Galapagos Regained (49 page)

In lieu of an elaboration, the Governor hurled his linen napkin onto the table and, rising, disappeared into the front parlor. He returned bearing desiccated copies of the
Evening Standard
. “I subscribe to the world's most diverting newspaper, receiving a bundle of issues every month through the barrel.” He opened the topmost copy to an article headed
SUPREME BEING SURVIVES BIBLICAL CONTRADICTIONS
and subheaded
DILUVIAN LEAGUE TO RECOVER GENESIS ARK FROM ARARAT.
“The journalist Popplewell routinely reports on something called the Great God Contest. Have you heard of it? In this particular piece, he tells how the Percy Shelley Society was convinced to sponsor a search for Noah's ark.”

“Not only have I heard of it,” said Mr. Chadwick, cracking a crab's fighting claw, “but I once served on the judges' bench.”

“Do you mean you're
this
Reverend Chadwick?” gasped Stopsack, pecking Popplewell's article with a rigid forefinger.

“Indeed. Has the prize been awarded yet?”

The Governor devoured a forkful of flamingo and shook his head. “Not according to the most recent issue to reach the barrel.” Retrieving the next paper in the stack, he turned to a headline reading
ATHEIST JUDGES UNIMPRESSED BY COSMIC COINCIDENCES
and subheaded
FREETHINKING FEMALE NATURALIST TO SEEK PROFANE “TREE OF LIFE.”
“Here we learn how the Society dispatched a band of freethinkers to Galápagos, which supposedly harbors species useful in illustrating a disproof of God. They set sail on the
Equinox
”—Stopsack pointed his fork at Ralph—“the same brig that occasioned Garrity's question to you yesterday. Blasted by a hurricane, right? No survivors?”

“So say the rumors on display in Post Office Bay,” said Ralph.

“The rumors, alas, are true,” said Mr. Chadwick to the Governor. “On orders from Wilberforce, I was traveling with the very religious skeptics of whom you speak, that I might learn whence the naturalist got her theory. I grew quite fond of the woman.”

“Her death must have caused you considerable grief,” said Solange.

“Female naturalists, I would imagine, are inherently adorable creatures,” said Ralph.

“Considerable grief, yes,” said Mr. Chadwick, his voice breaking, a display of sentiment that surprised but did not displease Chloe.

“You can see why I accuse Hallowborn of pursuing the extermination with mixed motives,” said Stopsack. “Perhaps he really believes Satan fashioned the ancestors of certain Galápagos fauna, but his
real
goal is to obliterate evidence for the late Miss Bathurst's Tree of Life.”

“Which means you're more prepared than ever to defy Hallowborn?” asked Chloe.

“Which means I'm eager to undertake an audacious project,” Stopsack replied. “Esteemed guests and fellow Christians, a great opportunity lies before us. We can win the Shelley Prize!” Bending over his
Evening Standard
collection, he pounded his fist on
COSMIC COINCIDENCES.
“Think about it! The Diluvian League won't find the Genesis vessel on Ararat, for it's sitting under our very noses! I invite you to join me as I sail the ark to Panama, drag it across the isthmus, and display it before the judges!”

“A splendid idea,” said Capitaine Léourier.
“Quelle ingéniosité!”

“A wretched idea,” said Mr. Chadwick. “
Quelle stupidité!
Governor, you should know that I desire no further truck with the Oxford sybarites. The Great God Contest is a corrupt institution, and I regret that I once lent it my good name.”

“I agree with the vicar,” said Ralph (by which he doubtless meant,
As a devotee of Omar Khayyám, I cannot be a party to God's corroboration
).

“It sounds like a silly competition,” said Solange (surely meaning,
I love the Great God Contest, but only if it sends the Almighty packing
).

“A silly competition that could place nearly two thousand pounds in the pocket of every person at this table,” noted Stopsack.

“With such a sum I could mount the ultimate search for El Dorado,” mused Léourier.

“I should like to know Madam Prophet's opinion.” The Governor indicated Chloe by pointing with a flamingo bone. “Do you doubt that Heaven would have us go to Oxford? Are you not eager to inform Christendom that, owing to the ark and its Hebrew guardians, modern men and women may now hold the God of Abraham factual?”

Despite her knowledge that the vessel anchored in the Bahía de Cormoranes was not the Genesis ark, Chloe found herself in sympathy with Stopsack's plan. For if the
Covenant
indeed enthralled a majority of Shelley Prize judges, with Popplewell reporting that momentous outcome in the
Evening Standard,
did it not follow that thousands of ambivalent Christians throughout England and the Continent might progress from a manifestly plausible belief in the prophet Noah to a shattering apprehension of the Presence? Might not a man who understood the rainbow covenant to be a real historical event soon come to hear the morning stars sing together?

“I pray you, Governor, restrain your excitement for the nonce,” she said, eating a morsel of shark. “First we must hear Mr. Hallowborn's decision. Only then might we speak of winning the gold.”

“It's not
worth
winning,” Mr. Chadwick insisted.

“Whenever there's a ten-thousand-pound purse at stake,” said Stopsack to Chloe, “you will find me the paragon of patient men”—he took a sip of
pisco
—“and the very soul of forbearance.”

*   *   *

Awakening in the Governor's guest suite shortly after sunrise, Chloe put on her white robe and, as she'd done every morning for the previous ten days, repaired stealthily to the kitchen. Finding Pablo about, she requested that he serve her coffee on the veranda. By nine o'clock she was relaxing in the open air, munching on cassava bread and using Pablo's brew to dilute the previous evening's indulgence in
pisco
and
caxirí
beer, her face shaded by a pink parasol planted on the deck like a conquistador's flag.

A
tolda
canoe appeared, Eugenio working the paddle, the Reverend Mr. Hallowborn seated stiffly beneath the canopy like one of Charon's fares crossing the Styx. He cried out to Chloe, saying, “I would have a moment of Lady Omega's time!” She called back, proposing that they share her carafe of coffee (though warning him it was strong to the point of proximate sin), an invitation he accepted without hesitation.

As Chloe revisited the kitchen and procured an empty coffee cup for the rector, a question wrapped itself, serpent-like, about her mind. If Hallowborn joined with Eggwort in pronouncing Lady Omega a fraud, would she feel deserted by the God of her epiphany?

The question continued to haunt her after she returned to the veranda.

“You have transformed my dark night of the soul into a bright noon of the spirit,” said the rector, pulling up a chair and joining her beneath the parasol. “Had Lady Omega not come to Galápagos with her Indian disciples and their ark, I would have stained my hands with the blood of blameless beasts.”

For a glorious instant Chloe's heart occupied every part of her body. Her veins all pulsed with joy. Hands trembling, she directed a stream of coffee into Hallowborn's cup. “How pleased I am that the morning stars have sung to you.”

“One day you will be designated the Church of England's first mystic.”

It would be unfitting, she decided, for a divine messenger to dance about the wharf like a gypsy. Instead she took a bite of cassava bread and said, “In Heaven you will be honored largely for sparing the animals, though your appreciation of Lady Omega will also draw praise.”

Hallowborn took his coffee in hand, fluted his lips, and sipped. Setting down the cup, he stretched out his arms in a benediction embracing the wharf's
habitués
, twenty birds at least, the majority engaged in extracting invertebrates from the railing. “I hereby ask absolution of these finches and thrushes.”

“They are gracious creatures, certain to forgive you. What will you tell Bishop Wilberforce?”

“That Chloe Bathurst is dead. That a wayward Israelite tribe is flourishing in Peru. That God gave them a prophet. That the Devil authored not a single Encantadas species.”

For a wordless interval Chloe and the rector savored their coffee, until at last she squeezed his hand and said, “Reverend, might I solicit your counsel in a theological matter? No, not just theological—political as well. Before the month is out, Governor Stopsack and I hope to transport Noah's ark to England and display it before the citizenry in corroboration of Hebrew Scripture. What do you think of our project?”

Hallowborn interlaced his long fingers. “Though my own faith has never required tangible testaments, I suspect such an exhibition might benefit the great mass of men. But I must advise you to stay clear of Oxford, where the local rakehells have turned the God question into a ridiculous sport played for a large cash prize.”

“You may be sure that Lady Omega eschews all such profane competitions,” said Chloe, thinking that an apostle of the Presence might take a more nuanced view of the matter.

The rector untangled his fingers and said, “I would never have imagined otherwise.”

*   *   *

Upon finishing his coffee, Mr. Hallowborn took leave of Chloe, citing an obligation to return to the
Antares
and offer the ninety convicts one last sermon before their incarceration. She spent the morning spreading the good news throughout the hacienda, so that breakfast became a
carnaval de la victoria
in which even the Governor participated. Throughout the meal, Ralph, Solange, and Mr. Chadwick heaped accolades on the English mystic, being careful not to accidentally call her “Chloe” or “Miss Bathurst.” Perhaps Stopsack had already deduced that the whole Lost Thirteenth Tribe business was a hoax, but in any event he kept his own counsel, speaking only to laud Madam Prophet's compassion for the Encantadas fauna.

In the days that followed, Chloe realized that the ghost of Doubting Thomas had laid claim to her imagination. Peace of mind would elude her until she'd witnessed in person not only the relocation of the ninety prisoners to Mephistropolis but also Simon Hallowborn's subsequent departure for England. She shared her forebodings with the Governor, who explained (to her immense relief) that he was about to take up the pen of his authority and write the final chapter in the short, shabby history of the Great Winnowing.

“Tomorrow is the Hebrew Sabbath,” he said, “and then comes the Christian Sabbath, and the very next day, Madam Prophet, we shall bring this distasteful matter to a conclusion, whereupon you and I can set about claiming the Byssheans' treasure.”

The Monday in question dawned ominously, a thick and treacherous fog swaddling Indefatigable, but Stopsack decided to attempt the crossing anyway. Shortly after eight o'clock the
Hippolyta
sailed out of the cove, crewed by all four furloughed Ecuadorians and carrying the European adventurers (minus Léourier, who'd elected to spend the morning browsing through the Governor's library). The mood aboard the schooner was at once festive and tense. Although the masquerade troupe still took satisfaction in their recent feat, they could not ignore the shadow cast by Stopsack's intention to win the prize. Whereas Ralph, Solange, and Mr. Chadwick made no effort to disguise their distaste for the scheme, Chloe, braving a trio of sneers, speculated aloud that a finding in God's favor at Alastor Hall might bring solace to countless Christians presently enduring crises of faith.

Soon after the
Hippolyta
rounded Pelican Point, the fog lifted, and the balance of the voyage occurred without mishap, the company reaching Post Office Bay in time to see the
Antares
's crew pilot her along the wharf towards a berth adjacent to Eggwort's shallop. The furloughed Ecuadorians guided the
Hippolyta
into the outermost slip. Disembarking, the Governor headed for the prison ship, whilst Chloe and her friends ascended to a natural balcony of frozen lava near the summit of Mount Pajas, so they might observe the maneuver from a safe distance (an eleventh-hour revolt by the convicts being all too easy to imagine). The balcony offered an unobstructed view of Mephistropolis with its grim watchtower and stout brick wall, a panorama that the adventurers enlarged by means of Léourier's glass.

Although Stopsack had probably never before directed such an undertaking, he performed his duties with brio, skillfully heaping verbal abuse on the manacled inmates (“Step lively, you dunderheads!” “Keep moving, you walleyed toads!” “Stay in line, you hairy apes!”), whilst Captain Garrity's sailors, fowling pieces in hand, poked and prodded the ninety down the
Antares
's gangplank, along the wharf, across the tuff-strewn basin, and through the thorny perimeter fence. All during this fitful march, the elderly Kommandant Hengstenberg, whose Prussian affectations included a monocle, a waxed mustache, and a riding crop, likewise sought to intimidate the convicts. In a voice so loud it easily rode the torpid air to Chloe's ears, he told the prisoners they must not imagine swimming to freedom, the waters off Duntopia being “inhabited by hammerhead sharks with an appetite for English flesh.” Mr. Hallowborn, meanwhile, assumed a consoling role, assuring the convicts that once they'd atoned for their crimes through hard bondage, God would look favorably on their petitions to enter Heaven.

After the ninety had passed through the main gate and assembled in the exercise yard, an ursine capitán strode out of the stone keep leading a dozen guards brandishing carbines. With so many men waving firearms in their faces, the convicts grew visibly alarmed, but then Stopsack made a momentous announcement (far more heartening than Hallowborn's soggy promises of salvation). Every man who toed the line, causing no trouble whilst residing in Mephistropolis, would have his sentence reduced by one-quarter, just as if he'd butchered his share of reptiles.