In Search of Goliathus Hercules (11 page)

It was true. In his anger, Pedro had bounded about the circus stage just as he always did. “But the pain!” he howled. “I’ll be in agony for the rest of my life.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Maria. “I’ve seen better acting by the clowns in the big top show! Sophia is right. You’re exaggerating!”

It was impossible for Henri to know if Pedro was really in pain or faking it, and so he said, “Pedro and Pablo, I am going to make arrangements for both of you to be shipped home tomorrow.” And with that announcement, Henri realized that more than ever he must hold auditions.

“P
edro, Pablo? Where’s home for you?” asked Henri.

“Here,” they replied in unison. “Not that it’s a great place,” said Pedro dejectedly.

“I mean, before coming to the circus, where was home?”

“Oh, now that was a nice place,” said Pablo. “Wasn’t it, Pedro?”

“Sure was. I remember it well. Nice juicy flesh. Blood had an outdoorsy type of taste…like a breezy summer’s day by the seaside.”

“Yes,” continued Pablo, “but there was a hint of citrus too and such a sweet aftertaste.”

“I think that his name might have been John,” said Pedro.

“No, it was Jean!” said Pablo.

“I was thinking the country or the town you come from, not the person you resided on! Just forget it!” said an exasperated Henri. Based on their names, Henri had to assume that Pedro and Pablo were from Spain, or maybe Italy. He felt an obligation to them, for no matter how hopeless the two fleas had been, the fact remained that Pedro was now an amputee. Since they were unable to give Henri any better idea of where they came from, he decided to send them to Valencia, Spain. They had mentioned that their host had a taste of citrus, and Valencia oranges were famous. He put the matchbox inside a bigger box and addressed the label:

c/o General Post Office

Valencia, Spain

Henri posted the package and checked his mail but there was nothing. From time to time Great Aunt Georgie sent him letters. He had mailed her the circus’s schedule so that she could send mail to the post offices in the towns where they stopped. He had been very nervous opening her first letter, fearful that she would be angry or hurt at his departure from Woodland Farm; however, quite to the contrary, she had written that she understood his need to travel and to learn as well as his desire to help in some way to find his father. “Besides,” she wrote, “what child wouldn’t want to join the circus? If I were ninety years younger, I would do it myself!” She did caution him to be careful, though. Still, she never mentioned Henri’s ability to speak to insects. And she made no mention of Mrs. Black.

Henri decided to walk to the town library. The circus had only arrived that morning, so there would be no show until the following day. He wanted to do some reading, particularly on fleas and generally on insects. In the library, Henri gazed at the shelves of books, wondering where to begin. Eventually he selected a number of volumes and took them to a table, pulling out the paper and pencil he had brought along. He had considered bringing the five-year diary to make his notes in, but he felt miserable whenever he looked at it. It reminded him of home and his mother and father. Great Aunt Georgie forwarded him any mail that came from his mother.

Rarely did his mother send letters. He supposed that since she didn’t have any good news to report, a postcard was easier and less painful to fill. They were postmarked British Malaya. As was his habit, Henri pulled out the stack of worn postcards from a canvas bag. It had grown so big that it would no longer fit in his pocket. He undid the string and read through the two most recent cards containing messages that he could practically recite.

Darling Henri,

Arrived at Father’s rubber plantation today. His assistant, a local man, says that one day Father was there and the next day he was gone! No notice at all. Most unlike the man we know and love. Nonetheless I think you will agree that in some ways no news is good news! Do not give up hope.

Love as always,

Mother

My Dearest Henri,

My journey takes me to Kuala Lumpur where I will meet with many of Father’s business and personal acquaintances. I expect they will be able to give me several clues as to Father’s whereabouts. It is even possible that one of them will lead me directly to him. Perhaps he is in a local hospital, too ill even to write. Not to worry, I will nurse him back to health!

All my love,

Mother

Henri tied up the postcards and put them away. He sighed and then opened one of the books on fleas he had selected. As he read, he jotted down facts that he found to be of interest. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would do with the information, but he knew that if he wrote it down, he would remember it better.

Fact #1: Some fleas can jump 150 times their own body length.

Having watched Maria, that didn’t surprise him at all.

Fact #2: Fleas are often confused with other pests such as lice and ticks.

Funny, he never really thought of the fleas as pests. OK, maybe Pedro and Pablo, but that was because they were useless performers.

Fact #3: A female flea can lay up to two-thousand eggs during her lifetime.

Wow! He wondered if Sophia, Liora, and Maria had any desire to become parents.

Fact #4: A female flea can consume fifteen times her own body weight in blood each day.

Ugh! He didn’t want to think about that. Since he had joined the circus, his blood was the sole source of nourishment for the fleas. If more were to join the troop, he would have to ask the maestro to start contributing at mealtime!

Fact #5: Fleas can live up to three months.

This was something he would have to learn to get used to. The life of an insect, no matter what kind, was short compared to his own. A mayfly lives less than twenty-four hours. A stag beetle might live up to three years. Cicada nymphs, while living underground for up to seven years, could measure their adult lives in weeks. The fleas were his friends. He was attached to them, and he would be sad when they died.

Most of the letters Henri received from Great Aunt Georgie were filled with inconsequential thoughts on the weather, a neighbor’s new recipe for apple pie, and highlights of the previous Sunday’s church sermon. But in one of her letters, she mentioned that she had gone into his old room to put any belongings he might have left behind into safekeeping. She’d found a few items—a marble, some jacks, and bottle caps.“ Also upon the windowsill was a fly,” the letter continued. “He was dead. I have carefully wrapped up his body and will save him for you. I understand you are building a collection of sorts and he is to be added to it.”

She was of course letting him know of Dom’s death, his friend and hers too. Her note confirmed that she too could speak to insects, for Dom must have told her to save his body for him. Henri had cried when he read the letter, but he could not share his grief with anyone at the circus. Who cries over a fly?

Henri gazed into space as he sat in the library and recalled the letter. He turned back to his flea facts.

Fact #6: Fleas can live up to one hundred days without eating.

No need to worry about Pedro and Pablo on their voyage home!

Fact #7: Fleas are known spreaders of disease. The bubonic plague, or the Black Death, was spread by fleas that lived on rats.

This was worrying. He hoped all his fleas were disease-free. Would they foam at the mouth and jump around like mad fleas? How would he be able to distinguish that from their regular jumping?

Henri decided to move on from fleas. He had one truly burning question. Why—or was it
how
—was he able to talk to insects? He went back to the shelves and discovered a book titled
Insect Communication, or My Life with Talking Beetles
by Dr. Daniel Young, Entomologist.

Henri was excited as he took notes. It turned out that Professor Young had spent his life studying
Odontotaenius disjunctus
, more commonly known as patent-leather beetles. Professor Young had found that the beetles had fourteen distinct sounds they used to communicate with one another. The professor had discovered that by mimicking the sounds, he too was able to communicate with the beetles.

Henri could barely contain himself. Perhaps Professor Young could explain why he was able to speak to insects! He would write to the professor. Henri jotted down the information from the book. Perhaps in his letter he would ask the professor about
Goliathus hercules
too.

Henri left the library and returned to the circus tents pitched in a field on the outskirts of town. It was a sunny day, and wildflowers dotted the grounds. Fluttering about the purple and pink blooms were butterflies of lemon yellow, golden yellow, yellow with orange spots, and white with yellow spots. Henri stopped to watch their joyful flight, and it occurred to him that it had been a while since he’d spoken to any insects but the fleas. He cleared his throat and said, “Good afternoon. What a beautiful day it is.”

There was a twitter, and then he heard the butterflies say in unison, “Good afternoon, Henri Bell.”

Henri was shocked. They knew his name! “How do you know my name?”

One of the larger yellow butterflies flew toward Henri and rested on his shoulder.“ Everyone in the insect world knows of you. Your deeds are told to our children and passed from generation to generation. Our offspring are numerous, and thus the tale travels quickly. We are honored to meet the Hero of the Creek,” she said.

“Oh,” said Henri, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “Well, thank you. It’s my honor to meet you too.”

“If we may be of any service, do not hesitate to call.” And with that, the butterfly took flight into the air.

“Thank you,” called Henri. “Likewise, let me know if there is anything I can do for you!”

Henri heard a chorus of thank-yous and general chattering. “He’s here! He’s right here in our field. Oh, I must go and tell my brother. He won’t want to miss this!”

Feeling even more embarrassed now, Henri turned away. Helping the little boat on the creek seemed the smallest of gestures at the time, but to the insect world, his actions were deeply significant, a kindness they had never known. He would need to work harder to be deserving of the gratitude that the insects showed him. He envisioned himself with a calling card that would read

H
ENRI
B
ELL

I
NSECT
I
NTERPRETER AND
M
EDIATOR

ALL QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS RELATED TO THE INSECT WORLD

WILL BE CONSIDERED

T
wo days after he had met Robin, she appeared in the flea-circus tent for the final show of the day.

The audience and the maestro had already left when Robin approached the glass case where Henri was serving the evening meal. She watched, fascinated, as he provided a blood drop into the waiting mouths of each hungry flea. Robin looked very different without her clown makeup. She had long brown hair with rather severe bangs in front. She was about the same height as Henri, maybe an inch shorter. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but there was something about her that was compelling.