The Mystery of the Venus Island Fetish

by Dido Butterworth

  ‘Unforgivable. To be so tardy,’ Schmetterling mumbled once he was in Griffon’s presence. On the splendid board table stood a solitary specimen jar.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ asked Griffon, looking down his aquiline nose at the specimen bottle. Schmetterling moved towards it and saw that it contained a gigantic centipede, its prodigious, pinkish-purple jaws jutting from its face like instruments of torture.

  ‘Ich denke,’ Schmetterling said, to buy time.

  ‘Well, man, out with it. In English please. What is it? Come on!’ Griffon barked.

  ‘Ja, legs long. Fifteen leg-bearing segments. A scutigeromorph, I think. I guess that it is the Scutigera coleoptrata?’

  Griffon rose from his desk and began pacing up and down.

  ‘Schmetterling, you might be an intelligent young fellow, but you don’t know your Myriapoda. This is no Scutigera! Look at the fangs, man! This is in fact the one and only specimen of Horribilipes mertensi—the rat-eating centipede of the Arabian Sea—which is named for your beloved professor! It is without doubt the most spectacular and, might I add, most beautiful of all the myriapods. And do you know who collected and named it? Me. Vere Griffon, during the cruise of the HMS Sulphur, sent to punish the pirates of Socotra. I went ashore as the howitzers blazed. It was under a coconut shell beside the village latrine that I found the Horribilipes, my greatest scientific triumph.’ Drops of foamy spittle had appeared on Griffon’s lips, and he was almost barking out his words.

  A look of horror came across Miss Stritchley’s face. Her gaze was fixed upon the professor’s left shoelace. It had come undone. She rushed forward and bent before the great man. But Griffon was so fixated on his lecture that, before she could fasten the errant lace, he had marched up onto the podium once more. Miss Stritchley crawled after him.

  Despite his terror, Schmetterling had to bite his cheek to stop himself laughing. Finally Griffon stopped long enough for Stritchley to fasten the lace. He had not even noticed. ‘If you hope for a job in a museum, Schmetterling, you’ll have to do better than this. Now go back to the collection and study your Myriapoda. Until you have mastered them.’

  ‘Might be time for a restorative lager,’ Dithers suggested as the quaking Schmetterling returned to his office.

  He collected Archie, and, on the way to the Maori’s Head, the trio ran into Beatrice. She was not entirely comfortable in pubs—even in the lounge—but she did speak fluent German and so agreed to come along.

  The men ordered lager, and Beatrice had a lemonade.

  Schmetterling bolted down his first schooner and Dithers bought him another. The German grasped it in shaking hands, took a few gulps, and said, ‘Oh, how I am unnerved! The ale will calm me, thank you.’ As the drink worked its magic, he went on. ‘But how wonderful to be in this young country of yours. The fatherland is terrible now. Destroyed by the war. On every corner you find the old soldiers—their faces just a mess of scars, a leg or an arm missing, or both—trying to sell matches or some other trifle. They are broken men, still frozen in terror, or men who want only to keep on killing. And the politics! Oh, how savage it is! There will be more blood. Yes, much more, before long. It is a country in which I can no longer live.’

  ‘Medea,’ Dithers mumbled. ‘Not even kind enough to kill her children cleanly. And we were part of it. My God, what have we done?’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Archie.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. But damn all Kaisers. And all Churchills,’ snapped Dithers angrily.

  ‘Another beer?’ asked Archie, looking at Schmetterling’s empty glass. ‘Ja, dankeschön. I was hoping so much that Herr Professor Doktor Vere Griffon would give me a job,’ Schmetterling continued. ‘Professor Mertens remembers him fondly, as a good man and steadfast friend with a warm and generous heart. You know, my professor pulled every string to get me out of Germany. He has even given a little of his own money towards the cost of the collecting expedition.’

  Schmetterling took a swig of beer. ‘I fear I have disappointed Herr Director,’ he concluded sadly.

  ‘Hans,’ Beatrice said, ‘if it would help, I could ask my uncle if you could stay with him for a few weeks. My sisters Betty and Myrtle are boarding at his house, and are learning German at school. If you tutored them I’m sure Father would agree to pay your board.’

  ‘Of course, old chap,’ added Dithers, ‘you’d have to leave your, er, specimens, at the museum. But you could set up in the mammal department, as a visitor, if you liked. Perhaps you could lend a hand with a tidy-up. Give you more space. And until Beatrice gets things sorted you could stay at the Maori’s Head.’

  ‘Mine good friends. It’s been long years since anyone but Herr Doktor Mertens has shown me such kindness.’ Schmetterling sighed. ‘I hardly expected to find friendship in the Britisher colonies.’

  ‘Who would like another lager?’ asked Dithers, full of bonhomie. But as he regarded the increasingly merry Schmetterling, he was not sure that another drink was altogether a good idea.

  Beatrice made her excuses and rushed for the five o’clock ferry, and Archie accompanied her. When Dithers had finished his schooner he took Schmetterling back to the museum to feed his centipedes, then headed off to a meeting of the Society for the Preservation of Native Animals.

  The following morning Dithers suggested to Archie that they walk into work together. ‘Not that I’m nervous, Archie. But it’s a beautiful morning for a companionable stroll.’ Archie was glad to see that Dithers was taking his warning seriously, even though he knew Dithers would never admit it.

  They walked to Dithers’ office. The mammalogist had just seated himself at his desk, when he let out a bloodcurdling scream. Archie rushed back in to find Dithers staring fixedly ahead. As Archie neared he saw a scarlet head, attached to four inches of fluorescent green body, poking out from under a kangaroo skull that sat on a shelf at eye level. The vile black fangs that protruded from it palpated just inches from Dithers’ nose.

  ‘Abotomy’s behind this!’ cried Archie. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘For God’s sake, just help me!’ wailed Dithers.

  Archie searched frantically for something to knock the creature away with. He had grabbed a kangaroo leg-bone and was swinging it about wildly, when a pallid face appeared from behind the hippo skull.

  ‘God in Himmel. Meine Schönheit!’ squeaked Schmetterling. Clearly the worse for wear from his drinking the previous evening, he drew a pair of long tweezers from his pocket, grasped the beast by the head, and returned it to its jar. ‘I was feeding my sweetie, and must have dozed. I am so sorry,’ he said, looking at Dithers aghast.

  When he had recovered, Dithers turned to Archie. ‘I do think you are taking this conspiracy theory of yours rather too seriously. There is always a simpler, more straightforward explanation for such things, as you can see. I do think it best, Hans, if you and your menagerie stay at the Maori’s Head until Beatrice sorts things out.’

  Later that day an intense annoyance at himself settled over Courtenay Dithers. He, a man who had seen the worst of trench warfare, had survived a bayonet charge and stormed a Hun machine-gun nest, was scared. Scared to feel. Scared to act. Never again, he promised himself, would he run as he had from Abotomy Hall.

  Chapt
er 17

  There are times in museums when it rains visitors. The month that Hans Schmetterling arrived was the busiest anyone could remember. The largest groups by far were drawn by Phar Lap’s heart, which had only just gone on exhibition. The prodigious organ was displayed in the anatomy room—in a great glass jar on a table under a spotlight—alongside the heart of some nag. The champion’s organ was at least twice the size of the nag’s heart, and the queues of those anxious to see it stretched halfway round the block. ‘Like a viewing at a royal funeral,’ Jeevons quipped to Archie as he took in the sombre faces of those grieving the death of the champion racehorse.

  A few days later Archie arrived to find half the Japanese navy in the staff entrance. He’d read in the newspapers about the arrival of Vice Admiral Nobijuro Iamaura and the Japanese Training Squadron, but had not expected them to visit the museum. Yet there they were, the neatest human beings he’d ever seen, in their white uniforms with not a hair out of place. They stood stiffly—almost at attention—in the foyer until Miss Stritchley came through the door carrying a splendid bunch of yellow roses. The flurry of waist-deep bows and presents emanating from the oriental gentlemen took her by surprise. She reciprocated by handing the roses, originally destined for Griffon’s office, to an officer, and then led the group away.

  For the next several days the Japanese sailors seemed to be everywhere, and almost always in the company of Dr Abraham Trembley, the museum’s jellyfish expert. Pale to the point of vanishing, Trembley was of uncertain age—indeed, almost of uncertain physical form. Hitherto, sightings of him outside his darkened office were rarer than sightings of the Yeti.

  Archie was astonished by the rumour that the naval visit was a sort of embassy from the Japanese emperor to Trembley himself. Apparently the emperor was making something of a name in the realms of marine biology and, through their common passion, he and Trembley had developed a more than passing acquaintance. From what the admiral intimated, the emperor regarded Trembley almost as a god in his field.

  The Japanese sailors invited the entire scientific staff to a formal dinner aboard their flagship, the Yamamoto.

  In his room that evening, Dithers produced the elegant invitation. ‘I suppose you’ll be walking Beatrice to the ship? The loo is not safe for an unaccompanied woman these days,’ he said to Archie.

  ‘Oh, Dithers!’ Archie’s throat tightened so he could barely speak. ‘I’m not sure she’ll want me to.’

  ‘What do you mean, Archie? It’s plain for everyone to see that the girl dotes on you. I don’t know why you’re being so stand-offish with her.’

  ‘Mordant will be at her side, I’m sure.’

  ‘Archibald Meek, has the green-eyed monster got total possession of you? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. Beatrice flees from his very shadow. You should be ashamed of yourself for doubting the girl.’

  Archie would not admit it, but he did feel ashamed. It was as if he’d caught himself in the mirror, a man acting like a child.

  ‘Jealousy, Archie, may be an emotion you’ve had little experience of till now. As something of a professional in the field, let me tell you about it: its symptoms are precisely those of rabies. The stricken beast develops a raging thirst, so it goes to a waterhole. But when it sees the water, it becomes terrified of the very thing it desires. Frothing at the mouth, it bites at anything that approaches. Rabid dogs have been known to chew off their own legs.’

  ‘Well…’ said Archie, struggling with his feelings. ‘For safety’s sake, I’ll escort her to the dinner. As long as that toerag isn’t hanging about.’

  Dithers could see no advantage in pushing matters further. He turned to the wall and fell asleep.

  Archie found Beatrice sitting at her register as usual. Surely no girl was ever more beautiful. Her hair fell in golden tresses, her blue eyes shone, and her lips formed a perfect, ruby-red bow. Had Mordant really tasted their glory?

  ‘Rabies, waterhole, chewed leg,’ muttered Archie. ‘Beatrice, I hope you got your invitation to the Japanese naval dinner?’

  ‘Oh, Archie, I’m so looking forward to it! I bought a new outfit for the occasion.’

  ‘Woolloomooloo is a bit rough at night. Someone should accompany you to the vessel and back.’

  ‘Nobody has offered.’

  ‘In that case I’ll do it. Walk with you, that is. For your protection.’

  ‘Thank you, Archie. That is very gallant.’

  The Yamamoto was moored at the navy dock, beside Cowper Wharf. The night was warm, and the vessel was gloriously lit. The ship’s band was playing jazz as Archie and Beatrice approached. She slipped her hand into his. As they walked up the gangway a great moon peeped through the clouds.

  They were greeted by a splendidly dressed lieutenant. Beatrice felt sure he was the tallest and most handsome oriental she’d ever seen. As he reached to take her wrap she couldn’t stop blushing. The officers lined up to greet them. Bottles of French champagne were poured into long-stemmed glasses. Archie and Beatrice wandered the deck, looking at the cannon, the immaculately coiled ropes and the sailors who doubled as waiters.

  Holding her glass delicately, Beatrice flashed her eyes at Archie. ‘Isn’t this the most immense fun?’

  He said nothing. It was as if a hard stone blocked his heart. The thought of Mordant would not leave his mind.

  The jazz ceased and the band struck up ‘Hail to the Chief’. After a few bars, Vere Griffon, in the company of Dryandra Stritchley, appeared at the top of the gangway. Archie was immediately on guard. The admiral gave a low bow, then handed the director an elaborately wrapped box.

  Champagne and canapés circulated once more, and the jazz recommenced.

  Dryandra caught Archie’s eye. He warily left Beatrice’s side and approached her.

  ‘I see things are not going smoothly with your girl, Archie.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Come to my house after work one afternoon, for a cup of tea. I’m pretty full bottle on young girls and their ways. I might be able to help.’

  Archie was stunned. He had assumed that Dryandra was part of Griffon’s cabal. Now he was not so sure.

  Archie returned to Beatrice just as the ‘Kimigayo’ sounded out. Griffon looked up sharply, wondering who was being so highly honoured. The governor, perhaps? There was a moment of suspense as the last strains of the notoriously brief anthem died away. Still, nobody had appeared at the top of the gangway.

  After what seemed an interminably long silence, the flabby and puffing form of Abraham Trembley began to materialise out of the darkness. He was pulling himself along, using the boarding rails of the gangplank. The embarrassing silence in which he approached the admiral was finally broken by the assembled naval officers, who led a round of applause.

  Trembley smiled and gave a bow so low that it astonished all who saw it. The admiral’s bow was even lower, causing Beatrice to catch her breath in fear that he might tumble over. A subaltern handed the admiral a long, thin package, which he placed in Trembley’s outstretched hands. Inside was a samurai sword. The museum staff watched in amazement as the curator gave a long speech in fluent Japanese.

  Trembley hailed Griffon as the crowd headed bel
ow decks for supper. ‘Director, this is a most splendid reception. Perhaps we should present the emperor with something in return?’

  ‘Splendid idea, Trembley. Could you find out what might be acceptable?’

  At 10.30 p.m. precisely, the dinner broke up. As promised, Archie walked Beatrice through the streets and laneways of Woolloomooloo towards Circular Quay. The air was still warm and scented, but there was the hint of danger, both in the loo and in the museum. Archie felt more alive than he had since leaving the islands—all his senses were heightened. As they negotiated a narrow lane, the touch of Beatrice’s breast on his arm shot through him like an electric shock.

  In an instant he remembered the Venus Islands woman who had drawn him into the shadows of the coconut palms at the conclusion of his last yam festival. She’d placed his hand on her naked breast and moved it gently. Archie repressed the memory at once.

  They walked on through the Domain and paused under a fig tree. Archie moved towards Beatrice, wanting to kiss her, but she stepped back from his embrace.

  ‘We shall be friends, Archie. Friends and nothing more. Now, will you walk me to the quay? I must catch the last ferry or my uncle will be mad with worry.’

  Archie felt at sixes and sevens as he lay in bed that night. Perhaps it would be as she said. They would be friends, nothing more. Perhaps she would marry Mordant. But he wanted her to be his. ‘Rabies, waterhole, chewed leg!’ Archie repeated under his breath.

  The next morning, Abraham Trembley puffed his way up to the director’s office.

  ‘Director, the admiral has expressed a wish—an imperial one perhaps—to obtain a complete set of the jellyfish species of Sydney Harbour, along with a detailed map of the waterway showing the contours of its bottom and the locations of the jellyfish finds.’