Children of the Cave

by Virve Sammalkorpi

  I thought of the past today, walking back to the camp from the cave, having been to observe the children going about their morning activities. I stayed behind trees, but some of them clearly sensed – smelt? – my presence and withdrew into the cave. It was the fear that I discerned in the children that prompted me to recall my departure from home and my first days in Paris, filled as these were with a mixture of joy and terror. I wonder why they are not able to enjoy their life of freedom amid nature. They appear to observe the surrounding forest constantly, as if expecting to be taken away. Or perhaps they do so hopefully, not fearfully? The smallest and most animal-like of them cavorted with abandon just by the mouth of the cave. I have never seen them glancing into the distance or watching their backs in the same way as the older children.

  Today, I paid attention to a girl who looked smaller than many of the children but who is clearly respected by them. She seemed to be in charge of organizing the group’s daily activities, albeit in her own unsystematic way. I saw her carry something edible to a large leaf in the grassy clearing where the children assembled upon waking in the mornings and then again in the evenings before retreating into the cave to sleep. Because not all the children are equally sociable, I tried to memorize those whom I saw today. I recognized a tall, fair boy whose back is covered by dense, blond fur, and another whose large, rodent-like ears I have spied only with the help of my telescope. I cannot distinguish the animal feature of the slender girl from my hiding place – I wonder if Moltique is on the wrong track, after all. As I have already mentioned, we long ago buried his original theory of the children being the descendants of the Paphlagonians as fundamentally shaky and unfounded.

  According to the professor’s new theory, the children represent an intermediate stage in human evolution. I have heard that similar arguments have been proposed in more radical scientific circles, but no one has any evidence to support them. Despite my religious upbringing and irrespective of the fact that Moltique does not have a background as a natural scientist, I have until now been inclined to believe that there is a vestige of truth in his theory. Perhaps man and animals could have evolved from the same original species. Perhaps the children of the cave do represent an in-between stage in this process, or then they have developed their animal features out of necessity. As for the latter hypothesis, I have heard talk in Paris; there are those who are convinced that acquired characteristics can be inherited by the next generation. If the children of the cave were related, they should, as far as I can see, share similar characteristics. They do not all look the same. What about the girl who appears fully human to me? No, no, no. Something about what I saw today makes me doubt Moltique’s theory. This worries me. I ask myself: if I do not believe in Moltique’s theory, what do I believe in? I was taught that God created man in His own image. But all of us under this heavenly vault are God’s creatures.

  I would love to have a companion to talk to. I will think about all this and return to the topic later.

  An addendum to the day’s entry: it is night-time and Moltique has retreated into his tent, his summer accommodation. I have only just come back from a late-night walk to the cave. It was quiet there and I suspected that the children were already asleep. On my way back through the summery, moonlit forest I heard rustling in the bushes and the grass. I thought I heard a whispering that sounded very much like human speech – it could even have been my mother tongue, Russian – but because at the same time I saw eyes glinting in the dark, I expect I was wrong. Looks like I drank too much of the wine and cognac Moltique kept offering me during the meal. I just have to believe that the children are not human beings but a hybrid form of life between man and beast. I have seen it with my own eyes. God is great and His ways are mysterious. Father, can I rely on this single truth I know?

  JULY 15TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  I happened to come to the cave when the slender girl was alone in the grassy clearing, to the right of the mouth of the cave. I secretly called her Petite (‘small’ in French) in my mind, though I should not name the creatures, for they are research subjects. I examined her from a distance and tried to work out what she was doing. It was a shame I had left the telescope at the camp. It looked as if Petite were doing embroidery, the way my mother did, but I understood this was not possible, given Moltique’s theory and the habitat: how could a creature representing an intermediate stage between animal and human handle such intricate manual manoeuvres? And what equipment would she use? Presumably the girl was busy with something else, though I could not see what the white material was that she had on her knees. Perhaps a piece of skin from which she was removing hairs. We have noted that a proportion of the children cover themselves in skins and skirt-like garments which they weave from grass. We have not been able to establish the origins of the materials used in the clothing. According to Moltique, animals do not cover themselves but deploy simple aids as necessary. During his numerous expeditions he has observed monkeys, among other specimens, and I am familiar with his notes about them. Of the simple attire worn by the children of the cave, he has remarked only that their need to clothe themselves is perhaps their most human trait. He sees no contradiction in commenting in a similar way on (other) animals. I find it difficult to criticize his views, for I am painfully aware of my lack of sufficient knowledge of science concerning man, nature and life in general. My character and education make me more of a philologist and a collector of tales. I dream not so much of solving the mystery of life as of the immortality of ideas.

  The other night Moltique and I had a discussion about whether the children of the cave were more human than animal. On the basis of their behaviour, traits and habitat, Moltique regards them primarily as animals. Our discussion led us to moral and ethical considerations about what was permissible and acceptable as far as researching the children was concerned, assuming they are animals. Moltique pointed at me with the bone he was gnawing and asked if I thought it was appropriate to eat hare. Would I prefer to eat him instead? he queried. I in turn asked why we call the children of the cave children, not cubs or whelps, which would be more natural if they really were animals. I explained that my remarks were based purely on my background as a philologist and that I understood that they did not in themselves overturn or even weaken Moltique’s theory, but that I was afraid our choice of words revealed that in our hearts we considered the occupants of the cave human beings. I felt it would be tragic if we were to sacrifice the voice of our hearts at the altar of science. Moltique realized I was forwarding a counterargument, albeit one disguised as a meek question. He did not reply, and that disturbs me. I want to believe that he is sure of what he plans to do. I am surprised that an experienced and esteemed scientist like him, albeit one who is sensational and controversial, is not more critical of his own ideas. I do not think I should offer criticism, either. That is why I keep my thoughts to myself, all the while endeavouring to extract more basic information from Moltique regarding research into human beings and life.

  The year is illegible, but going by its contents the entry dates from 1820.

  JULY, DATE ILLEGIBLE

  I worked hard today. I went through the notes I had written for Moltique and saw that after our landmark discovery in May we had made slow but sure progress. When we spotted the first footprints, which had left depressions in the wet soil, we drifted too far east, but once we found new prints, locating the cave was easier. Going over my notes, I realized that following the discovery of the cave quite a lot of time passed before we first caught sight of the children. I wondered why. Did the creatures sense our presence and hide? Or had they perhaps left the cave in order to hunt and gather food? (We know the children eat meat, insects and parts of plants.) Maybe they are nomads and only reached the cave this spring. We have not clarified with what animals their habits link them.

  So far, we have made do with observing the cave and its inhabitants through a telescope, because if we get too close the children retreat. From the observations I had
written down for Moltique, I established that we had identified ten different children. I have noted their animal features: for example, Object No. 1, boy, tusks; Object No. 2, boy, ears like a cat’s.

  I arranged the notes so that our travelogue now forms one unified entity and our observations on the children another. I keep my personal diary well away from the papers Moltique leafs through for his work. I have also started writing these entries in Russian, a language Moltique does not know.

  JULY, DATE ILLEGIBLE, IN THE YEAR 1820

  Today I followed the small girl into the forest, where I saw her gather something and put it onto a large leaf. I told Moltique about my observation and he asked what the dominant female, as he calls Petite, was gathering. I said I did not see, but I suspect she was picking either fungi or insects, because after she left I went to investigate the site and did not find any bushes or shrubs bearing berries. Moltique said that the information confirmed that the inhabitants of the cave behaved much like some monkeys he had observed. I am troubled by the way he obstinately compares the children to monkeys without taking into account that there could be another explanation for their peculiar appearance. I do not know myself what it might be, but one would think that a famous researcher like Moltique would have another theory in reserve. I fear his ambition blinds him. I am also worried about the Church’s reaction, once he has published his findings. Amid this wilderness, it is hard to remember the realities of the civilized world. Moltique is not concerned about the reaction of the Church – he’s utterly unconcerned, in fact, I’d say.

  JULY, DATE ILLEGIBLE, IN THE YEAR 1820

  The inhabitant of the cave I call Petite has entered my dreams. She looks at me entreatingly, asking for something. I cannot make out her speech. Is it speech? I woke up this morning covered in sweat, my heart thumping, for there was something terrifyingly human in the eyes of the creature I saw in my dream. I have tried to forget the carcass of the creature we felled in May, but it haunts my mind and gets muddled with my thoughts of Petite. Moltique cut up the boar-like creature we shot, preserving the most interesting parts in glass jars in order to take them to Paris later. This was no doubt right and necessary for his work, but I am troubled by the fact that the remaining parts of the carcass were fed to the guides’ dogs rather than being given a decent burial in the forest, as was my proposal.

  Some time ago, I had a dream in which my dog, Noir, rose to his hind legs and begged me for help but, frighteningly, I was unable to understand him, or to assist. I had had to leave that loyal creature in the care of my landlady’s simple son upon quitting Paris. Following that dream, my thoughts have every now and then returned to my dog. I console myself with the idea that, though Hugo is a simpleton who at the age of twelve can still barely wipe his own nose, he is also extremely gentle and good-hearted. Also, it is useful for an idiot to be accompanied by a dog as intelligent as Noir.

  The same evening, as we sat by the fire, I told Moltique about Noir. He asked with as straight a face as he could muster if it was only a dog back in Paris that I missed. Was there not a single girl waiting for me? I have heard about his reputation as a ladies’ man and I felt abashed. But his guess was correct: I have not felt a great need for romantic relationships. My few relationships with the opposite sex have been short-lived and, to borrow a word of my father’s, fairly platonic (amor platonicus). I think I am the same type of serious-minded man as my father, who has always stood by my mother’s side, steady as a rock. I still hope and expect to meet the woman of my life, though the chances are not great, not as long as I am following Moltique on his expeditions to uncharted territories. We have not seen a representative of the opposite sex for a long time. The women we last saw were prematurely aged country folk in a small Prussian village – they sold us potatoes.

  Numerous entries from July and the beginning of August appear to have been lost.

  AUGUST 10TH OR 19TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  One of our assistants got sick in July and failed to recover, despite the ministrations of our self-taught doctor, Pierre Rufin. On the contrary, he deteriorated rapidly. Moltique set off with a few of the other assistants to look for help, leaving me in charge of the camp. My task is to continue observing the cave and making basic notes. Moltique was not best pleased about having to interrupt his research, but he recognized his responsibility, which makes him a better human being than he is generally thought to be. The patient is indeed one of our most important men: Bruno Papart, our most skilled tracker and hunter. I am not sure if Moltique would have been as interested in the welfare of, say, Yves Grillet. Be that as it may, Moltique has already been away for nine days and I have tracked the movements of the cave’s inhabitants faithfully. They have been on their guard, though, and I have only managed to see them on a few days, and even then just for a moment. I have begun to suspect that the cave has another entrance, or that sunlight can filter inside, so the children do not want or need to go out every day. While we have named the inhabitants children of shadows, I cannot conceive of a human being who would voluntarily sit in the dark. I thought of dispatching one of the assistants to circle the cave and look for another entrance, but I am not sure which of them I can trust. I can still hear their coarse laughter when Moltique came out with his joke about a child hunt. I do not know if they are just excited by the idea of killing a living being, or by the fact that these animals look so much like humans.

  It is unfortunate, but the men who have ended up on this journey are better off outside the reach of officialdom. I am not upset by this observation, for I think it is better decent men with families stay at home. The men acting as our assistants also have skills rarely acquired by more learned and/or respectable men. I am grateful for what I have learned from them, but they are no conversationalists. That is why I anticipate even Moltique’s prickly company impatiently. To cap it all, I am painfully aware that the rest of our party has scant respect for me. They are deterred from disobedience only by the esteem they feel for the professor. I dare not think what would happen if Moltique did not, for one reason or another, return to the camp.

  Agolasky has described some of the men in Moltique’s party on a separate piece of paper. The notes are short verbal caricatures; one imagines upon reading them that Agolasky would have wanted to immortalize the rogues in pictures, too. They appear to have been written at the start of the journey, for his own amusement. We append them here in order to elucidate Agolasky’s concern for his own safety.

  JAVIER

  He whose mouth is always hanging open. Wordlessly, he watches what others get up to, and it is never quite clear how much he understands. But when it comes to snapping the neck of a game bird or slitting open a deer’s throat, he acts quickly, without hesitation. He cleans his bloodied hands by licking them and I have never seen a more blissful expression than Javier’s when his tongue tastes blood.

  PIERRE

  A drunkard who never stops sweating. His bald pate is ringed with a reddish-brown, curly tonsure, which joins an untidy, straggly beard under his ears. Pierre is our doctor and claims that he learned his profession while travelling in the East. I don’t believe half of his bragging, but he is adept at putting a dislocated arm back into place or digging a splinter out of infected flesh.

  BRUNO

  Bruno is a hunter. Sometimes it seems he hears and smells more acutely than the rest of us. When he goes to get food for the camp, he always takes Javier and his hound, which has no name; the medium-sized, sturdy, black-and-white animal answers to Dog. Among these repellent scoundrels, Bruno makes a favourable impression. There’s something humane, even intelligent about him. I believe he is the son of a fisherman and hails from a village near Nantes. I do not know where Moltique picked him up.

  YVES

  Yves is a crook. He is capable of anything. He is not necessarily violent, but he is good at creating a bad atmosphere and stoking up dissension among the men. He has a bright, angelic face and large, chocolate-brown eyes edged with long eyelashes. Y
ou might think that a man so beautiful would be incapable of evil, but I say that Yves is rotten through and through.

  FIST

  If I could draw, I would begin a depiction of Fist from his chest. I would draw it large and convex like a barrel. His shoulders are broad, his arms muscular and his hands big and red. His thick neck leads to a small, bald head with two bright blue, cruelly gleaming eyes. If you see Fist – real name Gabriel – turn his gaze on you, leave, for it’s a bad sign. He wants either to complain about something or to slap you in the face. Longer contact would cost you your life, for Fist has as much strength as a small village. He is rumoured to have killed his faithless old lady and her lover, the former with one of his fists and the latter with the other. I do not want to know any more about him.

  PAUL

  Paul is slight but has a big mouth. He is a harmless and, in his own way, amusing rogue who always agrees with the previous speaker. He should not be among these criminals, for he is quick to learn. He is said to be the orphan son of a poor man, and he made a living by singing in the street and performing short one-man plays before Moltique recruited him for our expedition.

  SIMON

  A sex-mad young man who would be better off somewhere else. All Simon talks about is It and doing It. Ah, I know no one more boring than him.