Children of the Cave

by Virve Sammalkorpi

  BALLS

  Jean Roux – or Balls – is hung with impressive male equipment which no one with eyes in their head can fail to notice. Even in this company, his need to lift and adjust his testicles is conspicuous. Whatever his secret is, it’s certainly not his gigantic member. I should not laugh at him, for the poor man seems embarrassed by all the attention…

  COOK

  At least this messy and indifferent lazybones has not yet managed to kill us! Sometimes the food is good, even excellent, but you do not want to see how carelessly it is prepared. I have heard that Cook joined us because he was being hounded by creditors. He is said to have lived in some style on his ill-gotten gains until he had to flee. Some say that once our expedition is over he will return to Paris to find his cache, which will enable him to continue his comfortable life. I personally think that he is merely trying to make the others envious.

  The contents would indicate the following undated entries were made in August.

  UNDATED

  It has rained for several days. Our camp has become a sea of mud, the rocks by our toilet are perilously slippery and the moss in the surrounding forest has become a bog. The walls of our tents hang sodden and are beginning to leak; we cannot use our log cabin because the new dormitory wings are not complete. It has been warm and dry from May to August and we have not been in any hurry with the cabin. The unexpected discovery of the cave dwellers delayed the completion of the camp, but we have to finish the cabin as soon as the rains cease. In this region, winter is snowy and cold.

  Despite my permanently damp hands and swollen fingers, I try to keep up with the diary, to pass the time. I do not want to join our assistants, to listen to them spouting obscenities about both women and men, all the while picking their noses and nails and digging into their crotches. I wish I could draw, so as to immortalize this unkempt, slack group of men. No words can describe them. I have tried to keep the fellows busy by inventing tasks for them, but they come across as lazy and ineffectual. Fortunately, a few of them carry on with their daily jobs in the usual way, despite the rain. I saw one of them carrying a willow grouse from the forest, so at least we shall get fresh meat for dinner. There has been no sign of Moltique and his party, and I cannot help wondering how long their journey will take. Because of the rain, I have not seen the cave dwellers, either, and I have a nagging fear they have gone. I cannot imagine Moltique’s disappointment if this turns out to be the case. I am pretty sure he will hold me responsible.

  Moltique’s absence has given me the opportunity to sort out my thoughts. I realize my emotions have got the better of me and that I have failed to examine matters scientifically. So I decided that, as soon as the weather clears, I will try to obtain more information about the occupants of the cave in order to understand to what extent they are animals and to what extent humans. Then I shall find it easier to respond to Moltique’s theory and criticize it constructively, if need be. So far, we have observed the creatures from a distance, and I wonder how we can get closer. They are timid and seem capable of avoiding us, though we have tried to stay hidden and to approach them from downwind. I wonder, could I inure them to my presence by positioning myself in the same spot every day in full view of them? I assume that, if I do not act threateningly but merely sit still, they will at some stage become curious and try to approach me. Perhaps I should take something edible to offer them.

  I am excited by my plan and wait impatiently for the weather to clear up. I sincerely hope the occupants of the cave have not left their dwelling place and are still there.

  UNDATED

  I was woken from my nap by a disturbance at the camp. Rushing towards the fire, I saw some of the men trying to catch one of our dogs, which was dragging something light and furry. When the men finally managed to prise the corpse off the dog, it was badly soiled. I joined the group, at first thinking that the dog had caught a large hare in the forest, but something about the mouth of the muddy creature made my blood freeze. I asked the men to bring the corpse out of the rain. With Pierre Rufin, our quack, I carried it into the tent Moltique uses as his study and placed it on the folding table. I forbade the others from coming in, to allow myself time to think about what Moltique would like me to do with the corpse. I went to get my writing equipment and noted down everything I had seen as precisely as I could, also drawing a picture of the specimen to the best of my ability. Yet again, I cursed the inadequate means of depiction available to me, for I still cannot say what the creature on the examination table was. I would definitely not classify it as a monkey. It was sixty-five centimetres long, around five kilos in weight and completely covered in blond or light grey fur – I could not be sure of the colour because the corpse was filthy, having been dragged on the ground by the dog. It had four paws, one torn off by the predator, long ears and a stubby tail. But the facial features of the creature… At this point, I have to take a deep breath, realizing I still feel sick. In the skull, where you would expect to see a normal hare’s nose, eyes and large front teeth, I saw a human child’s blue eyes, snub nose and small toothless mouth. I made sure of the latter aspect with Rufin’s help; he pushed his fingers into the corpse’s mouth and opened it. We both thought the gums, the palate and the tongue were by and large those of a human being. I had to leave the tent and go outside to vomit. When I returned, I found Rufin cursing coarsely, perspiration trickling down his bloated, reddening face. I did not like what I was hearing. It sounded as if he was planning to summon a group of men to the cave there and then in order to slaughter all the occupants. I gave him a stiff drink from Moltique’s reserves and invoked the professor’s authority. In this way, I got Rufin to cut up the corpse and preserve the parts in jars for Moltique’s research. I myself went to find out who had killed the creature, but I did not get anyone to confess. I was led to believe that the dog found the dead body in the forest. I hope that really is the case, though I still wonder about the actual cause of death.

  In the evening, I went to great pains to assure the men that the corpse belonged to a normal, albeit malformed hare. I saw from Rufin’s reticent expression that he would have liked to say a word or two but was held back by the respect he felt for Moltique. I thought I had gained a little bit of time. I still pray silently for Moltique’s imminent return.

  I find I am afraid, but cannot say of what, precisely. The discovery of the baby-faced hare has shaken my conviction that the occupants of the cave possess a human quality over and above individual physical traits. Both of the carcasses that have been chopped up at the camp resemble animals more than human beings – that, at least, I can swear to. It gives me some peace of mind.

  AUGUST 27TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  I have been observing the cave for a number of days now. The first morning, I went closer to it than ever before and sat down on the ground to wait. I had with me a blanket, a piece of dry bread and some water, though I wondered if I would dare make any movement, even to have a drink. It would be better not to have to stand up to empty my bladder; I did not want to alert the cave dwellers to my presence through any sort of activity.

  For several days, I saw no signs of life in the cave and I began to suspect that the occupants had left. Then, one day, I saw some movement inside the cave mouth, in the dark. I was quite certain of that, though for the rest of the day I saw no one and nothing. I returned to my spot the following day and the day after that. Finally, today, the first nosy creature slipped cautiously outside. I observed excitedly the small furry creature whose body shape closely resembled, to my mind, a human being – but it was moving on all fours and sniffing the air, face upturned. It did not come any closer and, after a short while, the boy/male (I prefer the word ‘boy’) whose back was covered in thick fur came to take it (him/her?) inside again. The gesture showed caring. It made me think of my eldest cousin, Natalia. When we were children, she was the only one of the brood of cousins to wait for me as I, the youngest, tearfully trotted after the others in the forests surrounding our summer vil
la, all scratched knees and hands. Natalia would help me over tree trunks and brooks, through thickets and thorny shrubs. She also looked after me later, when I was bigger, wilder and more capable. I realized that I had never appreciated her care. If I could, I would go and visit her immediately upon returning home, taking her some chocolate – she’d have loved that. But Natalia died years ago, of pneumonia, and I can only reminisce about her long-suffering gentleness towards me.

  I recalled the way the tall boy had lifted up the small creature and carried it back to safety. Caring for smaller, weaker beings is a human quality, as I wrote in my notes. True enough, many animals protect their young, but are there examples of the young looking after each other? Once again, I realize how limited my knowledge is. It also occurs to me that we have not seen any adult examples of the species. There are many things I’ve not given a single thought to because I’ve been assuming that Moltique takes every possible angle into consideration. But he does not deem it necessary to tell me everything, which is naturally a little awkward, because it is my task to keep a record of events. I assume that he will dictate his report to me when he is certain of his theory. Until now, he has wanted to write the notes relating to the intermediate stages of his research himself. I think that he somehow fears me interfering with his work and perhaps affecting its progress. I cannot say I blame him. My attempt at making the cave dwellers accustomed to my presence deviates completely from Moltique’s instructions. I hope my disobedience will be forgiven when I present him with a great deal of new information on his return.

  I have dispatched a couple of our assistants to look for the second mouth of the cave. One-day excursions have so far yielded no results; I think they will have to make a longer trip and stay overnight. I wonder how I can ensure that they obey my order not to enter the cave if another entrance is found. The geographical distance from the camp may render them reckless and cause them to forget their instructions. After all, that’s what has happened to me following Moltique’s departure.

  The diary note below is largely illegible because the page got wet and the ink spread.

  SEPTEMBER 1ST IN THE YEAR 1820

  – the food I left has been taken away, but that does not prove much. After all, hares and elks eat branches put out for them without fear of hunters.

  I worry that Petite has left the cave. Or should I say the rest of the herd? Is there a connection between the creatures concealing themselves and Petite’s absence? It makes you think –

  – the men came back from their excursion – My theory about another entrance to the cave has been borne out.

  SEPTEMBER 6TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  An excellent September day. I had again taken bread and water with me, and also my mother’s hand mirror. Following the disappearance of the bread, grain and cured fish I had left by the cave, I wanted to test how the cave dwellers reacted to other goods. Annoying that there was nothing going spare in the camp. My mother’s hand mirror was a beloved memento that I cherished, but I knew she would understand the value of the sacrifice in the event of its disappearing into the cave.

  I came to the cave and took up my usual position directly before the entrance, a place where I was easy to spot. I sat there all day, not seeing or hearing anything apart from the natural environment. I practised drawing the flora close to my observation point, because the limitedness of my documentation methods grieves me more every day.

  Eventually, when the autumn afternoon began to fade, I got up onto my stiff legs, placed my mother’s mirror on a stone and left.

  Now I am sitting here in my tent. I forced myself to eat a portion of hare, though I had trouble swallowing the meat after that recent episode. The food is swirling in my stomach and I feel restless. I can hardly wait till tomorrow. The whole camp is gripped by a tense atmosphere. The men are waiting for Moltique’s return, because they want to know what to do in respect of the other cave mouth. I said the decision was Moltique’s: before we hear from him, we do nothing. I had other plans for myself, though. I’m just waiting for a suitable opportunity to go on an overnight excursion by myself.

  SEPTEMBER 7TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  I left for the cave very early in the morning, almost running the four kilometres’ distance. When I arrived at the cave, I saw a number of creatures hurry back in. To my joy, I also thought I saw Petite’s small, upright figure among them.

  The mirror was still on the stone where I had left it. For a moment, I felt bitterly disappointed, but then I saw that a beautiful leaf gilded by the autumn had been left on top. It could have floated there of its own accord, but a perfectly round, white stone placed upon it indicated otherwise. Was it a gift? A gift for me? From whom?

  I sank to my knees and – I must confess – burst into tears. Not knowing gave rise to despair. In my mind’s eye I saw both the two carcasses that we had cut up and Petite, busy with her tasks, and I did not know what to think of the occupants of the cave. Were they humans or animals? Or human animals? Animal humans? I pushed my fingers through my hair and damned both my own uncertainty and Moltique’s certainty in respect of his ape theory. I decided to set out to look for the other mouth of the cave the following morning, without any further delay, though I didn’t know how I would profit by it.

  I took the leaf and the stone and replaced them with a small, dirty silk scarf I carried in my jacket pocket, weighting it down with a piece of wood.

  SEPTEMBER 12TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  The middle of the night and I am sitting in a brushwood hut I rigged up against a rock, by a burning fire. I dare not sleep. I have been away for two whole days now, looking for the other mouth of the cave – no luck today, either. I don’t know if the men gave me poor guidance on purpose or out of sheer incompetence. I lied to them, saying I was going to finish the task Moltique gave me: spotting the grown-up members of the colony. This is partly true, because from the old observation point we have only managed to see the children of the cave (the young). Really I hope to gain new information about the occupants, perhaps even get closer to them. I am too agitated to carry on observing the cave in the old way. The mirror and silk scarf I left on the stone disappeared, but nothing was left in their place, to my great disappointment. It made me suspect that the leaf and the stone I found were there by chance, not a gift for me. I feel foolish and am again inclined towards Moltique’s view of the cave dwellers as more animal in nature than human.

  My departure was delayed by several days because, again, one of our assistants became ill. He eventually died, of rabies, Rufin is now certain. After some investigation, it emerged that the dog that had discovered the dead hare had previously bitten our man. When I asked about the dog, I was told it had died, too. Chagrined that I had not been kept informed of events, I gave the men a talking-to and, to my satisfaction, I detected a smidgen of respect in their postures and attitudes. I am Moltique’s right hand; that helps.

  I hope that in my absence the men don’t associate the carcass I said was a hare with the cave and its occupants and so blame them for the dog and then our man contracting rabies. I am sure Rufin thinks as I do: Papart almost certainly fell victim to rabies. If that is the case, he must have died fairly soon after Moltique left camp with his party. What, then, is delaying their return? Apart from us, no one misses Bruno Papart; Moltique might just as well bury him in the forest and return to his work. I am growing rather anxious and note that Rufin, too, is thoughtful. He is not a pleasant man, but neither is he stupid.

  Moltique and I have been roaming the sparsely populated regions of north-west Russia for a while already, living in the forest for the most part, but only now do I really understand that I am in the middle of an uninhabited wilderness. For a bookworm like me, this is a stunning experience, and I feel respect for the forest and its animals. I saw a bear beyond the clearing this morning. I had fallen asleep and my fire had gone out, which is why the beast had ventured so close. I watched it lifting its nose and sniffing the air just as the smallest inhabitants o
f the cave do, and again I thought Moltique was right, after all. Still, I ask myself, what small voice made me undertake this excursion to look for the other mouth of the cave, to wish for the impossible?

  Writing in these conditions is difficult, so I shall finish.

  SEPTEMBER 13TH IN THE YEAR 1820

  Very early morning and still dusky. I was woken by the chill from the rock and decided to write to pass the time. I do not want to get moving yet – I’ll wait for the wild animals to retire for their daytime rest. I slept for a few hours and dreamed again of my faithful dog, Noir. Longing fills my heart and I cannot help wondering that I do not miss any human being in the same way. I hope and trust that my parents are doing well without me. I have no close friends. In Paris, I was perhaps closest to Jean-Victor, who dreams of becoming a painter. That romantic fool never let me go to sleep at a decent hour, instead waxing lyrical on cheap wine. I have never heard anyone lavishing such praise on English landscapes. If I miss my dog, Jean-Victor seemed to miss those landscapes as another misses his beloved. No wonder – I have seen his landscape paintings and their beauty leaves you speechless. I wish, on this journey, that I had Jean-Victor’s pictorial talents. Or that I had Jean-Victor with me to immortalize everything I have seen. These forests, pines, spruces, bears, foxes, capercaillies, Siberian jays – I should like to remember them all. I keep on writing, but I fear that when I return to Paris the words will have faded and their power vanished. And what if the mystery of the cave dwellers is never solved? Shall I believe afterwards that I have seen those two bizarre hybrids of man and beast, those sad figures whose humanity I want to believe in, without evidence? Why, I ask myself now? Why could I not be passionately interested in our research subjects even if they were animals? I do like Noir and I miss him. No, the reason lies in the fact that I have mistaken the cave dwellers for humans too many times. Some things, observations I have made, something in me seems to argue – against probability – that I have been dealing with humans. Am I, then, a romantic daydreamer like Jean-Victor, that devoted admirer of rolling cornfields? I have cursed Moltique’s scientific hard-headedness, but in reality it is a blessing. What on earth would the two of us be doing in this wilderness if we were both emotional weaklings with a penchant for romanticism? Our assistants would have killed us both long ago.