The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

12

Passepartout was delighted with his exploit. Sir Francis shook his hand. Fogg said, “Well done,” though he must have thought that the valet, who was, after all, under his command, should have consulted him before acting. He was, however, eminently pragmatic. And it was the Eridanean custom to act independently if the situation required.

Sir Francis told Fogg that the woman would never be safe in India again. The fanatics of Kali would track her down and strangle her.

At Allahabad, the young woman waited in a room in the railroad station while Passepartout purchased suitable clothes for her. Though Verne does not say so, he must have bought clothes for himself, too. When he entered Allahabad, he was still wearing the garments he had taken from the rajah. His own had been burned in the pyre.

On the train to Benares, Aouda fully recovered. She was astonished, of course, since she had expected to awaken in the Parsi Heaven. Fogg made no mention at this time of their Eridanean connections. He pretended to her to be what the world thought him, an overly eccentric English gentleman. He did offer to take her with him as far as Hong Kong. There, it seemed, she had a Parsi cousin who was a rich merchant.

At Benares, Sir Francis, who had to rejoin his brigade, bade them a fond farewell. He said that he would never forget their adventure, and neither Fogg nor Passepartout enlightened him on the one that he had missed.

On the twenty-fifth of October, exactly on schedule, the party arrived at Calcutta. The two days gained on the trip from London to Bombay had been lost during the journey across India. Verne says that it is to be supposed that Fogg did not regret the loss. He spoke more truly than he knew.

As they left the railway station, a policeman politely asked the two men to follow him. Aouda accompanied them to the police station. There they were held for trial, which would begin at 8:30 that morning. They were not told why they were detained, which seems strange since British law required that they be so informed. Aouda said that it was because of their interference with the suttee. Fogg replied that that was highly improbable. Who would dare complain to the authorities? Whatever happened, he would not desert Aouda. He would go with her to Hong Kong.

Passepartout, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, cried, “But the steamer leaves at noon!”

“We shall be on board at noon,” Fogg said.

At the stipulated time, the three were brought into the courtroom. Here they discovered the nature of the charges brought against them. It was not the affair at the temple of Pillaji which had caused their arrest. It was that at the temple of Malabar Hill in Bombay.

Fix, whom we last saw in Bombay, had traveled with the three priests to Calcutta. Because Fogg and party were delayed in the rescue of Aouda, Fix and party had beaten them to Calcutta. There they had complained to the British authorities of Passepartout’s desecration of the temple. Fix, who had paid their passage, had also promised them that they would collect a large sum in damages. On seeing Fogg and party arrive, he had gotten a policeman to detain them.

Sitting inconspicuously in the crowd in a corner, Fix observed the trial. He was delighted at the sentence. Passepartout was fined three-hundred pounds and given fifteen days in jail. Since Fogg, as master, was responsible for his servant, he was sentenced to seven days in jail and fined one hundred and fifty pounds.

Fix knew that there was now time for the warrant to arrive. And while Fogg was on his way back to England as Fix’s prisoner, many things could-and would-happen to Fogg.

Mr. Fogg, however, claimed his right to bail. Fix became cold at this point but warmed up when he heard that bail would cost each prisoner a thousand pounds. Then he became cold again when Fogg paid the amount from his carpetbag.

Passepartout insisted that the shoes left behind in the temple be returned to him. They were, whereon he complained that they not only had cost a thousand pounds apiece, they pinched his feet.

Fix, hoping that Fogg would never leave two thousand pounds behind him, shadowed him. To his consternation, he saw the party board a small boat and head for the steamer Rangoon. There was nothing he could do except follow them to Hong Kong. So far, he thought, he had certainly failed to “f x” them. He did succeed in getting onto the Rangoon without being seen by the Frenchman. But first he left orders that the warrant, when it arrived, should be forwarded to Hong Kong.

Fix stayed in his cabin as much as possible. While there, he considered the addition to the party. Where had she come from? Who was she? Was she an Eridanean? The latter seemed more probable, since Fix could not conceive of the coldly inhuman, or inhumanly cold, Fogg taking a mistress.

Suffering from cabin-fever, and convinced that Passepartout might give him more information, Fix left his quarters. This was on the thirtieth of October; the next day, the Rangoon would stop briefly at Singapore.

Fix located the Frenchman, who was promenading on the first-class forward deck. Pretending to be surprised at finding him aboard, Fix greeted him. He explained to Passepartout that unexpected business at Hong Kong was responsible for his being on the ship. He had not been on deck before because seasickness had kept him in bed. He expressed astonishment on hearing from the Frenchman that a young lady was now with Mr. Fogg-though in a separate cabin, of course. Passepartout told the story of the rescue, their flight, their trial, and the bail. The woman, Fix discovered, was to be left at Hong Kong with a relative.

Fix, hearing this, thought that perhaps she was not an enemy after all. Disappointed, he gave up his plan to get Fogg arrested at Hong Kong on a morals charge. Fogg’s behavior toward Aouda was, according to Passepartout, irreproachable.

Fix invited Passepartout to have a drink of gin on him. Perhaps this time the Frenchman would drink enough to unlock the door of his discretion.

Later, Passepartout, having sent Fix reeling home to his cabin, reported to Fogg. This fellow, Fix, was undoubtedly trailing them. Whether he was just a detective or a Capellean remained to be seen.

Not much happened at Singapore, according to Verne. While the Rangoon coaled up, Fogg and Aouda took a long drive through the city and the surrounding country. Fix shadowed them so skillfully that they did not observe him. Passepartout, however, had shadowed Fix for a while, saw whom he was following, and went off to carry out some errands. At eleven o’clock, a half an hour ahead of time, the ship left the English-founded colony.

When Fix returned to his cabin, he discovered waiting in it a man whom he had met once before. We know this because it is recorded in Fogg’s secret log, though he was not aware of the meeting until much later.

The man was sitting in a chair, his long well-muscled legs extended straight out, the posterior edges of the heels of his expensive boots on the deck. Though he was about forty years of age, he had the physique of an athlete of twenty-five. His waist was narrow; his chest was broad and deep; his shoulders were wide. His nose was long and straight. His mouth was thin. His chin jutted out. His forehead was high and bulging. His eyes were a pale gray and set so far apart that they could cover one hundred and eighty degrees. He was smoking a long thin cigar the make and aroma of which Fix could not identify. It had a certain salty tang to it.

“Sit down, Fix,” the intruder said in Capellean. “Do you have anything of interest to report?”

Fix sat down as if he could not obey the man fast enough. His nervousness became even more manifest as he told what had happened from the day he met the Mongolia at Suez. While he talked, he could not keep from wondering if his guest was one of the Old Ones or an adopted human. Those widespread eyes and the superhuman and chilly intelligence in them! But he dared not ask. In any event, it made no difference. He was under the orders of this person, man or alien. And he was a deadly person. An utter lack of compassion emanated from him in an almost visible aura, if a negative quality could be said to radiate.

At the end of Fix’s lengthy account, the man straightened up in the chair. “You will continue to follow him, all the way back to London, if need be. And continue to make friends with this Passepartout. He is undoubtedly an Eridanean. That watch which he refuses to adjust to the sun sounds suspicious. It may contain a distorter. One of them is carrying a distorter.”

This man was the one whom Fogg had called Nemo when he had seen him in the rajah’s palace. Nemo knew that Passepartout was Fogg’s accomplice. He had not seen him during the raid, but the soldiers in the dome had described the Frenchman. That he did not bother to tell Fix this was a mistake due to his arrogance. Fix was only an underling and a not very competent one at that in his opinion. Why should he tell Fix that he knew for certain that Passepartout was Eridanean? He had stated that the Frenchman was Eridanean and that should be enough for Fix.

That, however, was not enough for Fix. He assumed that the man’s statement was based on suspicions only. As far as he was concerned, Passepartout could be just a human.

Fix had some questions and some suggestions, but he did not voice them. This man was evidently one who gave orders and did not care to have them questioned. Fix would be glad when he left.

“Both Fogg and Passepartout,” the man said, “are aware that you are probably not just a detective. I don’t know why they haven’t killed you or tried to extract data from you. They must know that you may try to eliminate them at any moment and that you can easily do so. Still, they may be waiting to act until their plans develop further. They are iron-nerved, intrepid, and intelligent-for Eridaneans. As I have good reason to know.”

He puffed on his cigar for a while. Fix wished he would tell him just why he had such good reason to know. He also thought that he had identified at least one of the elements in the odor of the tobacco. Seaweed? But, if so, it was a fine seaweed, for the smoke was certainly pleasant enough, even to a non-smoker.

The man, as if reading his mind, said, “This is the next to last cigar. Then I go back to the more easily procured.”

He puffed again and said, “I think I’ll save it for a special occasion. Such as the demise of Fogg, who, by the way, has something familiar about him. Where have I seen him before?”

Fix sweated even more heavily. If a superior talked too much to an inferior, it could mean that he no longer cared if the underling knew too much. The underling would soon be dead. But what had he done? Where had he failed? He had carried out all orders, and it was not his fault that London had not sent the warrant.

The man, whose expression had been unrelieved by any sign of emotion, unless coldness is one, now smiled.

“I can’t tell you what is going on. But I can tell you that never have affairs looked so good for us. There is a very important operation, perhaps the most important in our history, going on right now that will undoubtedly bring an end to our war with the Eridaneans.”

Fix sat up. “Incredible!”

“Not if I say so,” the man said,

“Pardon me, sir. But an end!”

“Yes, an end.”

“But they would never make peace with us!”

The man quit smiling.

“You think strangely, perhaps too strangely. Did you really imagine that we would make a treaty with those demons? Or”-he stabbed the cigar as if it were a knife-“do you hope that we will? Peace will be declared only when every Eridanean is peaceful. That is, with the peace of death.”

“Pardon me,” Fix stammered, the sweat running down into his eyes. “I was so taken aback by your news!”

“Yes? Well, this near-total isolation, this secrecy, this noncommunication, is correct for soldiers in the field. But it has had a deleterious effect, too. How can you keep a community of interests, a secret nation, together if the members lose their sense of community, of communion, of commonness, as it were?

“The truth is that if it weren’t for one thing both Eridanean and Capellean would have become extinct long ago. Most of the Old Ones are dead. Even they, with one or two possible exceptions, are second or third generation. All the females of the Old Ones have been killed during the war or are sterile. Some trace element necessary for conception seems to be lacking in the soil of Earth. This is no secret, so don’t look so surprised. The original ships only contained five females apiece, and both we and our enemies chose the females as the prime target in our war. But you know this. Or has this secrecy been carried so far that no one has told you?”

Fix thought that the man, however hard he looked on the surface, and doubtless was, was still human. He was “visiting,” trying to re-establish some sense of being Capellean. On the other hand, he might just be testing him or softening him up for something unpleasant.

Fix felt lonely only because he had been away from home so long and was in a country he did not like at all. In London, he had a wife (a Capellean, of course) and three children. The children had been conditioned from the time they started to talk. They were now listening to stories from him and his wife of far-off planets and space flight and galactic war. They thought these were fairy tales now, but in a few years they would, if they passed certain tests, be admitted into the blood brotherhood. An Old One would contribute some of his blood to be mingled in their veins.

Fix loved his wife and children. He liked to come home to them after a hard day or night of tracking down criminals, arresting them, and occasionally beating them up in the interrogation cells. Only, of course, if he was absolutely certain they were guilty and they had committed some terrible crime such as murder, child abuse, or sodomy. If the mundane life of a policeman got dull, and it often did, it was relieved enough by the sudden secret codes, the esoteric messages, the missions against the evil Eridaneans. But he liked his missions to be on home soil. After all, he was English.

“Two things only have kept us from disintegrating,” the man was saying. “One, fear of death if we should defect. Two, the strongest by far, is the possibility of living for a thousand years. Most men and women would sell their souls-if they had any-for this gift. But, of course, being brought up as a Capellean or Eridanean is the glue that holds us together. And we do have ideals. We do intend, once the enemy is out of the way, to steer the world into peace, prosperity, freedom from disease and pain, and brotherhood.”

He puffed again, sending out thick green stormclouds, smiled like lightning, and said, “This world will be ruled by the only ones who have the ancient knowledge to do it. Us. And our grandchildren may be among the aristocracy, Fix.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In any event, you are now forty years old and won’t become any older, physiologically speaking, for about eight hundred to nine hundred years. But you can be killed, Fix. And our enemies want to kill you. So we must kill them first. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But it is better to take them alive first so we can find out who the others are and so catch them, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you will play your role. And Fogg and Passepartout will play theirs until we lower the curtain on them. Meantime, what are your thoughts on this woman?”

“Possibly an Eridanean,” Fix said.

Since Nemo’s conversation indicated an uncertainty about Aouda’s true identity, it may safely be presumed that he had never seen her before. The rajah of Bundelcund had evidently kept her hidden in his seraglio, and Nemo had left Bundelcund immediately after the rajah’s death.

“It seems unlikely,” he said, “that the two Eridaneans would have risked their lives for anyone besides another of their kind.”

“I don’t know about that, sir, if I may be so bold,” Fix said. “That Fogg is a strange one. No fear there, if I may say so, sir. And he is an Englishman, sir.”

“Would you have rescued her?”

“Yes, sir. As an Englishman, sir. As a Capellean, no, sir, not unless I had orders to do so.”

“And which do you think is the most human action, Fix?” the man said with a hint of a sneer.

“Most human, sir?”

Fix was silent for a moment, then smiled.

“Being human, sir, if I do say so myself, and capable of both of the actions you mentioned, I’d say neither is more human than the other. As for a question of heart, sir, what is the word for that… cumpass…?”

“Compassion, Fix. I can quote you its dictionary definition, as I can every word in the dictionary and in the Encyclopedia Brittanica of 1871.”

But I doubt if you really know the word, Fix thought. The word is the shadow, but what about the substance? His mind knows, but it’s not connected to his heart. And that’s where the only knowing worth knowing is.

What the man had said about the millennium medicine, as Fix called it, made sense, though. He wanted to live for a thousand years. He wanted desperately for his children to share in that long life. But there was a chance that at least one of his children might not be permitted to do so. If the chiefs decided that the child was too emotionally unstable, that he or she might blab to the world, then that child would share neither in the Blood or the elixir. And his little Annie, his beloved little Annie, showed signs of hysteria.

The man suddenly stood up. He was very tall, at least six feet five inches tall. And, now that Fix considered it, under that cultured English voice was the faintest of brogues. Was this man of Irish descent?

“I shall be out of sight,” the man said. “But I shall be close. When the time is ripe, you’ll hear from me. Meanwhile, play your part. And delay Fogg as much as possible without being obvious about it. Let’s hope that the warrant will be waiting for you in Hong Kong. If it is, we’ll attempt to keep him from arriving in America on time or at all.”

No greetings. No good-byes. He walked out boldly, though he shut the door softly enough.

Mr. Fix said, “Whew!” He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face. He felt as if a tiger had decided not to eat him after all. The room reeked of the essence of predator. It was nothing he could smell, or anybody could smell, unless he had that extra set of nerves in his nose. Just as he had boasted to the British consul that he could smell a criminal, just so he could smell the human tiger in a human. In this case, the man stank of both criminal and tiger. Fix would have felt sorry for Fogg and Passepartout if they had not been Eridaneans. And, even so, but no, he must never feel like that. He must never think of the enemy as anything but vermin and deadly vermin at that.

Still, he was glad that man with the widely spaced gray eyes had not ordered him to assassinate the two.

The story that Verne tells of the tribulations of Fogg from this point until he was at the 180th meridian is well-known. The events of that period are briefly outlined here for those who have read the story so long ago that their memory of it is vague.

Aouda, it was evident, fell in love with Fogg. That gentleman, if he were aware of her emotion, betrayed no knowledge of it. Passepartout could not understand why Fogg did not respond to this adoration. Certainly, he would have.

A storm put the Rangoon twenty hours behind schedule. Fix, though rendered seasick by the tempest, had a consolation. Perhaps the delay would allow time for the warrant to arrive at Hong Kong, and he could then arrest Fogg.

There were times, though, that Fix wished that the warrant would not get there in time. Once he put the handcuffs on Fogg, he would have to participate in the abduction and torture of Fogg. No, he wouldn’t. That man would not take him along with Fogg, since it would seem strange if he, Fix, were to disappear also. He would have to play the outraged detective who had been incompetent enough to lose a prisoner.

Fix felt better thinking about this. He did not contemplate the fact that he would be just as responsible for whatever happened to Fogg as if he himself were torturing and then murdering, no, killing him; whatever was done to him was not enough.

At last the storm subsided and with it Fix’s perturbed and guilty thoughts. The Rangoon was a day late; Phileas Fogg seemed doomed to miss the steamer for Yokohama.

Passepartout was afraid to inquire about the Yokohama ship. Better no news than bad news. Fogg did not hesitate, however, and he received good news. The steamer had been held up for one day for repairs to a boiler. They would make it on time after all. This was indeed fortunate, not to mention an absolute necessity. If he had missed this ship, he would have had to wait a week for the next steamer. He was still twenty-four hours behind schedule, but this was not disastrous.

As he had sixteen hours to spend at Hong Kong, Fogg took advantage of it to see that Aouda was put under the protection of her cousin, Jeejeeh. Fogg had by now ascertained that she was the Eridanean spy. But, since neither of them had orders about her, she would remain in Hong Kong until she received them. At the Exchange, Mr. Fogg inquired about her cousin. He was informed that two years had passed since Jeejeeh had left China. He had retired and now he was supposed to be living in Holland. Fogg returned to the Club Hotel, where he had installed Aouda in a room.

Verne says that she did not comment on this turn of events which left her alone and unprotected. Instead, she merely asked Fogg what she should do.

Serenely, he replied, “Go on to Europe.”

She is supposed to have said that she could not intrude or in the least hinder him on his voyage. Fogg replied that she would be doing neither, and he sent Passepartout to obtain three cabins on the Carnatic.

This scene is quite in keeping with Fogg’s character. But it is not quite what happened.

Fogg did not like to leave her alone in Hong Kong. He could have given her money to support herself for a while or to buy passage to England. But he did not wish to leave her exposed to poverty, to white slavers, or to the thuggees of Kali, who might come after her even in China. Moreover, the Capelleans might have identified her by now as an Eridanean, and if she were alone here, she would stand little chance of surviving. And it is likely, though he did not show it then, that he reciprocated her love. This emotion may have influenced his philosophy of rational mechanics. A rational mind has to consider all known factors, and personal emotion is certainly a part of the universe.

In any event, he told her that he doubted that she could do anything in Hong Kong for the Race. Since she had proved herself to be an exceptionally competent agent, she should accompany them. Three were stronger than two. She could keep an eye on Fix and for other Capelleans who were probably on this ship. Or, if not aboard, waiting for them in Yokohama or America.

Fix, meanwhile, was despondent. The warrant had not arrived. That it would come in a few days was no solace. Hong Kong was the last piece of British territory. The Fogg party would leave that by tomorrow. If only he could find some means of detaining them long enough.

While pacing back and forth on the quay, he met Passepartout. The Frenchman smiled at him as if he knew what was going on in his mind. No doubt he did. Passepartout asked him if he had decided to go to America with them. He did not ask Fix why he would do so. Fix, gritting his teeth, said he would be on the Carnatic. Together, they went to the ticket office. The clerk informed them that the repairs had been made sooner than expected. The ship would leave that evening, not tomorrow.

This gave Fix an idea. He invited Passepartout to a tavern on the quay. He knew that it held an opium den and that there he might get Passepartout to smoke a pipe of opium if he got him drunk enough. Fogg might then be delayed by a search for his missing valet. While they drank, with Passepartout downing two to Fix’s one, Fix revealed that he was a detective and that Fogg was the wanted bank robber. He was still not convinced that the Frenchman was an Eridanean. If he were only a valet, his sense of duty to the law might make him desert his master. That would at least save his life. Fix was convinced that, even if Passepartout were innocent, the gray-eyed man would probably order him killed. Passepartout could identify Fix as the man who’d trailed them, and the gray-eyed man would want no investigations of Fix by Eridaneans.

Besides, Fix had become rather fond of the chap. He would never have admitted this to Gray Eyes, but there it was.

The result of this sojourn in the opium den was that Passepartout passed out, and Fogg and Aouda were forced to leave without him.

There is no need to recount the adventures of the Frenchman after he awoke. After some tense, but comical, episodes in Yokohama, he was reunited with Fogg. They caught the ship to America just before the gangplank was raised.

Passepartout did fail to notify Fogg of the early departure of the liner. The ever-resourceful Englishman chartered a pilot boat. This sailed to Singapore, where he caught the Carnatic and proceeded to Yokohama. Fix was deeply chagrined by this course of events. At least, he told himself that he was. The few impulses of gladness he put down to flaws in his character, flaws that could become fatal for him if he did not master them.

Adding to his chagrin, was his indebtedness to Fogg. That gentleman not only permitted Fix to go with him on the pilot boat but insisted on paying his passage.

Fogg was motivated by a desire to keep Fix handy. He might have to seize a Capellean and extract data from him. Moreover, he suspected that others of his kind-if Fix were a Capellean-were on the ship. If these made contact with Fix, Fogg might spot them.

Fix knew this. He also knew that if they were all just what they pretended to be, Fogg would have treated him as generously. He did not like knowing this. It made Fogg too likable.

Verne says that Passepartout, on meeting his master in Japan, did not inform him that Fix was a detective who intended to arrest Fogg. This was not true. Even if Verne’s surface tale was valid, it would be difficult to account for Passepartout’s silence. Verne had him say nothing because it was necessary for his plot. Fogg must be kept in ignorance of Fix’s mission. Otherwise, Fogg would have rid himself of Fix and so not have been arrested when he landed in England.