I finish the morning’s jottings with this gloomily self-ironic thought and start dismantling my camp. I look forward to the day’s developments with excitement. I believe I am half a day away from the cave mouth discovered by our men. They had not seen any movement there, and it was my task to discover whether this entrance had any connection with the cave and its inhabitants.
SEPTEMBER 14TH IN THE YEAR 1820
I am exhausted and irritable. I think I found the other cave mouth today, right at the end of the day, but the site yielded nothing out of the ordinary. I do not want to return to the camp empty-handed, but I am worried about Moltique getting back before me. I need to find more information about the cave and I am hoping I shall be wiser after tomorrow.
An addendum: Night. I am trying to write, by firelight perforce – the circumstances do not make it easy. I can’t sleep any more, because I woke up and could swear that a human, a child, was standing close to the fire staring at me. At the moment I cannot do anything, only wait to see if I shall find out who is interested in me – and why.
SEPTEMBER 16TH IN THE YEAR 1820
The small hill beyond which we have located the cave and its occupants is rocky and steep. Where the entrance to the cave on the other side is both wide and low, on this side of the incline it is very narrow, almost only a crack in the rock, and well hidden behind a spruce, just as our assistants said. I would not have spotted the crack were it not for the modest track of trampled-down moss that led to it, and the spruce in front with the broken-off branches.
I sat behind a rock nearby, hoping to see something or someone coming or going through the crack. I stuck to my observation point all day without seeing a great deal apart from a squirrel, which took an interest in me and approached me more and more fearlessly the longer I stayed put. In my boredom, I fed it far too many nuts from my diminishing provisions.
Now I am sitting by the fire in my modest camp, wondering what to do next. My excursion feels futile and I can only hope that I shall succeed in surprising my secret observer this coming night. I also wonder whether Moltique will dismiss me when he finds out I have left both the cave and its inhabitants unobserved and our assistants unsupervised. I miss my parents and the carefree years of my childhood as I have not done for a long time.
SEPTEMBER 17TH IN THE YEAR 1820
Today, I decided to pass through the crack. I had to bend down and turn sideways to get in, and ended up in a cavity that was too low for me to stand upright in. I twisted and turned awkwardly in my cramped space and felt the rock face with my hands. Nothing. I had to fall onto my knees before I found a passage close to the ground. To get into it, I would have had to drop down onto my stomach. I was too frightened to squeeze into the dark, narrow, unfamiliar passage, and I wondered who else would use such a difficult route. If the trampled path and broken branches had not indicated otherwise, I would have been prepared to believe that the crack I had discovered was not, after all, the second mouth to the cave. I returned dejectedly to my observation point behind the rock, where the familiar squirrel found me and stayed, optimistically, to wait for its nut. I shooed it away crossly, fully aware that I was venting my anger about the unsuccessful expedition on a harmless, blameless creature.
I have come back to the fire to examine the map of the area that we drew. The crack appears to be located on the same side of the hill as the cave mouth we have been observing so far. It therefore seems likely that the crack and the cave are connected. Because the cave dwellers only appear at the other entrance, I believe that the crack serves mainly as a way in, rather than out. If my deduction is correct, I wonder why the path remains trampled.
SEPTEMBER 20TH IN THE YEAR 1820
I am greatly concerned that my excursion to the other mouth of the cave has gone on too long. I keep wondering whether Moltique has returned and what he thinks of my absence from the camp. I hope he will forgive me, nevertheless, if I can solve the mystery of the figure observing me. The nightly visitor has been cautious and stayed too far away for me to imagine I could catch him or her (it?). However, the creature is clearly curious, and I assume that one night he or she will become reckless.
SEPTEMBER 21ST IN THE YEAR 1820
Petite is human! She speaks my native Russian, albeit a little awkwardly, because her tongue resembles a parrot’s in its thickness. I finally caught her last night. I put the fire out, so it was darker, and pretended I was asleep. When she crept close enough, I got up and jumped at her. She was quick, but not quick enough. She was small and light; I was afraid I had hurt her, pinning her down like that. At first, she let out a screech that did not resemble any human sound. When I demanded to know what she wanted from me – initially and automatically in French, then only afterwards in Russian – she started begging for mercy in my beloved mother tongue. I let go, surprised, and looked into her small face. I asked, ‘What did you say?’ She replied, ‘Have mercy, don’t hurt me. I am responsible for the children.’
Unfortunately, several pages of the diary appear to have gone missing. However, on the basis of surviving extracts, the following pages and letters sent by Professor Moltique from St Petersburg to the Académie des Sciences – which have been preserved in the academy’s archives to this day – it is possible to infer that at the same time as Agolasky was making the discovery confirming his theory that the cave dwellers were human, Moltique had occasion to present his own ape-centred observations to French scientific circles. These thoughts – put forward over thirty years before Darwin’s theory of evolution was developed – must have provoked enough condemnation for the recipient to feel obliged to hide them away, or else the academy did not want Moltique’s observations to prompt discussion about the validity of the contemporary French natural scientist Jean-Baptiste Lamarck’s early, controversial theories of evolution. Moltique did not learn of the fate of his letters, though as an experienced scientist he was no doubt aware of the competition, envy and – ironically enough – narrow-mindedness that are prevalent in scholarly circles. Presumably, Moltique still imagined that he would get reinforcements sent to the camp when he wrote to Paris, not guessing his discovery would remain a secret. The notes do not reveal Moltique’s thoughts upon hearing of Agolasky’s success in communicating with the children. Did he fear, like Agolasky, that members of the Church and sensation-seekers would invade the camp? And if he did, was he more worried about the children’s fate or that of his theory of an intermediate species between man and beast? Did he fear for his position as a famous researcher?
Agolasky’s time in the camp became torturous following Moltique’s revelation; and he could not know, in 1820, that Moltique’s letters would not reach the hands of the young reporter Oliver Alleg until late 1822 or early 1823 – with fateful consequences. As far as Jean-Baptiste Lamarck’s theories of evolution were concerned, Alleg was an enthusiast.
APRIL 5TH IN THE YEAR 1821
Months have gone by since the horrific day when Moltique revealed that he had sent the letter to Paris. Ever since, I have been dreading the arrival of reporters and Church officials at the cave, although each new day fuels my hope that Moltique’s letter failed to reach its destination.
The winter was tough both mentally and physically, because – as I have indicated – the severe frosts forced us to fight for our lives and scale back our research activities. I leafed through my diary today, noting the long, detailed description of Rufin’s amputation of the frozen toes of two of our men. In winter, I pondered over what we would do with the crippled assistants, but I have come to see that anxiety over their own uselessness has made the men try their best. They clamber out of bed even before it is advisable. This morning I saw them carrying out their allocated tasks diligently – which increases my respect for these foul-mouthed scoundrels with whom I would not normally associate.
Today is a warm, sunny day in early spring and the thawed patches of ground at the outskirts of the forest have grown in size. Earlier, I sat on a sun-warmed stone holding a mug
of hot tea, enjoying the iron smell of melting snow. I feel better in many ways. Not only have no outsiders appeared in our camp, but Moltique is talking to me again, which is a relief. He is also working with fresh enthusiasm, now I’ve got him interested in the cave dwellers and listening to my theories, which are supported by Anna’s* tales:† the children were born to normal people all over Russia and their bodies displayed different variants at birth. Our observation that some children’s animal features are more visible is accurate. Anna has discerned that the extent and the level of the animal features of the children’s bodies (and minds?) affect the length of their lives. The more animal they are, the more quickly they reach the end of their lifespans and die. Anna does not know the reason for this, and why should she? She is merely a victim of this phenomenon, and as the oldest child, in fact as a young adult – she calculates her age at nineteen years, not much younger than I – has taken responsibility for the other children of the cave.
* Anna is the cave dweller Agolasky earlier dubbed ‘Petite’.
† Since Agolasky’s own diary has largely been destroyed, it is fortunate that his suspicions induced him to keep several notebooks and hide them in different places about the camp. So a separate set of records, The Children of the Cave: Life Stories, was preserved in its entirety and discovered in the archives of the Académie des Sciences while background research was being carried out during the editing of the diaries. No one had previously linked it to Moltique’s letters regarding his ape theory and the diary was filed in the archive under the key word ‘fairy tales’. It was thought that the stories were products of Agolasky’s imagination and that he wrote them to while away the time, bored by the monotony of camp life – this despite Agolasky describing the children’s measurements in relation to his own size; simple drawings show how tall each child is compared with Agolasky.
Anna recollects having lived in the cave for five years, and she has seen children come there to live and die. There is a rumour among parents of variant children that there is such a cave where the children can be left. With one exception, the parents do not return to ask what has befallen their offspring. It is better this way, because among the populace the children’s fates are heart-rendingly miserable. That goes even for those who have only been burdened by the faintest hints of animality: feathers on their sides, fur on their backs or, as in Anna’s case, an animal tongue. A child born deformed arouses fear and shame and is hidden from people’s eyes or, even worse, killed there and then. A comforting legend is in circulation among the children: a hero roams the world overcoming perilous situations with the help of his poisonous fangs and ability to fly. A snake’s and a bird’s – or bat’s – features, in one child? The story probably has no basis in reality, because, going by Anna’s and my own observations, the children possess only one animal feature each. And so my nightmare about a hybrid incorporating characteristics from several different animals remains just that, a nightmare. For the children, however, this versatile hero grants hope that they, too, could perform miraculous feats. The wretched truth is that they are condemned to live in shadows, hidden from people’s eyes.
I have been thinking repeatedly about ways of getting help for these children; I am becoming more attached to them than is advisable. I try to hide my feelings from the professor, who approaches the children with scientific coolness, not mourning the dissected research specimens, as he insists on calling the deformed children. I believe he would be happy to do the same thing again. Though our approaches are totally different, I do respect his tireless quest for a theory that would explain the animal mutations.
I do not like the way Moltique has started to talk about the children as werewolves, though; he says the werewolf theory is as serious a contender as that of the evolution of humans from animals – for example, apes. Lupi manari, he said, and told me about both people who become wolves and wolves who resemble people. I protested: the children don’t all look like wolves, nor do they behave like predators. He nodded knowingly and commented with a greatly satisfied air, ‘Perhaps these children prove that werewolves are as real as the yeti. The word “wolf” gives the wrong impression, though. We are talking about human animals. I do recall hearing at some point about a man who changed into a hare.’
He informed me that there were two views of werewolves: according to one, some humans assume the form of a wolf in order to do harm to other humans; according to the other, such folk have been cursed and they change into wolves as a consequence. I knew that already, but my father had always assured me that werewolf stories were superstitious nonsense. But Moltique shut me down, again pointing out that he of all people knew from experience that that which is incredible can prove to be true. He did concede that he did not think the children wanted to harm anyone, whereas all the stories he had heard about werewolves involved terrible killings, murders and torture committed with relish. The most likely theory was that some unknown curse had caused the animal mutations in the children.
As a learned man, Moltique should be able to identify the magician, and the reason behind the magic, before declaring magic the cause of the mutations. The possibility of a mutation is also excluded by several factors, at least in the case of the individuals we have studied: as far as we know, none of the children with animalistic properties changes completely into an animal, as in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. I am annoyed that I cannot remember the details of the story, which my father read to me, among many others. I have realized that scientific work does not involve one orthodox line, nor are there just a few skills associated with particular branches – rather, everything is connected to everything else. I miss my father’s wide-ranging knowledge of literature as badly as I do Jean-Victor’s pictorial talents.
I understand Moltique’s disappointment at being compelled to abandon his theories concerning the evolution of man. However, I respect him more as a man and an explorer because he is able to be humble in the face of the things he has seen and heard. As an ally, he is steadfast; as an enemy, frightening, even dangerous, as I have seen. I have used all my powers of persuasion to get to the point we are at now: Moltique talks to me these days, though he makes sure I know my place, by making me run more and more little errands for him. I tolerate all this because we still have much to do. I am also trying to forget the beating I got back in winter, though I still cannot face the men Moltique put up to the job. The scars on my back and my legs will remind me for the rest of my life of how an uneducated herd of men can crush a person who thinks too highly of himself. I am not surprised to discover that side to the prestigious professor of the Académie des Sciences, because I could sense it at our first meeting – that is why I was chosen for this role, I think. My ambition and lust for adventure make me more fearless than I imagined I was. Or perhaps I am merely more dim-witted than the average fellow.
CHILDREN OF THE CAVE
ANNA
Sex: female
Age: around 19
Animal trait: a parrot’s tongue
Narrator: Anna
Recorder of the story: Iax Agolasky (me)
From her childhood, Anna remembers a small house at the edge of a forest. The house had two bedrooms, a low-ceilinged but comfortable living room, a dining room and a small, cosy kitchen. It was just the two of them: herself and a woman she called Auntie. The woman smelt nice and always spoke in a gentle, croaking voice. Only later did Anna learn that Auntie was unable to raise her voice, to shout or give orders or hiss like an angry cat; she could only babble and burble softly, like a brook, or pigeons in a dovecote. In her company, Anna got used to a world without angry human voices and ugly words, and in that world she herself was a perfectly faultless little girl. Until the day she met a perfectly faultless little girl.
Anna had never strayed far from the house, because Auntie had set clear limits: she knew up to which point she could go on the narrow, sandy track, which ended with a carefully tended shrub and a gate. This was always shut, but one day a girl came along the sandy
track right up to their veranda. She had dark hair, brown eyes and a white dress, and she looked quite as if she had invented summer. That’s what Anna remembers thinking.
‘Hello,’ said the girl, and then she gave her name. Anna has forgotten it now; she only remembers the soft, white skin, the smile and the way the girl spoke. As if she were playing a pipe. The sound fell off her lips easily; it was full, clear and metallic – quite different from Anna’s and Auntie’s voices.
Then the girl asked about Anna’s name and age. Anna was pleased, and she opened her mouth to divulge everything about herself, but before she had got to the end of her reply, she noticed the girl’s expression: a mixture of disbelief and worry, with amusement bubbling gently underneath.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said the girl.
Children of the Cave Page 4