Fools by Heavenly Compulsion
Written for Gil.
He felt that the storm had ended.
One couldn't tell, of course, as they were too far beneath the sea even to look up and see the sun or moon on the water shining down, but all the same, Aronnax felt that the storm had ended. He moved around his small room anxiously, picking up things and setting them down again with a vague, reluctant manner, as though he were afraid to let go of them. Of course he was not, but still, he held onto them a little too long.
Captain Nemo, he marvelled to himself. What else could be said? This man, strange and quiet and dark in his eyes, pale in his skin, with fine hands and peculiar thoughts; this man who stood in the storm and appeared to love the promise of a death worthy of himself; this man, then, was no one? It was untrue. He was a secret and a shadow, but even a secret was something.
Aronnax ran his fingers through the pages of his day-book, and frowned slightly. Days and nights and oceans and time, unstoppable time, and yet he still did not know who Captain Nemo was. Surely his curiosity was justified. Certainly it was. The trouble, he thought sadly, was in that curiosity was justified, but this entirely different feeling was not.
It was hardly something he could deny. Even in his day-book, the description he had provided of the Captain was too careful, too detailed, filled with too much praise and admiration, and he had written more than that in his neat handwriting, though he could read it calmly, without surprise at his own audacity. There, for instance, was a passage, inserted between an excited digression on shells and a few wistful thoughts of seeing a certain kind of sea-horse, which read,--
The Captain has vanished again. This is hardly a curious thing, for he is often gone, but I wonder at what disturbs him. Is he hidden in his room, studying some text or perhaps thinking (as I know a man can think for hours or days if he wishes)? or does he take control of his Nautilus for this time? A man could not create something so wondrous and then not feel pride for it and long to be the one who can cause it to work and move. Perhaps that is where he is. Or perhaps, indeed, he has left us to find some secret on one of his underwater islands.
Whatever the cause, I am sorry he has gone. There is something in his presence which causes me a strange sort of joyous sorrow, a sobering feeling of happiness. How odd it is that I am enthralled thus by my captor! But perhaps not so strange, as to-morrow...
And here it broke off, and the thoughts on the sea-horses began. But there was another short paragraph, more recent, which read,--
The idea of failure in our bold enterprise is the least painful of my anxieties; but the thought of seeing our project discovered before leaving the Nautilus, of being brought before Captain Nemo, irritated or (what is worse) saddened, at my desertion, makes my heart beat...
Aronnax closed the book. He felt that the storm had ended, and now that all was quiet, he should sleep.
He did not sleep well.
Finally, around eight, he gave up trying and, still thinking over the undeniable 'joyous sorrow', and the splendour, for it had a splendour to it, of Captain Nemo's standing in the storm, he went to the salon. The first thing he saw was the Captain himself, sitting on the floor by the huge black organ. At first, Aronnax could not conceive of what had happened, but the next moment he realised that Captain Nemo's hands were trapped beneath the organ, which seemed to have fallen. His eyes widened.
"Mon dieu, Captain!"
Immediately, he began doing his level best to get the thing up, but Captain Nemo quickly stopped him. "I doubt you can move it alone, Professor. Please, go to the men's quarters and find Passerculus or Deinde."
"Yes, of course!"
He left at once, casting looks over his shoulder. How long had Nemo been there? The pain must be unimaginable. . .and his fingers. It would be a wonder if they weren't all crushed, and even if they weren't, they would at least be badly broken. How the Captain had managed to sit for so long without crying out and still look dignified and quiet, if pained--but there, Aronnax was thinking of Nemo as though he were a normal man. Of course he remained dignified. It was one of his best talents.
The men's quarters were not difficult to find, and Aronnax went through them tapping doors, asking for Deinde or Passerculus. He found the two men together, arguing cheerfully in their own language over something on one's bed, an unpleasant-looking shell-thing. They both looked up when he opened the door, and after a moment of awkward speech with hand signals, they followed him.
As soon as they reached the salon, Passerculus and Deinde hurried to the organ and set their shoulders against it, and Aronnax did likewise, feeling somewhat foolish. They were much younger than he was, and still chattering a little in their own language.
But the organ was at last pushed away and set back by the wall, and Captain Nemo's men helped him up; he thanked them in that language which Aronnax was beginning to wish he spoke.
"Thank you, Professor," the Captain added, turning to him.
"Of course, Captain. But your hands!" Aronnax cried, suddenly remembering. "Here--" He took them carefully, and began to look them over, touching the bones gingerly and hoping he wasn't causing too much pain. At last he lifted his eyes and met Captain Nemo's. "At least three fingers are broken; I daresay more. Might I have some supplies? I need gauze and splints to set them."
"Yes, thank you. Passerculus, please fetch Monsieur Aronnax what things he needs."
Aronnax went out again, this time with Passerculus. As he left, he noticed a squashed grey book on the floor where the organ had been. King Lear, he thought, surprised. He'd borrowed it a few days ago to read in his spare time; not that he often had spare time, as there were too many interesting things aboard and outside the Nautilus to spend many of his utterly precious moments on books he'd already read. Despite that, however, it explained several things.
When he returned to the salon with the things Passerculus had given him, he found Nemo standing by the organ and frowning thoughtfully. For a moment, Aronnax wished he needn't disturb him; but of course there was nothing for it, and he said softly,--
"Captain? Please find somewhere you don't mind sitting for a while and then hold your hands out for me."
Captain Nemo went into the adjoining room and sat down by a table, holding his hands out with odd obedience, and Aronnax sat before him.
"You had splendid luck, Captain. The book prevented it from coming quite down on your hands, so your fingers are broken instead of being crushed completely. I shouldn't wonder if they wouldn't be quite all right in six weeks or so." He was probing Nemo's hands again, gently, and he felt a slight shiver beneath his fingers as he began to set the first splint. That drew a shiver from him, as well, and he softly admonished himself in his head. He must be careful, for even if he wasn't afraid or even too upset by his 'joyful sorrow', Captain Nemo might well feel quite differently. Quietly, he cleared his throat and continued, "They're not all clean breaks, but the ones that are may heal quite straight and fine."
"Do you mean to say that there's a chance they may not all heal straight?"
"There's always the chance, but my hope is better." Aronnax was astounded. As the Captain rose quickly, he thought that for the first time since he'd known him, Nemo might be--frightened. His hand fell on Nemo's sleeve anxiously.
"Your hope is better? I must have my hands, Professor! As you must have your hands for your work, I must have mine for my own!"
"I acknowledge it, but there is nothing I can do to cure them! I can only help to heal them!"
"Then, for God's sake, do that." Captain Nemo glared at him, and raised his hands--then abruptly he brought them down, his face twitching and his jaw clenching a little in pain. Aronnax stood at once and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down entirely, first. You mustn't move about like this. Sit." Aronnax spoke softly, reasonably, guiding the Captain warily until he was again sitting, looking weary and probably only half-listening as Aronnax told him what he was doing, how he was setting the splint, that he was making the bandage not loose but not tight either, so as not to hurt Nemo. Suddenly, perhaps helplessly, he glanced over at the Captain and said,--
"Your clothes seem damp. Did you change them when you came down from the platform?"
"Indeed, Professor."
"Certainly, I never doubted it!" Aronnax announced cheerfully. "But I didn't want you catching cold, for we have no eucalyptus. There!" He finished setting the splint, keeping his eyes determinedly on his work so as not to have to look at Nemo. The oddest things came into his head sometimes, and he occasionally had the misfortune to go so far as to speak them.
"'I will keep still with my philosopher'," Nemo murmured, and Aronnax tried not to flush.
"Isn't it 'I will still keep with my philosopher'?"
"No."
Of course, Captain Nemo was quite right. He was being absurd; he knew the quote-- "I think it is."
"Then you may bring in King Lear from the salon, but it is not."
"I shall bring it, as soon as I finish with this." He tied off the bandage and hurried out, colouring furiously. What in heaven's name was going on in his head? Was he quite mad? He took the book off the floor and returned to the side room, thumbing through the pages with his eyes firmly fixed on them. "Ah! Here it is! 'I will keep still with my philosopher'. You were quite right."
Nemo didn't answer. Aronnax stole a look and saw that the Captain was lifting his hands and frowning at the splints. Then, very suddenly, he breathed deeply and drew himself up. He was by all means an equal, captivity or no, love or no, and there was no reason that he should be embarrassed at being in Captain Nemo's presence.
"Captain, I've done my best on your hands, and I shall look at them regularly. I would expect them to be healed by seven weeks, certainly."
"Seven weeks?" Nemo glanced over at him and the corners of his mouth quivered a little, as though he were amused by something Aronnax could never understand. "Thank you, Professor."
"'The tyranny of the open night's too rough for nature to endure'. Was that last night, do you suppose?" With a sigh, he'd opened Lear, somehow feeling challenged by that hint of a smile. Now it was the Captain's turn.
"I think not. I endured it."
"Ah, but are you nature? You have done with society and you told me you were not a civilised man."
"And I'm not. But am I completely outcast by nature for that? Do you think the narwhal is a civilised creature?"
"Of course. Forgive me." Nemo had clearly just won. Aronnax found he really did not mind that so much as he minded the thought that he had annoyed the Captain. Why was he always doing such things? "Captain--"
"Lear is full of things that fit, isn't it? I read it often and pick out the lines I would speak, and find that, if lines can be gone by, I am Lear. But that is not true. Is it?" While he was speaking, Captain Nemo had moved to the window of the salon, but as he asked the question, he turned around swiftly to look at Aronnax, who involuntarily shivered again.
"Truthfully, Captain, I would not presume--"
"I wish you would. As for last night, you wanted Scene ii of Act III. Kent's second line."
Aronnax felt a small wave of anguish. Was he never, then, to be trusted? That was the most painful thing, really, for he believed firmly that he would never betray the Nautilus or go against its Captain, unless something truly terrible were at stake. There was no reason Nemo should not trust him. "Captain, for love of God, will you tell me why you are playing games with me? If I've offended you, I had no intention of doing so! If you wish me to leave, I certainly shall, but tell me why!" For an instant, he was surprised at how miserable his voice sounded.
The Captain shook his head uncaringly. "My wits begin to turn. I am very tired. Things are drawing to a close, Monsieur Aronnax. What is there I can tell you but little things?"
"You could tell me more!"
"I could not. Thank you for your work on my hands, and please go."
Aronnax nodded. He had promised that he would... "Very well, Captain. Shall I see you to-morrow?"
"Perhaps."
As Aronnax left the room, he put the flattened grey book down on the table.
His own room seemed oppressively small after the large salon, and he paced it slowly, feeling somewhat captured. Days and nights and oceans and time, unstoppable time, and yet he still did not know who Captain Nemo was, yet he still did not know what was to happen, yet he still had too many yet he stills.
At last, he sat on his bed, tracing the letters of 'Day-book' on the cover of his day-book. Perhaps the Captain did not know any better than he did. Perhaps they were, in a way, the same. Perhaps it was impossible to know anything surely, and all of life could be summed up with lines out of Lear. Indeed, perhaps there was no explanation for the world saving in Shakespeare.
Quietly, he opened his day-book and, in his usual neat handwriting, wrote on a fresh, ivory-coloured page, 'I have one part in my heart that sorrows yet for thee'. Perhaps it was so.
Back to the Index.