An Island Called Moreau Read online

  I lay in a rough hut. Two Seal Men knelt to one side, smiling and nodding when they saw my eyelids flutter. Over me, her lank hair trailing against my skin, was a Seal Woman. She performed a kind of kiss of life upon me, although her lips were not fixed on my lips. I gave a great cry as realization dawned on me, and all my limbs trembled in a bout of rapture. Then I sank back into a deeper oblivion.

  10

  After the Fall

  Of my four-day stay on Seal Rock, I prefer to say as little as possible. Some acts which seem beautiful and natural and profound at the time of their doing are distasteful in memory. And one person’s pleasure can arouse disgust in another. Perhaps this is particularly so among Western nations, where sexuality is even today regarded more ambivalently than in the East.

  Emotions that move us most deeply often undergo metamorphosis after the event.

  The name of the Seal Woman was Lorta. There were four Seal Men of roughly her age over whom she had complete sway. They doted upon Lorta, and it was easy to see why; she gave herself to them with an inexhaustible abandon, with such joy that even I, at the time, felt no shame in accepting her loving. She ruled them completely because they ruled her; she could not resist them because she was irresistible. And such was her bounty that those Seal Men felt no jealousy of each other, or even of me, a stranger. Theirs was a good fortune, and they had the wit to know it.

  The names of the Seal Men were Saito, Harioshi, Halo, and Yuri. Between our games of love, we swam and played in the ocean. And we conversed—conversation for them was also a game. My comprehension of what they were saying grew fast, and perhaps they spoke more comprehensibly from having to talk to me. I learned that the Swine Man who had fallen from the cliff top with me had plunged to his death on the rocks. Crabs and sharks had devoured him. Since crab formed a considerable part of the seals’ diet, this was particularly good news to my friends.

  I learned also that it was the Seal Men who had dived in the lagoon and retrieved Maastricht’s carbine. They had given it to Foxy in exchange for a gift of berries and stolen canned syrup.

  They knew of the submarine. But their time sense was deficient, so that they had no idea of when it might visit Moreau Island again, or of how long it was since it last called. In many respects they were like children, and their charming child-faces puckered with laughter as they confessed their ignorance.

  No, I betray them by expressing it so. When I was with them, it was otherwise—I am back to my old stiff self again. Of course, they knew about the regular visits of the submarine. It was a treat to them, the arrival of that fabulous unfeeling monster out of the ocean depths where they could not go. They used to follow it into the lagoon and sport beside it, making obscene gestures and playing intimately with each other—which made them very popular with the crew.

  They did not know when the vessel had last arrived, or when it would come again. Why should they? It had no significance for them. They laughed heartily at the idea that I should wish to climb into and be shut away in the submarine, and would not accept that I was serious when I spoke. As for confessing their ignorance—they were not burdened with our guilts about knowledge or the lack of it.

  I say they were like children. What I mean is that they had never accepted the rules that most of us accept. They remained astonished by the world, and by their luck in being part of it.

  Although they did not have an arm or a well-formed leg or a proper hand between them, the force of their characters, Lorta’s in particular, insured that they survived in a bubble of happiness. The warm ocean helped; it was their amniotic fluid, and held no harm.

  They had a religion of sorts. Maybe it was a deep and complex religion, and I was not with them long enough to understand it. Prig that I was, I tried at first to explain my religion, as I had with Warren, but I might as well have tried to persuade them to live on dry land. They had a belief in a shark-shaped Spirit of the Deep (perhaps it looked rather like a nuclear submarine), which inspired a pleasurable terror in them.

  I must come out with the truth. There was also Satsu.

  When Seal People escaped from Dart’s laboratories, they lived along the more hospitable northern coasts of the island, until Dart instigated a hunt and shot one of them, a young woman. Then they took refuge on Seal Rock. Other children were born to them but did not survive; Satsu survived and flourished. She was a normal little Japanese girl, full of vivacity, with all limbs intact.

  Satsu was four or five years old—so I estimate, for nobody knew or cared. “Year” was a word without meaning to them; they thought in terms of tide rather than time. She was treated like a little goddess, a queen, a naughty sister, a pet monkey. She sang and played and ran, she could climb trees faster than an ape, she swam better than her parents, she joined with glee in the love games of the adults. She was as pretty as paint.

  There it is. For some, I detail a picture of depravity. At first, I was shocked by Satsu’s love activities, particularly when she was the center of the group’s attentions. I did not even know that such young children could experience orgasm. But so it was. Their naturalness was such that I quickly became used to everything that went on; my initial resolve to devote my energies to restoring Satsu to a normal environment faded to nothing.

  Also, I became the delighted and responsive recipient of this dear child’s attentions. Laughingly, her mother and her men encouraged Satsu to join in our raptures. I developed ideas of my own, and took the initiative. The sun and the sea were all part of our involvement.

  “Calvary” they called me. So I remained on that happy rock, being fed and making love in a variety of ways which I had never dared to imagine before. In that timeless period, I lazily watched as the sun rose and traveled its great course through the sky. When it sank toward the west, an immense shadow grew from Moreau Island and swung out across the waters to reach us, but it never quite got that far. When it was within a few meters of our minute shores, the sun would break free of the last westerly rocks of the island, dramatically reappearing, and the long chill shadow fell away on its own coasts, so that sunset was golden and unbroken for us.

  In the language I began to learn, the sun which dominated our every day was referred to as “Lob-Chy.” I did not know whether this was a Japanese word adopted from the language of my friends’ ancestors, or a corruption of the English word “love child.” I hoped it was the latter.

  We generally swam near the rock. I swam with them. Although I never entirely cured myself of a dread of the abyss beneath us, I felt secure in their company.

  In the complete nudity of my new friends, in their complete lack of reserve, I greatly rejoiced. I was so far seduced as to wonder whether I could not remain for ever on that patch of land; I daydreamed about a time when the rest of the globe destroyed itself, and I swam forth with my friends and lovers to populate the planet with a new sort of human being, whose aggressions were sublimated in total voluptuousness.

  Unhappily, I remained part of the warring world, and it remained a part of me, in a way that was alien to them. I had to go back. I had to deal with Dart and the problem of the submarine. I had to return to the island, and to affairs in Washington.

  And it was time for me to leave. There could have been no sybaritic life for the Seal People with me there; I upset the delicate balance of their existence, for I was a large extra mouth to feed, and I could not hunt as they could.

  Before I went, it occurred to me that there was one gift I could give them. They ate their fish, crustacea, and seaweeds raw; and I knew that there were occasions after rainstorms when they huddled together cold and miserable. I could teach them how to make fire; with fire they could warm themselves and cook food.

  Among their few possessions were numerous old Coca-Cola bottles and cans in which they stored the rainwater they collected. Taking one of the bottles to a flat slab of rock on the north of their sanctuary, I broke it and used the base as a crude lens. Focusing on scraps of driftwood and dry kelp cast up in the last sto
rm, I patiently nursed a few sparks into existence. How Satsu chirped with delight as the smoke came up! Blowing carefully, I conjured a flame. Soon we had a small fire going. I speared a fish on a twig and cooked it on the flame, before giving half to Lorta and half to Satsu. “Clever Calvary!” they said.

  They spat it out and made disgusted faces, but I explained that they would soon become used to the taste and prefer it to raw fish. They thanked me cordially. At least the novelty of the fire delighted them.

  It was after midday when I set out to swim to the island, which acted as planetary body to the little satellite of Seal Rock. All my friends came with me, including little Satsu, swimming on either side of me. At the mouth of the lagoon, I heaved myself ashore and sat there, hidden from anyone who might be prowling the island, while I waved the others goodbye. They promised to see me again, departing with fond and lascivious gestures.

  Putting on the shirt and trousers which I had carried in a bundle during the swim, I turned and made my way cautiously ashore.

  Moreau Island looked as I had last seen it.

  No work was being done on the quay. The lagoon lay silent and undisturbed. The crane remained in the shallows where it had fallen. A seabird perching on its exposed superstructure rose up and flew slowly away to sea as I approached. Otherwise, I observed no movement. The village of the Beast People lay apparently deserted on the other side of the water.

  My reasoning was that Dart would be pleased to see me, after the recent troubles; I could pretend to fall in with his wishes, and await the arrival of the submarine. When he went to meet it, I would follow and overpower him, and persuade the submarine commander to carry me back to the States. The commander could easily radio his base and verify my identity. I could then report the situation on Moreau Island to a higher authority and see that those who wished it were restored to civilization.

  I walked toward the palisade surrounding Dart’s HQ, alert and watching for possible trouble.

  Someone was standing motionless under the trees, just a couple of meters outside the gate. I paused and observed him. It looked like George, the Boar-Hyena Man, but I could not see for the boughs of trees.

  Making a wide detour, I approached so that I could have a better view of the figure, making my way eventually along the outside of the fence.

  It was George. I could hear the flies buzzing about him.

  A tall stake had been driven into the ground. George had been impaled upon it so that he stood up almost as if he were still alive. His face was far more dreadful than it had been in my dream. He looked to be staring fixedly across the lagoon, through the cloud of bluebottles which sipped at his flesh.

  Sickened, I backed away. This crucifixion was more cunning and sadistic than anything the casual brutality of the Beasts could devise. Yet who else would have done it? I could only suppose that Foxy had inspired it. The mystery remained how Dart could have allowed them to do it so close to his fortress.

  There had been a change in the balance of power here in the short while I had been away. The very silence of the place emphasized that. It was significant that it was George who had paid the price. His position as Hans’ foreman had put him on untenable middle ground. His enmity with Foxy (so I assumed) had sealed his fate. But how many others had died?

  Aware of the possibility of a trap, I retraced my steps along the barricade without calling to anyone inside.

  As the terrain grew more broken, my way became more difficult, but I worked toward the back of the enclosure where the laboratories were. Here I stopped. I could hear something moving about on the other side of the palisade.

  Why I did not call out, I do not know to this day. It may have been because there was some quality in the movements which made me uneasy—something furtive and at the same time irascible. I stood where I was with a dry mouth, listening as the unknown thing passed unseen within a meter of me.

  Standing there as if accursed, I saw a long pole lying nearby. It had a diameter of some fifteen centimeters, and had probably been used for scaffolding when building was in progress—or so I guessed. When the sounds on the other side of the barricade had died away, I went over to the pole and tried to lift it.

  It would not move. Only when I levered it from side to side did it budge slightly. It was wedged between loose rock. I kept working, and eventually managed to pull it out. It was three meters long.

  With a great deal of effort, I pulled it back to the front of the barricade, as near to George as I cared to get. He was unnaturally still—that was what was frightening about him. Then I let the pole fall forward so that the top of it protruded over the fence. It gave me a ramp up which I could climb.

  The falling pole started an alarm buzzing somewhere inside the HQ. I heard it buzz on and on without answer. Making as certain as I could that I was not observed, I ran up the pole and dropped over the other side. I flattened myself on the ground of the enclosure and listened. Only the buzzing of the alarm, on unendingly.

  As I rose to my feet, Heather came to the window and beckoned to me. My relief at seeing her was great. I had almost begun to believe that everyone on the island was dead.

  Heather made frantic gestures and disappeared. Never had she looked so animated. In a moment, she was unlocking the house door and letting me in.

  Her dark shoulder-length hair looked somewhat disheveled, but she seemed much as she had the last time I saw her. She was wearing her tunic outfit and sandals. Catching my glance, she gave me a quick seductive smile, moving her whole body as she did so.

  “Calvin, you can’t know how glad I am to have you back!” She clung to me. Automatically, I put an arm about her, thinking how strange it was to hear ordinary English spoken, to have myself misnamed, to be within four walls, to feel the bite of air conditioning, to hear—yes, a symphony of Joseph Haydn’s was playing quietly throughout the building. Everything was so dry. A picture rose before me of Lorta’s damp, agile, insatiable little body; it denied all that herein was, just as all that herein was denied her body—despite the girl who now clung to me. The moment gave me an insight into Heather; she too was a sensualist, but her sensuality had been devoured by what we call civilization. Her intellect and her instinct were at war—she could never be comfortable. I would meet nobody like Lorta again. Nor would I ever attempt to describe her to anyone; she would sound like a whore, a nymphomaniac—whereas the truth was that she was free, uncalculating, the very reverse of this cultured pussy.

  “Where is Dart?” I asked, disengaging my arm.

  Heather stared at me curiously. She put a finger to her mouth, in a gesture I recalled.

  “We thought you were dead for sure, yet here you are, looking really pretty chipper.… One more death and I’d go out of my mind. It’s great to see you.… Aren’t you glad to see me at all?”

  Automatically I said, “Yes, I’m glad to see you.” I was too, if only remotely; this was a girl I could not handle.

  She grunted. “You’re a formal bastard, aren’t you! Typical politician. Don’t you ever relax and be yourself?”

  I laughed. “What mixed-up questions you ask! Where’s Dart?”

  “He’s ill.” Pouting at me.

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “You’d better come and see him, if you have such a preference for his company.”

  Without further word, she led me to the corridor I knew, past my cell, through a red door, and along an infinitely richer corridor, with abstract paintings hanging on the walls. The carpet underfoot was worn by parallel tiremarks. At the end of the corridor, Heather motioned me to wait and went into a room whose door stood open. There was a muttered conversation, and then she motioned me into Dart’s presence.

  Dart lay on a bed in a room that was a combination of bedroom and surgery. It had no windows. Comsat pictures flitted across one wall. Mortimer Dart was propped up by pillows; he nursed a riot gun by his side. He would be unable to use the gun; his wheelchair with its cyborg arms stood grotesquely to one sid
e of the bed; a robe covered the puny little extrusions on his shoulders.

  He wore a bandage round his head like a turban. It covered his left eye and part of one cheek. I saw deep scratches running down his cheek, neck, and chest. His right eye stared at me with an unspeakable wrath in it.

  Somewhat shaken, I went to his side and asked what had happened.

  His voice was thick, scarcely recognizable.

  “I shall be all right in a day or two. I’m well doped. It’s fever—I caught it by that bloody grave. You must guard this place until I get better, now you’re back. They attack at night. They’ll be here again tonight. How did you get into this building?”

  I told him, and his hot gaze went to Heather.

  “You were supposed to be keeping a watch. They’ll kill us if they get in here. They’ve tasted blood and a bit of power. It’s no joke.… A phrase keeps going through my head as I lie here. One of old Nietzsche’s, I shouldn’t be surprised. Power corrupts, but a bit of power corrupts absolutely. That’s what’s got into them. I should have put them down long ago, Bella and all. You and Heather and Da Silva must take it in turns …”

  “What happened to you?” I asked again.

  “I told you. I got a fever at the Death Place. And the ride shook me up. I relaxed my guard—you can’t trust anyone, Roberts. When I think how the world set itself up against me even in my mother’s womb, I don’t know how I’ve survived so long. One day when I’m better, I’ll pull this whole bloody island down into the sea.…” He relapsed into a fit of choking.

  I looked inquiringly at Heather. She gave me an eye signal and said to Dart, “We’ll go and pull that pole away from the fence now, Master, so that we’ll be safe. And I’ll be back to see you soon. Just lie quiet.”

  Out in the corridor, she was clutching me again.

  “It’s fever, Calvert. He’s rambling. I’ve got him doped, but I’m so scared, really. This is a hell of a position to get in.”