JUNE – IN THE YEAR 1821
Moltique has made me work for days on end. I had to record all the stories he knows that involve a metamorphosis or some kind of combination of animal and man. I have listened to him, reminisced myself, combined, deduced, written and written again. Moltique said, among other things, that the notes of Herodotus, the chronicler of ancient Greece, contain entries about werewolves. ‘According to Herodotus, the Neuri become wolves once a year,’ Moltique ranted. He went on, with the same pathos, ‘What about centaurs? Nothing but fairy-tale creatures? Not so: centaurs have been considered crosses between man and horse. But are they? Or have simple-minded nations merely depicted their conquerors on horseback thus? In that case, Iax, even in that case, they are real. Do you not concur?’ But before I had time even to draw breath, never mind reply, he took a sip from his glass and whispered, ‘And mermaids, Nereids, those seductive sirens of the deep. I have encountered them in my life, too. I truly believe so, though they say that I had been under the surface for several minutes before I was hauled aboard to safety. Why wouldn’t I believe in Nereids, for their genealogy is noble, and historical notes document it? Their father is the eldest son of sea and land, Nereus, and their mother, Doris, a guardian spirit. Their history goes further back than that of Moltique… or the Agolaskys… You look surprised. Did your father not teach you anything?’
I wish we had access to my father’s library, but when I made the mistake of mentioning this sentiment to Moltique, he asked mockingly if his learning wasn’t enough. He also found time to describe his library to me: the length and height of the walls, the number of shelves dedicated to each genre, how much money he puts aside annually to replenish his collection, and so on. I realized I should not have mentioned the great French scientist and an impoverished Russian scholar in the same sentence. I was struck by longing, thinking of my father’s gentle eyes and large nose, of the spectacles he would always push up on top of his head before looking for them all over the house, and his hands – the middle finger of the right hand was decorated by a permanent ink stain. Was my father ever anything but endlessly patient and supportive in my regard? And still, how I had wanted to get away from home! I cannot remember why. I wondered how they – my parents – were. Do they miss me, do they fear for me, do they reminisce about me as I do about them?
Today, while Moltique took a nap, I left hurriedly for the forest so that he would not immediately find me upon waking. I cheered up when I saw Anna, gathering dry branches. I called her name and she turned, smiling, but on seeing me, her smile vanished and her eyes became watchful. I could no longer bear it and asked her if she considered me guilty of the men’s deed. She said she blamed herself. She should never have let anyone into the cave. I asked her why she had. She said that perhaps she had wanted people to hear the children’s stories, though she knew in her heart that no one could help them. I observed her melancholy profile and wished, more than anything in the world, that I could do something for her. The sun was behind her so that the loose strands of her hair shone like a halo round her head. She was not the monster or the freak of the stories, unable to speak properly, but a lovely, wise, good girl who should have been allowed to live among others, carefree. Thinking this, I came to wonder what my parents would think of her. And then, as if someone had poured cold water over me, I recalled something strange: I was small, perhaps two, and I had slipped between my parents in their big, soft, four-poster bed. I had had a nightmare and sought safety from Mother by stroking her hairy arm. Hairy? No, that was the wrong word: the arm was covered by slippery, smooth fur. I froze at the memory; even Anna noticed it. She asked if everything was all right and I replied that I wasn’t sure. Had my mother also lived in shadows? What did my father think of her? Did I carry the same trait – and would my children inherit it?
I left the forest with conflicting emotions. I managed to avoid Moltique and went to bed. But I did not sleep all night.
The poem below is undated, but in view of the previous note, we might conclude that it came into being after the June day described above. There are no other entries from June.
In the forest, a bird: head, eyes, feet, like me.
We’re alike, my brother. Don’t you see?
Spread your wings, come over here,
you’ve flown from afar, to be near.
But will you stay or will you go?
Myself, I have no choice – ah, no.
UNDATED
I have been rather down, so much so that Moltique ordered me to rest. Has the man a heart and emotions after all? It is hard to credit. Perhaps he just wants to retain his faithful scribe. Upon crawling out from my tent, I smelt as bad as an unwashed man possibly can. I had urinated on my trouser legs and felt ashamed. It was unbearably hot and sultry; the July heat was at its peak, which made the situation worse. I went to the brook to wash. In other circumstances, I might have enjoyed the crackling heat in the surrounding forest, the coolness of the brook, the warm undergrowth exuding its heady smell. Now I felt wretched: miserable and powerless. I could see no way of escaping my unbearable situation and no opportunity to help the children of the cave. I dread to think what Moltique’s plans for them might be. He has not received a reply to his letter. I gather he asked the academy to address its response to his trusted man in St Petersburg, who is to ensure that troops get to the cave. Of course, now there is nothing to show here and Moltique and his ape theory will become a laughing stock. Unless he were then to reveal to the press and the academy and the whole learned world that he has found a pack of werewolves! Despite Moltique’s assurances, I cannot believe that any educated person will swallow claims about werewolves or centaurs just like that, in this day and age. Some of us are developing self-propelling wagons and talking of lights that do not require fire (so I heard during our journey). This does not mean the children will fare any better – the opposite, I fear: if the gutter press, along with tricksters and other adventurers seeking shock and sensation, take an interest in the cave, instead of scholars, the children’s fate is sealed.
I sat there, deep in thought, and so failed to notice that Anna had also come to the brook to have a wash. I only came to when she slid onto a large fern. I know I should not look but could not take my eyes off her slender, lithe figure. She was golden and fair, silky and smooth, and the clear water of the brook did nothing to conceal her charms. I was about to warn her when I heard mocking laughter. One of Moltique’s men was standing by the water making obscene gestures. Anna leapt out with the agility of a wild animal, snatched up the leathers she wore and disappeared into the sheltering forest –
JULY 15TH IN THE YEAR 1821
We spent the day under Moltique’s shelter, where he has had a table built, along with a couple of large chairs and a hearth. The fire was not needed today, because it was so warm that we all stayed in the shade, trying to expend as little effort as possible on our activities. Moltique did not spare me, instead getting me to write down all the scientists he knew who had dealt with the mutations of organisms in nature.
‘Comte de Buffon and Monsieur Cuvier,’ he began. ‘One is dead and the other is an old fool these days.’ He racked his brain before telling me to note down the following publications: Histoire naturelle and Leçons d’anatomie comparée.
Then he launched into an extraordinary monologue that was packed with arguments and counterarguments. I tried to make out what I was expected to note down and what I could leave out. He added Lamarck’s Philosophie zoologique to his bibliography, mumbled to himself for a moment, then turned to look at me, raising a finger. ‘But,’ he said emphatically, ‘unlike that idiot Lamarck, who believes that acquired traits are inherited, I hold that things happen more randomly in nature and the world. Witchcraft, magic, miracles and chaos – unprejudiced examination of these phenomena gives rise to real science.’
I was aware that though many considered Moltique a trite windbag, there were others who deemed him a pioneering, unbiased researcher. Ordinar
ily, I would be able to aid him dispassionately despite my own possible doubts. But I have a personal problem: the children of the cave are important to me in a different way – as human beings, not research subjects.
Truly, the turmoil in my mind is making my body sick.
JULY 22ND IN THE YEAR 1821
I was napping when I heard shouting coming from the camp. Once out, I saw Yves lying on the ground, bleeding. He was roaring so loudly that I suspected he was not in real trouble. Others, however, were taken in by Yves’s performance; the group of men appeared agitated. By the time I got to the scene, they were already thundering towards the forest, but Moltique’s shout halted them. I eventually gathered that the men were demanding revenge on the children of the cave, one of whom, a sharp-toothed boy, had attacked Yves, biting him in both calves and one buttock and scratching him on the back. The injuries looked bad, but I felt no sympathy for Yves, suspecting he had somehow provoked the assault himself. Yves has the face of an angel and the nature of the Devil. I do not trust him and fear that he will succeed in inciting the men to harm the children. The rest of the day in camp was spent in an uneasy atmosphere. I fear the worst. I dare not go to sleep, though the drunken men have finally gone quiet, from the sound of it. I keep expecting one or more of their number to get up and leave with evil intent. I am ashamed of my tears. They prove the sad fact of my powerlessness, and its cause: I am a mere boy, far from home. I hate and despise myself.
JULY 23RD IN THE YEAR 1821
I would like to warn Anna, but I cannot find her anywhere –
Entries for the end of July are missing from the diary. The next entry is from August. Yves’s rabies erupted some twenty days after contagion, typically for the disease.
AUGUST – IN THE YEAR 1821
Yves is in a bad way and we have hidden him from the other men. He is agitated and given to convulsions. He suffers from headache and fever, and throws up everything he eats. Rufin shakes his head, red in the face and sweating, because, despite everything, he is a real doctor at heart and feels powerless confronted by an illness that will inevitably lead to death. He has managed to convince Moltique that it is an infection caused by the bite of a sick animal, not a curse or magic. I have in the past admired the professor’s open-mindedness in the face of the unknown, but now it seems more like an obsession.
Last night, I dreamed that my father and Moltique were discussing the ancient gods. Moltique claimed he had been married to Pallas Athene herself, and when my father did not believe him, he bit my father and changed him into a pig. Even as a pig, my father remained serenely gentle. He asked Moltique to leave his study so he could read in peace. If I miss anything in this godforsaken forest, here among lunatics and criminals, it is faith in the permanence of things.
AUGUST – IN THE YEAR 1821
Yves left us early this morning. I did not like him as a man, but I would have wanted his death to be less painful. If I am honest with myself, I am above all relieved that he did not get to cause greater damage. He was a rabble-rousing troublemaker. I wonder what my father would say if he learned that I had wished for the death of a man – a human being – or that I truly believe that some people are born evil. If I ever get to Paris again, or to my home in Russia, will my nearest and dearest see that I am a changed man? Hardened, maybe even evil…
AUGUST 29TH IN THE YEAR 1821
I cannot find Anna anywhere. She has gone, the children likewise. I do not understand.
Going by extracts dating from September and October, Moltique found out that Agolasky had lost the children and kept the matter secret. He punished his assistant by cutting off one of the latter’s fingers. The physical injury and a resultant infection undermined Agolasky’s mental health. His writings are confused and highly personal, in part; we publish only a sample here in order to grant the reader an insight into Agolasky’s condition and the situation in the camp.
UNDATED
A grown man. No, no. I empty my bladder, my guts onto the sheets, which have not been washed for months. My Lord, is it you? Is this why we left France, to discover the ape in ourselves? You are great and wise.
UNDATED
I have not had a woman. She who I fell in love with is half-parrot, half-human. A mongrel. And now it left me, too. I do not say ‘she’.
UNDATED
I hear them talking outside my tent at night. They whisper to each other and search, just as I do. But the children have left and will not return. The spider with supernatural abilities has taken them to safety. I shall never see Anna again.
UNDATED
They are frustrated, these friends of mine, immoral men whose company I joined. I smell fear in their sweat when they glance into the dark.
OCTOBER IN THE YEAR 1821
It must be October. It was early September when Moltique discovered that I do not know where the children are. As I have said, he does not like rebelliousness. This time, the revenge was more horrible than last time. Only now am I able to stand upright and write. Thanks to Rufin, I did not die, though my maimed hand putrefied in the hot September weather. In some sick way, I also thank my generous Lord, who holds my fate in His hand, that He spared my right hand. If anything, it is better to have lost the little finger of my left hand. I heard it was dangling on a string in the middle of the camp, but flies will have fed on it by now. That’s fine, laugh away, with fear in your hearts, because we are on a journey with no hope of return.
My faith is very thin.
NOVEMBER 1ST IN THE YEAR 1821
Moltique has ordered the men to comb the vicinity. The searches have yielded no results over a period of two months. I have thought about the matter from many different angles. Owing to the influence of my father’s learning and my mother’s clear-sightedness, I do not believe in magic powers or miracles, and so I concluded that Anna and the children could not be far away. Therefore, I returned to the cave and, after a moment’s observation, decided to step inside. The cave appeared empty and silent, but still I sat down on a rock. Once my eyes had adjusted to the November twilight, I spotted a narrow crack in the rear wall, a little like the entrance on the other side of the hill. The crack was low and narrow, but then, the occupants of the cave were small. I tried to see if I could squeeze in, but I could not get into the hole beyond, even sideways. I pushed my hand as far as I could and felt the cavity extend. Could there be another, similarly habitable cave at the other end, with drinking water?
I spent a long time in the cave, waiting and pondering, but saw nobody.
NOVEMBER 10TH IN THE YEAR 1821
Moltique is disappointed. I see him walking in a circle in the camp, not knowing what to do now the children have vanished. I wonder what he was expecting. Reinforcements from the academy, of course, but what then? The imprisonment and transportation of the children to Paris? More thorough research? Opening up skulls, drilling, measurements, samples from inside and outside? I could imagine what a shocking sight we would have been, marching into the city with the group of children, some neighing, roaring, chirping, others discoursing intelligently but, in their fur and feathers, simultaneously both beautiful and frightening. I can only imagine the hunger of the press, the zeal of Church officials and the envy of scientists over Moltique’s luck. What about fraudsters, itinerants and circus owners like Popov? Oddities attracted people and people brought money. Anna, my beautiful Anna: I saw her in golden chains in a golden cage reciting poetry in her beautiful mother tongue. If only they could hide long enough. If only Moltique were to grow weary and decide to take us elsewhere, in pursuit of other marvels. Though to be honest, I am tired of marvels. Why did I want go on adventures or see the world? Now I long for nothing more ardently than dull, uneventful days with familiar people.
Anna, I know only you.
NOVEMBER 15TH IN THE YEAR 1821
Oh! I am disappointed, frightened, glad, confused, horrified.
The following diary entry confirms that the children have returned.
NOVEMBER
17TH IN THE YEAR 1821
Anna wants me to help a boy called Kasin. Kasin is just his surname. The boy never acquired a first name, apparently. He had been left at the cave mouth with a notice round his neck, which read:
My daughter fell in love with the wrong man and got punished: this creature, whom we have not named, is living proof. I cannot do away with a live thing that looks at me with the soulful eyes of my daughter. I can only leave it here, pray for its soul if it’s got one and forget everything, as I’ve told my daughter to do.
Anna said the letter was signed just ‘Kasin’; she believed the writer to be the boy’s grandfather. Anna’s eyes reflected the question that I myself sought to answer: why all this suffering?
According to Anna, it was Kasin who had bitten Yves and now the boy too was afflicted by symptoms of the disease.* I did not ask why Kasin was so important to Anna. My previous experience has been that Anna has accepted her losses resignedly. But now she has come back on account of Kasin, as if remembering how one ought to behave in the world of humans. Has my intrusion into Anna’s and the children’s lives muddled nature’s own order, in which the living are more important than the dead? What else can explain the fact that the girl has voluntarily marched her troops back to the proximity of danger? To the proximity of danger, close to me? Has Anna come back because of me?
Children of the Cave Page 7