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. They could hear the tropical honeybees buzzing behind him. It was Maestro Antonio who thought to turn on the hearing-aid machine.

  “Blaaack!” the bees buzzed.

  “She’s alive,” whispered Maestro Antonio.

  “She meant to kill Henri!” buzzed the bees in unison.

  Everyone gasped. Robin looked on the ground and saw the pearl-headed hatpin. She picked it up and placed it on the table.

  “But Prince threw himself in the way. She killed him!” the bees screamed, and all the insects in the circus began to wail. Their cries were so loud that Maestro Antonio turned off the hearing-aid machine, but there was still a dull roar.

  “Oh, Henri!” Robin threw her arms around him.

  “Would you like to go your mother’s house, Henri?” asked Maestro Antonio.

  Henri nodded. He pulled himself away from Robin. He walked to the backstage area, where he found a lidded cardboard box, and returned. Then he picked up some of the red paper from the table and lined the bottom of the box. Robin understood what he was doing. She took off the silk scarf she was wearing, folded it, and neatly placed it in the box. Henri picked up Prince’s body and gently laid him on top of the scarf. Then he picked up the torn picture of the house, placed it beside the body, and put the lid back on.

  At his mother’s house, Henri walked to his old room without a word. He put the box down on his bedside table and crawled into his bed. Robin and Henri’s mother followed him into the room.

  “Henri, are you sick?” asked his mother worriedly. She came to the bedside and automatically put her hand to his forehead.

  “You don’t feel hot,” she said. She looked at Robin.

  “There’s been an accident,” said Robin.

  Henri glared at her.

  “Actually, not an accident, really,” stuttered Robin “It was Mrs. Black. She…murdered Prince.” Robin pointed to the box.

  His mother was in tears as she sat down on the bed and drew Henri toward her. He buried his face in her dress and hugged her back. Robin edged her way out of the room to make tea.

  Some hours later Maestro Antonio and Billy arrived with Professor Young. How is he?” whispered Billy.

  “He hasn’t spoken a word yet. I’m really worried,” replied Robin. “I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

  A few minutes later, everyone sat at the dining room table. When Henri entered the room, he was reminded of a time before the expedition when they had sat around that very table bursting with confidence and enthusiasm. They had poured over maps of British Malaya and plotted their journey. But now the adventure was over, and all Henri felt was a deep emptiness. Instead of maps, there sat a cardboard box with a lifeless body inside.

  Maestro Antonio spoke up.

  “We closed the show, packed up all the insects, and took them back to the hotel. The professor dropped by as we were packing, so I sent him with a message to the chairman of the British Entomological Society,” he said. “We thought it best not to reveal the true circumstances of Prince’s passing. I said that the cooler climate didn’t suit his constitution. The chairman will notify the newspapers.”

  “He was most distressed upon reading the letter,” said Professor Young, dabbing at his own eyes with his handkerchief. “He intends to call upon you to express his condolences. Ah! So sad! Prince and I had so much more to discuss.”

  Henri looked down and took a sip of tea. Then he put down his cup, stood up, and opened the box. From it he withdrew the pieces of the picture Prince had been working on. He quickly replaced the lid.

  Henri cleared his throat and finally spoke. His voice sounded raspy as he said, “You don’t know everything. Perhaps I should have told you first, Mother, but everyone here is my friend. More than that, everyone here has been my family. Robin, Billy, Tony, you have put your lives at risk many times over to help me find Goliathus hercules and my father.” He laid out the pieces of Prince’s picture to form the scene.

  “Mother, last night Prince was working on this picture. Take a look.”

  Henri’s mother leaned over and peered at it.

  “Why, it looks like our old house! The one we lived in before George left for Malaya. How would Prince know what our house looked like?” she asked.

  Henri stared at his mother, willing her to make the connection, but she looked at him blankly.

 
“You know how you said so many of Prince’s pictures reminded you of places you had been?”

  “Well, yes. I did notice that,” she said.

  “Mother, look at me. What am I becoming?” commanded Henri.

  She looked at him. He could tell she was confused.

  “You’re…you’re turning into an insect, Henri.”

  He nodded.

  It was Billy who made the connection first.

  “Wait a minute! Henri, are you saying that Prince was your father?” Billy said, standing.

  “Yes,” said Henri. “He told me before he died.”

  Henri’s mother, tears streaming from her already red eyes, grabbed Henri’s hand.

  “I think I shall lie down,” she said. Henri helped her to her room.

  “I wonder why he didn’t just tell us in the first place?” asked Billy. They all sat, pondering the question. Would Henri’s father be alive now if they had known?

  “Maybe he was ashamed,” suggested Robin. “Perhaps he would have preferred if Henri and his mother thought he had died in the jungle.”

  “I guess we’ll never know,” said Maestro Antonio. “Do you think Agatha Black knew who he was?”

  “Maybe she did,” said Billy. “One thing is for certain though, she didn’t mean to kill him. She intended to finish off Henri.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Robin. “Whether or not she knew that Prince was Henri’s father, why would she want him? We received the fame and rewards for capturing Goliathus hercules, so there would be none for her. If she did know it was him, what was her plan? Kidnapping him? Demanding a ransom?”

  “I believe I know,” said Henri, who had returned and stood in the doorway. “She said she had ‘greater plans’ for Prince than I could ever imagine, and that he would do her bidding.”