In Search of Goliathus Hercules (16 page)

“Splitting up?”

Maestro Antonio could see that Henri looked a bit glum, although he couldn’t imagine why. “I’ll bet there’s lots of new insects down there for you to see. You’ll enjoy that, I’m sure,” he said encouragingly. He was well aware that Henri’s interest in insects extended beyond fleas.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure it will be fascinating,” Henri said.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to rehearsing, then,” said Maestro Antonio, and he walked out of the tent.

Henri sat down, overwhelmed. He finally had some friends, but now the circus was splitting up and Robin and Billy would be in Florida while he’d be in Mexico.
In Mexico with Madame Noir.
Henri shuddered at the thought.

That morning, he and Robin had told Billy about seeing the insect and mourning jewelry in Madame Noir’s tent, but Henri hadn’t told them that one of the photos was of his father. Why? It felt as if once he said it aloud, it would be true.
Father is dead.

All Robin and Billy could make of the frightening insect collection was that it was eccentric. “What do you think the labels with people’s names on them mean?” asked Henri.

“Maybe that particular person caught the insect?” suggested Robin.

“I think that usually a label is supposed to have the name of the species, the place it was collected, and the date of collection,” said Henri. “I’ve never heard of including the name of the collector. It’s very odd.” He thought how lovingly he prepared his own collection of former insect friends and associates compared to the brutality of the fortune-teller’s skewered victims on hatpins.

Again, Henri’s mind flashed back to a black-gloved hand holding a sharp hatpin in the air as if ready to strike.

Robin was more concerned about the Venus flytrap. “Why do you think that plant attacked you?” she asked.

“It didn’t attack me. I stuck my finger into the trap.”

“Maybe it thought Henri was an insect?” Billy said with a laugh.

Henri laughed and then stopped. The plant should be interested in insects, not people. None of it made any sense.

That night, after the last show ended, Henri was anxious to meet with Robin and Billy, so he went to the menagerie tent. As he entered the tent, he smiled to hear Billy singing to the cats. He followed Billy’s voice to Licorice’s and Peppermint’s cages.

“
Le petit chat noir!
” Billy sang as he finished the song.

“Bravo,” said Henri. “What are you singing?”

“Oh, it’s a song Herbert taught me. It calms the cats down.”

“Is it French? What does it mean?”

“Yeah, Herbert’s from Quebec. It’s just a children’s song about a little black cat. Isn’t that right, Licorice, my
petit chat noir
?”

“
Noir
… as in Madame Noir?” asked Henri anxiously.

“Yeah, I guess so. Noir means black, so in English she’d be Mrs. Black. Not that I speak French.”

No it couldn’t be, Henri thought desperately.

Just then, Robin came into the tent. “I thought I might find you two here. There’s Licorice. What a good boy,” she said. She turned to Henri. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Something like that—a memory from the past, anyway.”

Billy and Robin listened incredulously as Henri told them about Mrs. Agatha Black of Dutch Elm Farm.

“Now that you mention it, Madame Noir joined the circus only recently,” said Robin. “Just before you came. But Henri, do you honestly think that Agatha Black would go to the trouble of creating a disguise and joining the circus just to follow you?”

“Yes, I do. She’s had it out for me from the first day we met.” Henri knew he must sound like a puffed-up, self-important idiot.

“But why?” Robin asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I have something she wants, something she needs.”

“Henri, you’re a kid. What could you have that she wants?” asked Billy.

Henri gave a knowing glance to Robin, and then, taking a deep breath, he said, “Well, I can talk to insects.”

“What?” said Billy, looking completely puzzled.

“He can talk to insects,” said Robin.

“I heard that the first time, thanks. I still don’t understand.”

Henri stood up and walked over to one of the gas lamps that lit the tent. As usual, moths fluttered about it, mesmerized by the light. Henri made a muttering sound that was unintelligible to the other two. The moths moved away from the lamp and flew to Robin and Billy, where they started to fly in a circle around them. Henri went to three more lamps and made the same sounds. Again, the moths moved from the light and joined the circle until it appeared as if Billy and Robin were surrounded by a whirlwind of moths. Henri made another sound, and still more moths came from every corner of the tent, joining the crowded dancing circle.

Billy stood with his mouth hanging open. Robin’s smile stretched wide across her face, and she hopped from foot to foot in her excitement. Henri made another sound, and in an instant, the moths dispersed and everything was as it had been the minute before.

“OK,” said Billy. “Henri can talk to insects,” and he smiled. “But why does Agatha Black need Henri to talk to insects?”

“And let’s say that she and Madame Noir are the same person,” Robin interjected.

“So what? She wants Henri to call insects for her so she can eat them and get fat?” asked Billy, and they all laughed.

“I doubt it,” said Henri. “But I wonder if there’s something in my ability that would be helpful to her. She seems to be making a collection of insects. Maybe she needs me to help her find something in particular.” Suddenly Henri thought of all the books on Southeast Asia in Madame Noir’s tent. Could she be looking for
Goliathus hercules
?

“All for an insect collection? Who could be that obsessed?” asked Billy.

“My Great Aunt Georgie collects buttons, and she’s obsessed,” responded Henri. “The whole house is covered from floor to ceiling in buttons. I think there are different reasons that people collect. Great Aunt Georgie just loves buttons. In a way, they hold memories for her, but imagine if a person could become rich and famous because of something they discovered or collected. Isn’t it quite possible they would use any means to achieve it?”

“I suppose,” said Billy. “But Madame Noir hasn’t done anything to you, has she, Henri? Have you ever even talked to her?”

“No, I haven’t. You’re right. Maybe she’s just biding her time.”

“But what about the torn butterfly wings? You said you thought that was some kind of warning,” said Robin.

“I don’t know what it means, though,” said Henri.

S
o startling was the thought that Madame Noir and Mrs. Black might very well be the same person, Henri hadn’t even had the chance to discuss the upcoming split of the circus with Robin and Billy. The thought of it depressed him. It occurred to him that they might not even have heard news of the split yet.

In the morning, Henri walked to town to mail two messages. One was to his mother and the other to Great Aunt Georgie. He decided to write postcards, because beyond letting them know that the flea circus was heading to Mexico, he really had only one urgent question for each of them. To his mother, Henri asked if his father had any interest in insects. To Great Aunt Georgie, he asked if she had seen Mrs. Black recently.

Since he was at the post office, Henri checked to see if there was any mail waiting for him. To his astonishment, there was already a reply from Professor Young, the entomologist. Henri ripped it open.

Dear Mr. Bell:

It would be my great pleasure to meet you and discuss insect communication. I can be found in my office at the university on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons between 1:00 and 4:00 p.m. I do hope this time will suit your schedule. I look forward to meeting you.

With kind regards,

Dr. Daniel Young

Tomorrow was Thursday! If he could catch the train, he could visit Professor Young and be back in just one day. Henri raced back to the circus to ask Maestro Antonio if he could have the next day off.

“Not a problem, Henri. You have the show running like a well-oiled machine. Just let the fleas know you’ll be gone and that I’ll be in charge for the day.”

“‘Let them know?’” Henri asked. Did Maestro Antonio know that he was talking to the fleas?

“Henri, it’s a joke, but I swear those fleas perform so well that I often wonder if you haven’t found some way to communicate with them!”

Maestro Antonio had just seen a sneak preview of the new show, and he was so enthusiastic that he declared they must have a new banner painted.

“I want it to say, ‘Maestro Antonio’s Amazing Menagerie of Insects. The Greatest Little Show on Earth!’” the maestro had said.

The train trip the next day was uneventful. Henri arrived at the university and quickly located the entomology department. Since he was early, he sat on a wooden bench outside Professor Young’s office. When he heard the clock chimes strike one, he stood up and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a voice.

Henri opened the door and stepped inside. There was a nameplate on the professor’s desk that read
Dr. Daniel Young
. Behind the desk sat a man of about sixty years of age. His hair was white and rather long. He wore reading spectacles that rested on the end of his nose, and he was intently making notes, glancing from time to time at an open book on his desk.

Behind the professor towered shelves and shelves of thick leather-bound books with gilt lettering. On a table at the side of the room was a glass tank. Henri noted that it contained the patent leather beetles,
Odontotaenius disjunctus
, the insects that the professor had written about in his book.

Professor Young looked up from his writing. “I’m sorry,” he said when he saw Henri. “I forgot that you knocked. How can I help you?”

“I’m Henri Bell, sir. I wrote to you.”

“Ah, Mr. Bell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He rose up from his desk and shook Henri’s hand heartily. If he was at all surprised that Mr. Bell was ten years old, he did not show it. “It’s always a pleasure to meet people who share common interests.”

“Ah, yes,” said Henri, glad that Professor Young hadn’t thrown him out of the office.

“So, you wanted to discuss insect communication. Did you see over there? I have some
O. disjunctus
. Would you like to talk to them? They’re quite chatty.”

“Um…sure.” Henri walked over to see the case. Professor Young removed the lid and made a clicking sound, which Henri immediately understood to mean, “Are you hungry?” He grinned. Clearly the professor could talk to insects too!

Henri bent his head down. “Hello, everyone. I am Henri Bell. Do you like it here?”

“
The
Henri Bell. Oh my goodness! It’s Henri Bell. Everyone come out. Henri Bell, he’s here!” said one of the beetles.

“Oh, I can’t believe it. Finally, a human we can understand!” said another.

“But I just heard the professor talk to you. I understood him perfectly,” said Henri surprised.

“Oh, him,” said the first beetle. “He can say that and a dozen other things, but that’s all. He’s like a parrot. Just says the same things over and over again. Conversation is very dull with him.”