In Search of Goliathus Hercules (38 page)

“Yes, that is strange,” said Maestro Antonio. “Could it be a matter of environment? Perhaps Henri’s father turned into a member of
Goliathus hercules
because he was in the Malay jungle. But Henri has traveled with the insect circus for several years and associated with a variety of insects…”

“Really, it doesn’t matter,” said Henri, somewhat impatiently. “The point is that I really think my time is limited. This morning, you probably thought that I couldn’t bring myself to speak. That was mostly true, but I am finding it more and more difficult to speak English. My tongue doesn’t want to move to make the sounds. I really have to concentrate to speak with you.”

“Oh no!” uttered Robin.

“It’s a good thing we all speak insect,” said Maestro Antonio.

Henri nodded.

“I’ve spoken with my mother. Even though my Great Aunt Georgie moved to America, she still kept the family house in England. It’s a short distance from London, in the country. We thought it would be a nice place to bury Father. Afterward, I think…I think I’ll just stay there.”

“It will be safer there,” said Billy.

Robin nodded her head and looked forlorn.

“Of course, I’d like you all to come with me!” said Henri, seeing her face. “Let’s make the most of our time together.”

He thought this would make her happy, but instead she began crying.

“Robin?” he asked.

“Make the most of our time together?” she wailed. “Henri, it sounds like you’re dying!”

F
rom London they traveled to Great Aunt Georgie’s house in the country. Henri wished that his great aunt was there, but they could not wait for her to make the journey from America. Now Henri, his mother, the maestro, Robin, Billy, and Professor Young stood on the hill behind the house to bury Henri’s father.

It was a fine, sunny day, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves on the trees and wildflowers in bloom. It would have been a gorgeous day but for the sad occasion. As they waited for the funeral to begin, the insects of the circus explored and reveled in the new surroundings. It had been a long time since most of them had been outdoors.

It would have been difficult to explain to a clergyman that the deceased, although a beloved husband and father, was also an insect. Thus, as the eldest among them, it fell to Professor Young to officiate at the funeral.

“My dear friends, we are gathered today to pay our final respects to George Bell, known to many of us as Prince,” he began. “He was the husband of Helena, the father of Henri, and a dear friend to us all. George’s untimely demise has brought great sorrow, and he will be deeply missed.

They all took turns saying a few words until it was Henri’s turn to speak.

“It’s been nearly three years since I decided that I had to find my father,” he said. “It turns out that I found him and didn’t even know it until the last moments of his life. My father walked into the jungle and into the unknown all by himself. He was brave. He was kind. And ultimately, he was selfless. It doesn’t matter if he was a man or an insect. He was my father, and I loved him. I hope that I grow up to be just like him.”

Henri’s voice broke. “Most of all, I really wish he was here to help me now. Sometimes I feel excited, and sometimes I feel afraid. I wish he could tell me what to expect and show me how to…how to survive.”

Henri’s mother hugged him. The rest of the party huddled around and embraced them.

They each placed a wildflower on the cardboard box that held the body of Henri’s father. Carefully, Billy and Maestro Antonio lowered the box into the grave and then covered it with earth. They didn’t have a headstone, so the maestro had constructed a cross out of two pieces of wood. Into the wood, he had carved the initials
G.B.

Henri dropped to his knees and patted and smoothed the earth as best as he could.

Life in the country was quiet. Occasionally, Henri received visitors. Most of them were of the six-legged variety, but on occasion there was a man or a woman. One of the first to make the journey from London was the chairman of the Entomological Society.

Sitting in his wheelchair, Henri greeted him in his guise of invalid. Henri’s stature had diminished further and his pallor, thanks to the makeup, made him look bloodless. Henri’s voice was so wispy that it sounded as if he had barely the strength to speak. It appeared as if his body was wizening and the slightest breeze might blow him away.

The chairman was clearly taken aback by Henri’s appearance. “I trust you’re well—I mean, comfortable,” he said. “Please accept my deepest condolences on the death of the specimen of
Goliathus hercules
. Tragic! Such a loss to the scientific community, a loss to the whole country really.”

“Thank you,” said Henri solemnly. “It’s been a difficult time.”

“Yes, I’m sure it has. It was your most prized specimen, after all. If only it—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chairman. The beetle’s name was Prince. Would you mind referring to him as Prince or ‘he’?” asked Henri politely.

“Yes, of course. Pardon me. If only he could have lived a few more months, at least until the end of the exposition. It would have been much more convenient for business.”

Henri gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly.
More convenient!
That was an understatement. It would have been more convenient if Prince, his father, had not been murdered! All Henri could do was nod.

The chairman continued: “I presume you prepared and mounted, um, Prince? Have you given any thought to coming back to the exposition? You could put him on display and run the insect circus again. I realize the beetle…um,
he
—was a big draw, but it’s an entertaining show with or without him.”

“No,” Henri said through gritted teeth.

“Well, Mr. Bell, in time I expect you will feel differently,” said the chairman. “You know you must think about a home for it—I mean him! I suggest you consider a museum, perhaps the Natural History Museum or a university collection.”

Henri could scarcely tell the chairman that Prince was, in fact, his father and that he had buried him on the hill behind the house. But something the chairman said had struck a chord with Henri. With little time left in human form, he must make some decisions. What would happen to the insect collection he had begun since he first discovered he could speak to them?

There were thousands of specimens now. Some were very common and others were quite rare. A few in the collection had performed in the circus, but the majority had simply come to make his acquaintance and never left. Henri had always had a hard time saying good-bye to his friends, and so he kept their remains. Early on he had placed them in cigar boxes, but now they filled cabinets, drawers, trunks, and closets throughout the house.

“You’re right,” Henri said. “I’m not well. I must consider what to do with everything I have collected.”

“Oh, Mr. Bell, I didn’t mean to imply that you must rush to any decision. We expect to see you at many Entomological Society meetings in the upcoming year,” the chairman replied with forced joviality.

But Henri could read his face. The chairman believed he was looking at a person soon to knock on death’s door.

“Thank you for visiting. I’m a bit tired now. I’m sure you understand,” said Henri softly.

The chairman rose, understanding that he had been dismissed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bell. I do hope you’re feeling better soon.”

Word in the scientific community spread quickly that the explorer, scientist, and collector Henri Bell was not long for this world. A disease picked up in the tropics was causing him to waste away. Eventually, Henri refused all visitors and withdrew completely from public view.

Now with his days free, Henri began to organize his collection. Perhaps it was Great Aunt Georgie’s button collection that influenced Henri. From floor to ceiling, the walls of her house had been covered in gleaming rows of buttons that sparkled like jewels in the sunlight. Now Henri arranged his insect collection upon the wall. He paid no attention to order, taxonomy, or any other scientific system; instead, he arranged the insects in patterns—patterns like the one in which the insects had arranged themselves in his room on Woodland Farm. His collection began to look like kaleidoscopic wallpaper, organically growing and creeping throughout the house.

Gradually it became harder and harder to concentrate on the collection. His insect nature was growing stronger, and each day he wrestled with himself as his desire to be outside flying, sniffing, and exploring increased.

His mother and friends had desperately continued their search for a cure or even the slightest clue to the mystery of his condition.

“Perhaps we should consult a medical doctor,” said Professor Young. “We have scoured the entomology libraries and found nothing.”

“No one would believe us if we told them what’s happening,” said Billy.

“They would if they saw him!” protested Robin.

“Robin, we see Henri every day. We see the…the Henri-ness in him, but if you had never known him before, I think…well, I think you’d see a creature, a creature more insect than man. We don’t want Henri to be labeled a freak and carted off to a zoo!”

Henri’s mother let out a little cry. Robin glared at Billy.

“Don’t look at me like that. Look what happened to the Elephant Man. He ended up in a hospital, a freak for doctors to poke and prod!” exclaimed Billy.

“Are you saying you’re giving up?” accused Robin.

At that moment the discussion abruptly ceased as Henri hopped—rather than walked—into the room.

“Talking about me?” he peeped in a squeaky voice.

“Yes, actually we were,” said Maestro Antonio, looking down at him.

“Look, I know you have all tried your best…”

“And we’re going to keep trying!” said Robin.

Gloom descended upon the house. The only person who was not melancholy was Henri. The weather was fine, and he spent more and more time with the circus insects outdoors. They had become his guides and teachers as he learned to adapt to his changing form.

It wasn’t long before Henri stopped speaking English, not because he wanted to but because he had become incapable of making the sounds. Luckily, everyone except Henri’s mother spoke fluent insect, so they could still communicate with him. Yet it hardly mattered because Henri had become an insect of very few words. He was far more interested in experiencing his new world than talking about it. Each day he became noticeably smaller and more and more insect-like until the time came when none of them could recognize any “Henri-ness” in him. Of course they knew that the grasshopper-like insect that stood on the dining room table was Henri, but only because of his particular insect features.

After spending his days in the nearby field and woods, Henri returned to the house and his room exhausted but exhilarated. As they had done on the ship, everyone congregated in Henri’s room in the evening. Now he sat on the desk by the window. Henri’s mother and the professor had retired to bed but Robin, Billy, and Maestro Antonio gathered around him.

“It was a beautiful day. I’m sure you had a wonderful time exploring,” remarked Robin.

Henri said nothing, though they listened in with the hearing-aid machine.

“Henri? Are you OK? Say something.”

Finally Henri said, “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m going tonight.” He was calm.

“What?” exclaimed Robin. “No! Henri, please don’t go.”

“Robin, I couldn’t stay if I wanted to. The pull, the call of the wild, whatever you want to call it, it’s so strong. Do you think that my father wanted to walk into the jungle and away from his family? No, he didn’t, but he couldn’t help it.”

“Henri, where will you go?” asked Billy.

“Don’t worry! I’m not going far. At least I don’t think I am. I don’t feel an inclination to migrate like a Monarch butterfly. I’ll be right out there.” With a leg Henri gestured toward the field and woods beyond the house. “I’ll be practically in the backyard!”

“Henri. Henri, will…will you come back to visit?” asked Robin with a sob.

“I’ll try.”

“Be careful out there, Henri,” said Maestro Antonio. “You have an enemy. Mrs. Black tried to kill you once. She’ll probably try again!”