The Japanese Devil Fish Girl and Other Unnatural Attractions

by Robert Rankin

  ‘There is Joseph,’ said the dwarf with the tattooed face. ‘Some say he’s the greatest of our age.’

  ‘Joseph?’ asked George.

  ‘Joseph Carey Merrick2,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘advertised as “the Elephant Man”. An extraordinary fellow by all accounts. But he has long retired from the travelling life and lives now at the London Hospital, on a special pension.’

  ‘Your Martian came from there, did it not?’ asked George.

  ‘Through the kind donation of Sir Frederick Treves, Mr Merrick’s sponsor and friend. I have obliged him with a few specimens over the years. He was quite eager to lend me the Martian.’

  ‘Glad to be rid of the smell,’ said George.

  ‘I now believe this to be the case, yes. And he told me a strange thing, too, as it happens.’

  ‘Go on,’ said George, as he, Laloo and the tattooed dwarf drew in close to hear the professor’s words.

  ‘In eighteen eighty-eight there were seven murders in Whitechapel.’

  ‘Jack the Ripper,’ said George.

  ‘Precisely. And several displaying wounds thought to have been inflicted by surgical instruments. And every murder within a stone’s throw of the London Hospital.’

  ‘A surgeon?’ said George.

  Professor Coffin shook his head. ‘Not according to Mr Treves. Mr Treves says Joseph Merrick did them. He says that Mr Merrick confessed to him whilst drunken with champagne.’

  ‘A sensational tale,’ said Laloo.

  ‘And one that will never find its way before the public,’ said Professor Coffin, in a whisper. ‘Mr Merrick is the darling of the gentry and in failing health. He will die loved and that will be how history will record him.’

  ‘But—’ went George.

  ‘I did not say it was “just”,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘only that that is how it will be.’

  There was a certain silence then, each man alone with his thoughts.

  ‘Of course,’ said the tattooed dwarf, ‘we all know what the greatest attraction in the world would be, if anyone could attain it.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Laloo.

  And Professor Coffin nodded.

  ‘What is it, then?’ asked George. ‘What might this be?’

  ‘A legend,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘A tall tale told in pot-rooms.’

  ‘I know of a man who claims that he saw Her,’ said Laloo. ‘Or claims that he knows of a man who did, or suchlike.’

  ‘What is it?’ George asked once again.

  ‘I heard,’ said the dwarf, ‘that Barnum3 is even now in negotiations. That he hopes to present Her in London before the Queen’s Jubilee.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked George. Once more. Again.

  ‘I have heard that you cannot gaze upon Her without the use of special goggles,’ said Jo Jo, the Russian Dog-Faced Boy. ‘That Her glance can turn you to stone just like the Medusa’s.’

  ‘If someone does not tell me at once,’ said George, ‘I will be forced to start a fight.’

  ‘Then out of the window you will go,’ said the armless Mr Untham.

  ‘Someone tell me, please.’

  ‘She is known by many names,’ said Laloo, ‘and there are many tales regarding Her origins. Some say that She is an unnatural prodigy, a genuine chimera of woman and of fish.’

  ‘A mermaid?’ said George. ‘A genuine mermaid?’

  ‘Not a mermaid,’ said the dwarf. ‘Although there is the involvement of fish. She is the last survivor of Atlantis. She breathes through gills but walks upon two legs.’

  ‘Atlantis,’ went Mr Untham. ‘Plah. She was born from an alchemist’s vat. Created by the last of all the Magi. Grown in a girl-shaped vase and brought to life by words drawn from the Grimoire of Moses.’

  George glanced to Professor Coffin.

  Professor Coffin shrugged. ‘There are many, many theories,’ he said, ‘but all agree that She does exist somewhere. And that She is the most wonderful creature in all of the universe. They call Her the Japanese Devil Fish Girl.’

  ‘They call Her Sayito,’ said the dwarf.

  10

  Eventually they returned to Hounslow Heath, somewhat mellow from drink. As the air within the showman’s wagon was once more ill-favoured by Martian taint, the professor pulled out blankets and suggested to George that as the night was warm, they should bivouac on the roof.

  A deal of alcohol-induced comedy climbing up there concluded with the two of them side by side and flat upon their backs, gazing up at the stars.

  ‘You knew,’ said George. ‘And do not deny that you did.’

  ‘I assume you refer to the Japanese Devil Fish Girl,’ Professor Coffin said.

  ‘You knew that She is known as Sayito. And because Macmoyster Farl said that I would one day open The Book of Sayito and meet Her, you took me to that very alehouse and steered the conversation around to that very subject.’

  ‘You give me credit for subtlety and subversiveness that I would be proud to possess.’

  ‘So it is all just a coincidence?’ George gave a drunken hiccup.

  ‘On this occasion, yes. Although some might discern the finger of Fate pointing, pointing, pointing.’ Professor Coffin pointed a finger at George. ‘Pointing at you, young George.’

  ‘I am no one special,’ said George. ‘Although I know I would like to be.’

  ‘Then perhaps this is your moment. This very day the turning point in your life.’

  ‘Really?’ said George. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I believe that everyone has such a moment. But few are they who recognise it as such and follow where Fate leads them.’

  ‘Well,’ said George. ‘I do not know what to say.’

  A shooting star passed across the sky and George Fox wished upon it.

  The dawn brought with it spots of rain, and the rooftop lost its charm.

  ‘Where to now?’ asked George, as he took to blearily raking out the firebox of the traction engine. ‘Onward with the wagons to another fair, or what?’

  Professor Coffin brought forth a hip flask, poured a tot of ‘Mother’s Ruin’ into its cap and offered this to George.

  ‘An early-morning enlivener,’ he said. ‘But surely you recall our late-night conversation?’

  ‘That my moment has come and I must follow where Fate will lead?’

  ‘The very same. What are your thoughts upon this matter this morning?’

  George gazed off all around and about. The show folk were stirring from their tents and caravans. Loading up their gaily painted wagons. Priming their steam engines, stoking coal. Romany women washed their clothes in oversized zinc baths. Ragged children played amongst the show boards and rolled canvas.

  George took a deep and steadying breath. ‘I love this life,’ he said.

  Professor Coffin eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You are a natural to it,’ he said. ‘But it will not suit for ever. There is more to you, young George. More that is still to be discovered.’

  ‘And the Japanese Devil Fish Girl?’ George asked.

  ‘Whom some call Sayito?’

  George made a face that had no expression. ‘What do you make of it all?’

  ‘It is what you make of it all that matters, George. You are the one who has been offered prophecy. If you were to ask me to join you in a search for the most wonderful being in all of the universe, the greatest sideshow attraction that ever ever existed, what do you think my answer might be?’

  ‘I can smell Martian from here,’ said George. ‘I think your answer would be “yes”.’

  ‘So, do we seek Her? What do you think?’

  ‘I think we do,’ said George.

  Professor Coffin did a little dance. He spat into the palm of his right hand and smacked it into George’s. ‘When you find this wonder,’ he said merrily, ‘and I do mean when and not if. When you find this wonder, you must promise me that we will go fifty-fifty on all of the takings.’

  ‘Fifty-fifty?’ said George.

  ‘If th
at suits you, my boy.’

  ‘It does indeed.’

  ‘Then that is the deal shaken on.’

  This deal shaken on, the two of them stood with their hands in their pockets gazing around and about.

  ‘So,’ said George.

  ‘So indeed,’ said the professor.

  ‘Right,’ said George.

  ‘As right as a nine-penny portion,’ said the professor.

  ‘Cheese,’ said George.

  And, ‘Cheese?’ said the professor.

  ‘I have run out of things to say,’ said George.

  ‘Fiddle de, fiddle dum. We must formulate a plan of campaign.’

  ‘I would not reject breakfast out of hand,’ said George.

  ‘A plan of campaign,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘If we are to discover this wonder, it would be well for us to have some inkling of where to search. Do you not agree?’

  ‘Japan,’ said George. Without hesitation.

  ‘It would seem the logical place to start.’ Professor Coffin took to pacing up and down, measuring his strides with his cane.

  ‘We shall cross the Channel,’ said George, ‘work our way through Europe, then traverse Russia, then China, then down the Korean Peninsula to Japan.’

  ‘Your knowledge of geography is profound,’ said the professor.

  ‘It was one of my favourite subjects at school.’

  ‘And arithmetic?’ Professor Coffin asked.

  ‘I have some skills in that discipline, yes.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would care to calculate how many days it would take a traction engine with a top speed of five miles per hour to span the continent of Europe, cross Russia, China and Korea and fetch up in Tokyo?’

  George attempted certain mental calculations. He folded his brow with the effort.

  ‘Let me spare you a banjoing of the brain, George,’ said the professor. ‘A very, very, very long time would be the answer to that. And whether the engine would even hold up past Calais, I would not care to wager upon.’

  ‘Then we are lost,’ said George. ‘It cannot be done.’

  ‘There are other modes of transport,’ the professor said. ‘We live in the Modern Age, remember. There are steam trains now that can travel at sixty miles an hour. And other vessels faster still than that.’

  ‘Ah,’ said George. ‘You speak of course of spaceships. They may take the wealthy upon the Grand Tour, but there are no spaceports in Japan.’

  ‘True,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘There are no spaceports anywhere upon this Earth but London. But there are other craft that fly in the sky and one that is bound for Japan.’

  George lifted his bowler hat and gave a scratch to his head.

  ‘You marvelled at it only two days back, young George.’ Professor Coffin fished into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a printed flysheet. ‘I saw this a-blowing along the road. I do not know why I picked it up, but I did. This, young George, is how we will reach Japan.’

  George took the crumpled paper, unfolded same and put his gaze upon it.

  AROUND THE WORLD IN SEVENTY-NINE DAYS

  he read.

  GREAT FLIGHT OF WONDER

  SEVENTEEN CAPITAL CITIES TO BE VISITED

  UPON THIS STUPENDOUS

  AERIAL PERAMBULATION OF THE PLANET

  PARIS – ROME – MOSCOW – TOKYO ETC.

  THE EMPRESS OF MARS

  THE WORLD’S MOST MODERN AIRSHIP

  TAKES FLIGHTS FROM

  THE ROYAL LONDON SPACEPORT AT SYDENHAM

  27TH JULY 1895

  Tickets from 200 gns

  George looked up at Professor Coffin. ‘The Empress of Mars?’ he said.

  ‘And she takes flight three days from now.’

  ‘But two hundred guineas a ticket,’ George said. ‘How could we come by such wealth?’

  ‘Ah,’ said the professor. ‘It might be done. In such a noble and adventurous cause, we might sell the wagon and its contents.’

  ‘The Martian?’ said George, with relish in his voice.

  ‘And the traction engine. Mandible Haxan would willingly purchase it back.’

  ‘But four hundred guineas?’

  ‘It will require enterprise on both our parts. This is a huge commitment for me, young George. I will be parting with everything. We will have to live entirely on our wits alone. Does that thrill you, or fill you full of fear?’

  ‘A little of both, as it happens,’ said George.

  ‘So, shall we do it, my boy?’

  ‘The Empress of Mars,’ said George, wistfully. ‘To fly on the Empress of Mars.’

  ‘To seek the Japanese Devil Fish Girl,’ said Professor Coffin.

  11

  From its very genesis, Earth’s first spaceport gave cause for concern and controversy. The British Empire’s back-engineering of crashed Martian spaceships and subsequent annihilation of the Martian race brought forth worldwide rejoicings. And the arrival of emissaries from Venus and Jupiter, to welcome Earth into the fellowship of planets (a fellowship from which Mars had been notably excluded due to its people’s warlike nature and expansionist policies), with the emissaries presenting themselves before the court of Queen Victoria, gave rise to further exultations of joy.

  But there the fun and jollification and the elation at opening trade and communing between planets ceased. For anyone other than the wealthy of the British Empire. The British Empire owned the Martian spaceships. The British Empire had exclusive use of these spaceships to commune between the planets. The British Empire signed treaties and trade agreements with the Venusians and Jovians.

  The British Empire would build the Earth’s first and only spaceport. In London.

  The Americans were not best pleased. They wanted a spaceport built in Washington. P. T. Barnum, considered by most, if not all, to be the world’s greatest showman, had even promised to finance the building of the Washington Spaceport (as long as he might be allowed to run the food concessions there and establish a permanent circus in the arrivals building).

  Requests had been put in from France, the Prussian Empire and Czarist Russia. The British Empire held firm. The one and only spaceport would be in London.

  Then came the matter of design, for the buildings, hangars, landing platforms and so forth. Naturally, only British architects and engineers would be given consideration. And – and here once more conspiracy theories came into their own – it was said that only high-ranking Freemasons need apply. A fist fight broke out in the House of Commons between Isambard Kingdom Brunel, designer of the Great Western Railway and just about anything else that could be constructed from iron and steel, and Alfred Waterhouse, architect of the Natural History Museum and pretty much anything else that might be raised from terracotta brick.

  Brunel won the fight, but Waterhouse took the contract with a design based upon Charles Barry’s neo-Gothic masterpiece, the Houses of Parliament. The architectural designs were passed personally by Her Majesty Queen Victoria, who considered them eminently suitable. For, to quote her words: ‘As the Houses of Parliament pass bills to convey fairness, justice, truth and virtue throughout this world, so such a design will convey these concepts to travellers from other worlds.’

  Whether these travellers from other worlds would embrace British democracy or indeed seek to influence Earthly politics and political thinkings was another cause for concern. Particularly when it came to matters theological.

  The invaders from Mars, proving, as they did, that intelligent life existed upon other worlds, caused considerable stir amongst this world’s religious bodies. Earth had, up until then, cornered the market in God, so to speak. That other planets were inhabited and that the denizens of these worlds held to other religious faiths that did not precisely mirror our own was sorely vexing to the Earthly church hierarchies.

  The Pope decreed that as no mention of life outside the Earth had been made in the Bible (which was, after all, the Word of God), off-worlders must be considered pagan and ripe for conversion to Christianity. T
he Archbishop of Westminster held to similar views, but was reticent about passing on to Her Majesty a message from the Pope that Rome would send missionaries to Venus and Mars to deal with the peoples there in the manner in which, several centuries before, they had dealt so successfully and kindly with the folk of South America.