Part 31 (2/2)

Then, with a morbid fascination, Nemo submerged the sub-marine boat and cruised beneath the wrecked hull. The shattered wars.h.i.+p continued its slow and ironically graceful plunge toward the bottom.

Outside the windows of the salon, he could see burned and broken hull timbers, tangled rigging, and bodies . . . many bodies of dead navy men who'd had the misfortune to go to sea on the wrong battles.h.i.+p. His breathing became quick and shallow.

Many of the Nautilus Nautilus crewmen turned away, but Nemo stared with gla.s.sy eyes. He had a mission in his hardened heart now, and he owed it to himself and his crew to face his conscience, to see the frightening reality of what he had done. crewmen turned away, but Nemo stared with gla.s.sy eyes. He had a mission in his hardened heart now, and he owed it to himself and his crew to face his conscience, to see the frightening reality of what he had done.

When he left the salon and addressed the crew, his voice carried no guilt. ”Henceforth, if a wars.h.i.+p bears arms and carries cannon to sink other s.h.i.+ps -- then I declare that vessel fair game.” He drew a deep breath and stared at the destruction for another long moment, trying not to let questions rise like spectres in his memory, trying not to think of the people who had been on board that vessel.

”We will show no mercy.”

viii

Back in Paris, Jules Verne continued to write and read, using his imagination for extraordinary voyages, which the readers devoured. He studied the newspapers every day. World events gave him ideas to add to the adventures Nemo had shared with him aboard the Nautilus Nautilus. Sitting alone in his study, he could hardly bear the excitement of the stories he intended to tell. He was glad he didn't have to waste time actually experiencing the adventures. . . .

For months now, the international press had carried remarkable stories about wars.h.i.+ps sunk, vessels attacked and destroyed by a terrible ”sea monster.” Oddly, the creature attacked only s.h.i.+ps of war, but did not discriminate as to nationality. The naturalists of the world held a conference in London and argued about the origin of this creature, imagining a gigantic narwhal or some prehistoric beast arisen to attack ocean-going craft.

Day after day Verne read the reports with interest and horror, unable to deny the obvious answer. He told no one, of course, but he understood immediately what must be going on.

The Nautilus Nautilus, an armored sub-marine boat designed for purposes of warfare, had to be the culprit. And Nemo himself was behind the attacks.

ix

French readers loved Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, published in two volumes beginning in 1869. Verne accepted his success in a daze, believing the wonderful comments he heard, and finally he allowed himself to revel in it. He felt his heart swell with the long-sought literary fame.

At lunchtime, as Honorine prepared a plate of cold meats, cheese, and fresh berries, Verne received his copies of the newly released gift edition from Hetzel. The book had been released several days before, but Verne often didn't see copies of his own novels until some time later. Engrossed in new stories, he often didn't notice.

Opening the package, he held up the volumes, delighted with the ill.u.s.trations and pleased to see his name on the cover. A good wife, Honorine dutifully admired the books, as if they were her husband's trophies. She never read his stories, but she placed them lovingly on shelves and displayed them for all visitors.

He grinned at her. ”As soon as I completed this ma.s.sive novel, Honorine, I knew in my heart that I'd written my masterpiece,” Verne crowed. ”This one . . . this one would make even Dumas Dumas proud.” proud.”

He tapped on the cover with a satisfying thump, then bustled to his writing study where he could pore over every page. Once again, Verne owed this epic to Nemo, the dark-haired and daring friend who had succeeded in so many areas where the author himself had failed. . . .

Over the many months of writing the book, locked away in his study and scribbling in bound journals, Verne had shamelessly borrowed from what Nemo had shown and told him. He'd described the metal-hulled sub-marine boat and even added how it preyed upon wars.h.i.+ps. He wrote about the exotic landscapes of the sea bottom and even included the terrifying adventure with the giant squid. The novel was his masterpiece.

By couching facts as fiction, no one would scoff at Verne, though he alone knew that the events were indeed true. He had even gone so far as to name his main character, the diligent and curious Professor ”Aronnax,” after Caroline, of course. It was his way of honoring her in a manner that she could perhaps understand.

The readers of the magazine serialization, though, were most captivated by the brooding and mysterious Captain Nemo, an angry and impa.s.sioned man who had isolated himself from the world, divorced his very existence from human society. Verne's intent had been to make him a dour, driven fellow, consumed with the fires of vengeance, scarred by some terrible (and unspecified) event in his past -- yet the public loved him for his dark pa.s.sion. They saw Nemo as a romantic hero, an enigma that captured their imaginations.

Verne accepted the accolades with good grace, though at home with Honorine he remained perplexed. Even after years of total absence, Nemo still managed to steal Jules Verne's thunder. What is it about the man?

In the novel, Captain Nemo took Professor Aronnax prisoner, along with the bl.u.s.tery Canadian harpooner, Ned Land, and the professor's faithful manservant, Conseil. The three accompanied Nemo on a remarkable voyage to underwater volcanoes, sunken cities, seaweed gardens, and polar icecaps. At the end, the three captives managed to flee just before the Nautilus Nautilus was lost in a terrible maelstrom off the coast of Norway. was lost in a terrible maelstrom off the coast of Norway.

In writing the novel, Verne had exorcised his own demons, his jealousy for the man who had done so many of the things Verne had denied himself. The magnificent sub-marine and Captain Nemo himself were both gone, sucked down into a water vortex, never to return. Verne had felt satisfied, and it was a grand ending.

Caroline, though, was outraged.

She pounded on the door of the flat while Verne was still locked in his private office. When Honorine let her in, Caroline looked appraisingly at Verne's wife, and then marched toward the closed door of the writer's study.

Honorine tried to stop her, but Caroline flung the door open and stood like a valkyrie in the doorway, her russet-gold hair in disarray. Verne turned around, astonished to see her, his face lighting with a surprised smile until her enraged expression registered on him. He faltered. ”Caroline! Uh . . . Madame Hatteras, to what do I owe --”

”Jules, how could you do this?” Caroline's bright blue eyes flashed with anger. By the sweat on her brow and the rumpled appearance of her clothes, he guessed that she had marched all the way from her s.h.i.+pping offices on the left bank of the Seine.

Honorine hovered in the background, wearing an expression of stern reproof. ”Jules, what is it? Who is this woman?”

In all the years he'd been in Paris, Verne had never introduced Honorine and Caroline. At the moment, however, it did not seem to be an appropriate time. He blushed and sweated, brus.h.i.+ng his wife away. ”Honorine, would you give us a moment of privacy, please?”

Confused but willing to obey her husband, Honorine retreated to the other rooms and busied herself with housework that Verne would never understand.

”So . . . you must have read my new novel?” he asked Caroline disingenuously, then flashed a nervous grin. ”Did you see how I --”

Caroline slammed down her own copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It made a crack like thunder on his desk. ”You used my name! You used Andre's. You made up this preposterous adventure . . . and then you killed him. Why? Why? To get even with him for some imagined insult -- or to get even with me? How could you do that? Nemo was your friend.”

”But --” Verne said, fl.u.s.tered. He leaned back in his chair, swallowed hard, and scratched his beard, at a loss. He searched over the newspaper clippings and scientific journals in front of him, as if he might find an answer among the summaries in his collection. ”I have often used names and experiences from my real life.” He sat up, gaining conviction. ”As you well know, I used your own lost husband as a hero in Captain Hatteras. Captain Hatteras. You didn't complain then.”

She stood, fuming. ”Because I did not care about him, Jules. What did it matter? But Andre . . . Andre --”

Verne's heart fell like a stone, and he stared at his notes on the desktop. In a brisk gesture, she swept away the piles of clippings from the wooden surface, and they scattered like a flock of geese fluttering to the floor.

”How can you do so much research, Jules, how can you know so many things about the world -- and yet understand so little about people?”

Caroline shook her head, and Verne saw that reading about Nemo's death had pierced her to the core. She'd always held out hope, since Nemo had survived one ordeal after another . . . yet he had never come back for her, not in all these years, even though she knew he was alive. That had stung her to the core. Reading his book, she must have felt her spirits rise at first, delighted with the story, her sole connection to the only man she had ever loved . . . and then been crestfallen when Verne blithely sank his character in the deep whirlpool.

”I have always encouraged you in your writing, and I have hoped for the best success and happiness for you,” she said. ”But must your friends pay such a high price for your dreams? You are not the only one who has dreams, Monsieur Jules Verne.”

Then Caroline stood straight and composed herself. She smoothed back her loose strands of hair, ran a hand across her damp forehead, and took a deep breath. ”He has always been your friend, Jules, and you know he is still out there somewhere.” She gave a sad shake of her head. ”Many men envy you -- do you know that? You have fame, money, a kind and devoted wife. Why did you need to do this? What more could you want out of life?”

As if slapped, Verne slumped back in his chair. What more could I want? What more could I want? He envied Nemo for the life he had lived lived, rather than just imagined. But Verne had missed the opportunities -- some had been taken from him, like the voyage on the Coralie Coralie, like Caroline's love for Nemo . . . and some Verne had been too reluctant to reach out and take.

But he could say none of these things to Caroline. She watched him intently, as if she could read his thoughts, then she left his writing office and made her own way out the door of the apartment. Before Caroline turned away, he thought he saw a single tear in her cornflower-blue eyes.

Honorine went about her routine, her face worried and curious, but Verne knew it would be a long time before he could explain everything to his wife.

He feared that he had lost Caroline forever.

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