Darwins Dreams: A Novel

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Darwins Dreams

Darwin

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A Novel by

Sean Hoade

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Drea


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Darwins Dreams

CreateSpace ScottsValley, CA

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by the same author

AINTTHAT AMERICA

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Are God and Nature then at strife,That Nature lends such evil

dreams?So careful of the type she seems,

So careless of the single life

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, InMemoriam, 1850

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For Kylara, Ginger, and Alice;you are my legacy.

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The Beagle, Plymouth, 1831

The problem was Darwins nose.

Splayed like the blade of a shovel, it wasan affront to Captain FitzRoys phrenologicalsensibilities. How could he dine with thatnose morning, noon, and night? Attend asDarwin tried to wedge it into a snifter ofbrandy? Watch it roll up and down on thenaturalists face as he chewed, like a Dutch-built tub riding out a hurricane?

This Darwin, who had never sailed fartherthan a rowboat could take him; this Darwin,who at two and twenty years had only aBachelors degree as qualification for theposition of naturalist; this Darwin, with his

nose as wide and uncultured as those on thecannibals of New South Wales. Theprinciples of physiognomy were as sound asany in science, accepted throughout highersociety, and Darwins nose marked him as a

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man with whom FitzRoy could notcomfortably dine, speak, or socialize.

Did the man suffer from an excess ofsensibility and emotion, as his snoutindicated? If he was supposed to be soremarkable, why then was his nose not longand slim, as phrenology demanded, asindeed was the captains own nose? His was

a nose utterly suited to its role: to imbue itsbearers countenance with authority andnobility. It was the nose of his ancestors,perhaps becoming even further elongatedand slimmer through successivegenerations of the fine and the worthy.

FitzRoy had looked forward to their firstmeeting with the greatest anticipation,since this was to be his shipboard friend foran extended expedition. Lord, how helonged for a companion at sea, a worthycompanion; but then, with hand extended,that nose had led its owner forward from the

shadows, and the captains face fell like atopsail in a dying breeze.

He had decided right then that he wouldnot allow Darwin to share his cabin; no, hecould sling his hammock in the chart room,the one with the mizzenmast rising through

its middle. It was expected that they woulddine together aboard the Beagle the nextweek, the ship in port as she was beingoutfitted for her journey, and so the captainformally invited him in front of witnesses.

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But as he got the words out, he also toldDarwin that he would need to bring letters

of recommendation attesting to his statusas a scientist and as a gentleman if he wereto sit at the captains table. Darwin, to hiscredit, bowed and assured the captain thathe would have them written and sentpresently.

A week later, at the writing desk in hiscabin, FitzRoy glanced at the letters. To aman, the writers hailed The Nose as ascholar, a fine shooter and collector, and,unmistakably, a gentleman of unimpeachable pedigree.

It was these testimonials that hadconvinced the captain to accept him at leastfor one meal, compounded with FitzRoysneed to make haste from England back to

Terra del Fuego with the natives he hadonce so proudly exhibited as new Christians,but who had of late returned to their savage

ways, seeking each other out for fornicationand perversion. A personal embarrassment,certainly, but potentially more, enough tobeach his career on the sharp rocks ofpublic derision. He would need a naturalistto justify the expense of getting the

Fuegians out of England, to allow theirjourney to be deemed a proper scientificand surveying mission.

The unanimity of the letters in support oftheir man surprised but somewhat

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reassured, FitzRoy, and so the captain hadsent word to Darwin that he would be

welcome and expected at six bells in theevening. If the lubber didnt know what thatmeant, so much the better.

A knock, then silence. On some ships, thesteward would simply step into the captainscabin while knocking, but that level offamiliarity had never served on the Beagle.FitzRoy waited a few seconds, then called,Come, Bennett.

Mister Darwin for dinner, sir. As thesteward stepped aside to allow him into thecabin, on deck the watch bell clanged, sixtimes in rapid succession.

FitzRoy stood to greet his guest,suppressing a shudder as the mans facecame into full view. Darwin wore a suit with

broad lapels, looking fine enough for dinnerwith the Prince of Wales; FitzRoyappreciated the conscientiousness. Theyshook hands and dipped their heads incourteous nods. The captain motioned tothe table and chairs that Bennett and his

mate had already rushed in and set up,amused at Darwins surprise.

Wont you take a seat, sir? This shouldnot take long. They sat as Bennett broughtglasses and poured from a recent bottle of

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port. I understand that you plan to join theclergy. An admirable choice, sir.

Darwin smiled and bowed his head. Andan admirable vessel this is, Captain.

With her sails off and her masts down,Im afraid we must make a sorry sight,FitzRoy said, not meaning a word of it.

Not in the slightest, sir! This noble ship

has already sailed the route of my dearestfantasies, and I daresay she looks ready toembark again for even greater glory.

It was flattery, FitzRoy knew it wasflattery, but that didnt mean it wasnt trueor even that Darwin didnt mean it, and thisbrought the first smile of the evening to thecaptains face. You are too good.

And I know of whence I speak, thenaturalist said, a finger stabbing the air, forI have fallen off boats the greater part of mylife.

You say FitzRoy started, and his smile

vanished. You sport with me.Im afraid I do not, sir. I am as helpless

on the water as a newborn baby. Darwinput his hand to his stomach. Even themotion of the ship right now makes me a bituneasy.

But, sir the ship is in portwe arelashed to the dock!Yes, I feared that was the case.FitzRoy sat back in his chair, stunned. The

nose told allbefore him sat a complete

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madman. My good man, pray answer meone question: If you are so averse to the

water, why then are you in my cabin tryingto convince me to take you on a three-yearvoyage over some of the roughest seas inthe world?

Darwin picked up his aperitif. Because Iwill, as you say, enter the clergy upon my

final exit from this vessel, whether that is inthree years or in three minutes. And I wouldrather that, when I go to spread the glory ofGod and His Creation, that I do it havingseen as much of it as humanly possible.Sickness may be my constant companion onboard, sir, but Nature shall be my belovedwhenever I am off, and your most excellentship is the conveyance by which I may studyher.

Finishing his speech, Darwin lifted theglass to his lipsbut FitzRoy put his handover the rim and called, Bennett, there!

Take this bottle to the gunroom, with mycompliments. Then go to my collection andbring up some better port.

From yourpersonal collection, sir?The oldest you can find. Then send a

man ashore to get us a fresh chicken, and

get Davis working on a pudding.What of the salt pork and ships biscuitthen, Captain? You told Cook you wantedthat served, sir, to show our guest how

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No, Bennett, thank you, stay thoseorders. They were made in jest.

In jest, sir, Bennett repeated, lookinglike he had never in life heard anything soutterly lacking in humor.

Thats right. Make this a dinner one canbrag about. FitzRoy smiled at hismessmate, keeping his gaze away from

Darwins nose. We have our naturalist.

As they dined, FitzRoy marveled atDarwin. Only four years younger than his

own six-and-twenty, he was an entertainingfellow with a full complement of engagingstories, every one of them revealing a manin love with nature, in love with life; a manwho would shove a beetle in his mouth if itmeant he could grab two more he wanted tocollect; a man who kept his intended from

becoming upset, when she slipped in mudand stained her dress, by taking a spillhimself, even harder, making her laughinstead of cry; a man who would sail aroundthe world for science even though he hadbecome queasy in the jolly-boat bringing

him across the placid bay. These anecdoteskept FitzRoy amused all during dinner, buthe noticed that although Darwin was oftenthe butt of his own jokes, he never actedthe buffoon; all of the comical suffering he

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encountered was in service of chivalry orwholesome exuberance or intellectual

curiosity, always for the greater good. Thenose had plainly been broken during one ofhis well-meaning misadventures, and thusdid not signify in terms of physiognomy.

It was an acquired characteristic, not anessential one. He and Darwin could sail

together, but more than that, they could befriends.

The pudding finished and their faces redwith satiation, FitzRoy waited until Bennetthad gone aft, then asked Darwin, Are youtruly that prone to seasickness?

I only wish I were exaggerating forhumorous effect.

It is fortunate then that you will be onsolid ground more nights than at sea, sinceyoull be collecting on land while we surveythe coast. But I must warn you, my friend: lamal de mer, if it is serious enough, will

affect your dreams.A smile attempted to rise, but the gravity

of the captains tone defeated it.This is no tale from Coleridge. I know you

plan to bring many books aboardnothingcould please me more, I assure youbut

whatever you put into your head, the spiralsof vertigo will whip into the most vividimages while you sleep.

I know of a midshipman driven to theedge of sanity by studying spherical

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trigonometry just before taking to hishammock in a large swell. The resultant

seasickness caused him to dream of a worldmade of nothing but circles, spheres,bubbles of existence.

Darwin nodded earnestly. Fascinating! Iimagine I would dream of disparate worldsand their biologies. Or perhaps philosophies.

Aristotle, Leonardo, Lamarck, all haveamazing views of natural historyas doesthe Bible, too, of course.

FitzRoy continued as if the other man hadnot spoken at all, his eyes fixed on a pointsomewhere over Darwins shoulder.Another vision, one suffered by a juniorofficer of my acquaintancebefore hecalled upon his own will and dignity not tosuffer queasiness even in the worst typhoonf was that everyone in the world,everyone, died a suicide.

The room sagged with silence. Finally

Darwin said, I wonder what the poor boycould have been reading to bring thatfantasy about.

Reading? FitzRoy seemed to repeat hiscompanions word from a great distance,finally returning with a shake of his head.

Oh! But Im afraid Ive put a pall over ourevening. Please allow me to attend to youon the jolly-boat back, and see if thisseasickness is as bad as all that.

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Darwin smiled and bowed his head at thekindness. I have your official invitation to

accompany the Beagle on her voyagearound the world?

Certainly, you do.Then let us proceed to the boat at your

leisure, he said, unable to suppress a tinychuckle, and you may see the spectacle for

yourself.

During the two additional weeks it took tooutfit the ship and fill her stores for the long

voyage, Darwin was thankful the captainallowed him to stay ashore as much aspossible; FitzRoy had quickly agreed withDarwins assessment, saying that never hadhe seen a man turn so green traveling on a

jolly-boat in placid water. This kindness wasonly one of the reasons Darwin came to see

him more as a friend than as an intimidatingnaval officer, before the Beagle even setsail.

But whenever he was on the water, lifewas a swirling, vertiginous hell.

The brig tacked back and forth off the

coast for more than two months, Englandstill in sight as they waited for a favorablewind to begin their journey around theworld. Standing to, back and forth, over andover, in nasty seas. Day after day, then

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week after week, Darwin lay pale andprostrate in his tiny cabin, the immense

chart table pinning him into a corner, adrawer removed from the cabinet to makeroom for his lubbers feet. Standing was animpossibility; all he could do was read andsleep.

And dream.

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Aristotle

In this world, Aristotle is right. The

characteristics of species are unchangingand essential, their continued existenceassured because the universe is movingconstantly towards a final purpose thatmust be fulfilled, its telos.

This world is a crowded place, a teeminghell, because as long as a species has apurpose to realize, it cannot go extinct.Giant saurians tromp through the forest,feasting on dodos and sheep, fighting withelephants and mastodons for territory leftunoccupied by humans, a small areabecause human cities include suburbs for

Homo erectus, ghettos for tool-using Homohabilus, sprawling shantytowns from whichAustralopithecines can hunt and gather.Food is scarce, and many individuals ofevery kind of animal die of starvationbut

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Aristotelian biologists prove that cobras,no matter what else they may happen to do

in their lifetimes, whatever else they hunt orkill, in their essence exist only to destroythe mongooseso hunting the mongoosebecomes humanitys job. It takes decades,but when every mongoose has beendestroyed, every one, the cobras die off,

their telos satisfied. A victory for science.But the world is shaken by news from an

expedition to Africa: the discovery of theratel, which naturalists describe in their

journals as an insatiable predator of thecobra. With the cobras gone, how can ratelscontinue to exist, since what was thought tobe the species essential purpose, theelimination of cobras, has been fulfilled? It isa perplexing anomaly in the biologistsparadigmuntil another naturalistexpedition returns from Africa with moredetailed descriptions of the ratel, journals

filled with drawings of the animal huntingcertain breeds of rats and particular kinds ofbirds, even raiding the hives of honeybees,earning them the nickname honeybadger.

Biologists and philosophers wring their

hands: Can a species essence containmultiple purposes? And if only one of thoseseveral purposes is fulfilledin other words,if the cobra has been totally eliminated butthe ratels other essential prey has notis

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the species total telos consideredunsatisfied?

Postal packets from Africa confirm theirworst fears: Baby cobras have been sighted.With their predator still extant, the cobrashave come back, because they remainnecessary to some part of the badgersmultipartite telos.

Biologists and philosophers argue: Howmany facets might this one species contain?

The ratels are voracious carnivores, butwhich of their killings are fulfillment of theirpurpose, and which are just historicalaccidents? Are there such things ashistorical accidents in a natural worldgoverned by purpose?

Ultimately, it doesnt matterthe Queenfunds the Royal Geographic Society tomount a massive hunt of all known prey ofthe honey badger, to scour the DarkContinent and kill every animal it uses for

food. Its purpose mustbe destruction of oneor more of these species, as the cobras wasto eliminate the mongoose.

The fleet of ships, laden with weapons,traps, and hunters, crawls down the coastsof Europe, then spreads out along Africa,

and at Greenwich noon on 23 May, theyinvade. They torch the jungle, use thenewest scientific gadgetry to locate thetarget animals, then use the latest inweaponry to eliminate them thoroughly.

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The hunt spreads into India, the Orient,South America, Australia. No matter what

his individual features, every member ofmankind comes together to destroy theprey of the ratel, and thus fulfill the speciesfinal purpose and bring it to extinction,clearing up another parcel of the worldsbooty for Man to enjoy.

Months into the hunt, when regularpackets bring news of glorious success aftersuccess, the Queen herself attends a lectureon the habitat and characteristics of thesoon-to-be-extinct animal, the honeybadger, the ratel. Its many species of preyare delineatedthe listing of which bringschuckles to the room, since half the namedanimals have now been confirmed assmoked out and rendered extinctitssleeping and hunting and mating habits,everything biology has come to understandabout how it goes about satisfying its telos.

The conclusion of the lecture brings warmapplause from all in attendance, but theroom falls silent when the Queen, a troubledlook on her face, raises a finger and speaks.My dear Doctor, a question, if you please.

Of course, Your Highness.

This animal is a prodigious hunter, butwhat predators has he?The lead naturalist bows his head slightly

and says, The ratels only natural enemy isMan, Your Highness. They are too tough, too

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vicious for any other animal to claim themas its prey.

The Queen tucks in her chin and weighsthis for a moment. Finally she speaks again.So no other animal than Man may call it itspurpose to hunt and eliminate the ratel?

That is correct, Majesty.Thus, if the ratels telos is satisfied and it

goes extinct, then that purpose of Manstoeliminate this animalhas been satisfied forhim. Yes?

A paralyzed silence descends. Again,yes, Majesty.

And of course, no animal exists thatfulfills its purpose by predating on Man, shespeaks, her voice tremulating as no one hasheard it do before. How, may I ask, do weknow that it is not Manstelos to render thisanimal extinct?

Your Majesty, thats the naturalistbegins, but stops himself short, his face

flickering with confusion, then fear. Man isthe highest of the animals one mustassume that he has the highest at least ahigher

The Queen shuts her eyes. May Godremember us.

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Antemeridian

Their heads bubble with thoughts, aseach comes to the surface and changes theshape of its thinkers skull. There is no needfor speech; emotions and ideas are reflected

physically, and can be read by all.I wear a soft wool hat pulled down round

my ears, so that the phrenologists cannottell what I am thinking. If I thinkscientifically, my frontal lobe bulges withcausality, and the phrenologists will know I

believe nothing of their science; if I allowmyself to feel my anger towards them, thearea just above my ear throbs and pulsatesand they will know and can thwart me; if Ilove or hate or feel the presence of God inHis creations, the phrenologists will know.

No one has hair here. If you have nothing

to hide, then why are you hiding it?It is too latetheir eagle eyes have

espied my secretiveness towards them andtheir ways. They can see the lump forming

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on the side of my head, even under the hat,and they are coming for me.

I am caught, and they take me to theguillotine, and cut off my head. Immediatelythe phrenologist pulls it from the basket,feels all around it for the telltale bumps ofthought and personality, and, feeling none,pronounces me dead.

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The Beagle, at sea, 1832

The captain himself poured Darwin acoffee, the better to warm him up after hisdip into the ocean. His hand shook from

laughing, and he had to try a few timesbefore he could get the hot liquid into thecup.

If I had not seen it with my own eyes, Iwould scarcely have believed it, Darwinsaid, and had to wait until his own laughter

stopped before taking a sip of the coffeeand continuing, Captain FitzRoy, dressedup as the King of the Sea, dunking poor andunsuspecting crew members in paint andpitch, then throwing them overboard! Hehad to put his cup down to get through thenext fit.

FitzRoy pounded the table in mock gravityand spoke in an unnaturally deep tone:Neptune spares no man who crosses his

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Equator. Especially not naturalists too youngto shave!

This sent them into another round ofhysterics. Im glad you filled a sail withwater instead of pouring us into the deep,Darwin said. I do believe some of your newcrew members cannot swim.

Most of them, FitzRoy said, and tipped a

bit more whiskey into their coffees. Idaresay, if a ships crew has to know how toswim, then their captain is a sorry sotindeed. He tapped his cup against Darwinsand they drank, the hysteria leveling outand leaving them with a happy glow.

They call me Hot Coffee, you know,FitzRoy said after a contented while.

Who does? Darwin asked, but only outof courtesy: He had heard it himself severaltimes.

My crew, my able but very silly crew.Hot Coffee, because I boil over easily. You

see?Very clever.Yes, yes. I anger very easily, my dear

Philosopher, when my station or standinghas received an affront. But we are allChristian men, are we not? He paused for a

moment. Except for the odd Jew orMohammedan, of course. But we must alllive together on this brig, is my point. Sosometimes I bring myself down to their level

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and let them see that I am a man with flaws,just as they are.

Which is why King Neptune himselfended up soaking wet by the end.

FitzRoy nodded, smiling, and Darwinthought he had never seen anyone so noble.When they had met the year before, thecaptain seemed to be a man who was born

above all others and would remain there forlife; but sometimes he let Darwin in to seethe man working hard to keep everythingtogether, inside and out, and that madeDarwin love him all the more.

Ive been having he started, butchecked himself from saying the last word,dreams. FitzRoy allowed him to witnesshis own humanity, and had warned himhimself about how dreams could be broughton by la mal de mer, but that didnt meanthat the captain wanted to hear Darwinsmidnight flights of fancy.

Youve been having? What, myfriend?

Ive been having Dreams. The oddestdreams. thoughts. About Fanny.

Ah, your darling Fanny. Not the mostpatient of young ladies.

Darwin hadnt meant to say her nameagainhadnt meant ever to say it againbut it was all he could think of, and now hesaw that this was because it was in fact allhe could think of, Fanny married to that

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doltish politico. She promised she wouldwait.

Ah, stiff upper lip, Darwin. FitzRoyleaned in closely. May I be candid?

Of course.The seafaring life is not one for the

married. There are too many temptations tobreak the sacred vow when were in port.

Its really much better being a bachelor. Notbeing married, you can do what a manmust, and be none the worse off for it,morally.

Do you mean visiting women? Whoreceive money? Darwin could feel hischeeks flushing as he said this, and felt likea ninny and a prude.

Im afraid so, FitzRoy said seriously.Youre not a clergyman yet, are you? However will you instruct your congregation inhow to wash away their sins when youhavent gotten yourself soiled enough

yourself to know?Darwin stared at the captain,

dumbfounded, his eyes unblinking as hesearched for something, anything, to say inreply.

Before he could, however, FitzRoys face

broke into a huge grin, unable to contain hisjoke any longer. I am sorry, Darwinoh,ha, habut I couldnt resist seeing your faceha! ha! ha! ha!when when But it

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was hopeless; FitzRoy collapsed into a fit ofdelighted cackles and could speak no more.

Darwin sat up straighter in his seat,projecting a hurt dignitybut with a belyinghalf-smile that only made FitzRoy laughharder. I believe that I am in the companyof an expert in the area of pranks andfollies, he said, joining the captain in

chuckling now. So this is my return forconfessing my deep romantic wounds.

Oh, my dear Darwin, it did take yourmind away from treacherous Fanny for afew moments, did it not?

In amazement, Darwin realized that thejoke had done just that, and tipped his cupin admiration. FitzRoy wasnt just a friend;he was a marvel.

Still, as he drank and looked withappreciation at his captain, he was glad hehad not said anything about the nature ofhis nighttime visions. For the dreams were

strange, but they were wonderful, and hewould not have been able to share aderisive chuckle over them, no matter howridiculous they may have seemed.

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The Ark

The mastodons cry is like a blast from arusty trumpet, sharp but ragged.

The frightened glyptodont snuffles around

in the middle of its shrinking island, fearbunching its plates of armor as high as amans head.

The giant deer twitches slightly in itsotherwise frozen stance, trapped by therushing water as it watches animal after

smaller animal climb up the planks andthrough the door of the Ark.It is the Flood of forty days and forty

nights, and Noah brings aboard seven pairsof every clean species, two of everyunclean, from the lowliest insect to the mostmagnificent lion. But even he, as he

shepherds the saved aboard, looks out withsadness upon the two kinds of animals hecannot save: those too skittish to board theArk, and those too large to fit through its

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door. The other humans, too frightened ofthe huge animals to challenge them for their

land, have already drowned.Noah, his wife, Naamah, speaks softly

to him, the Lord must know that He hasforsaken these beasts. It is not your doing.

Noah puts a hand on his wifes. Men willwonder what became of these creatures.

Why they, among all the creatures, were notgiven refuge aboard this vessel.

The saber-toothed tiger curls into itssleeping position, ignoring the unicorn a fewfeet away that scrapes in despair at the wetearth. Even the tiger sees there is no pointin eating when death is moments away.

The gryphon and the chimra climb tothe highest point in the tallest trees andwatch with their golden eyes as the waterswirls around the trunks below.

The beautiful, the hideous, they aredoomed as one, Noah says with a sigh as

he draws up the planks and closes the door,the hopelessly small door. God must havea reason. He must.

Naamah takes his shoulders and leadshim away from the door. The Ark is floatingnow, moving away from what little land is

left, teeming with all the life it can hold. Onemore creature could not fit, let alone two ofa kind. Naamah shows this to her husband,then lets him weep at her breast. God isgood, she says.

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The ship creaks as it rides the waves,which pass and inundate the shore. An

anguished roar from land pierces the soundof water and wood. Noah knows what thesound is, and it makes him weep anew.

It is Megalosaurus, water lapping at herfeet, the saurian mother screeching for hereggs as they are seized and swallowed by

the merciless sea.

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Antemeridian

Why is the chamber pot in my cabin onceagain? I wonder, and rise from my hammockto move it. But there squats the Captain,

grunting. He fixes me with eyes narrowedagainst the effort. Darwin, you fugger,what have you done to me?

I dont say anything, instead just slowlyapproach the Captain and reach out for thebrass pot, although he still wrenches his

stomach in the throes of some ungodlycramp. Quick like a cat, I snatch the pot andlook into it.

It is half-filled with huge gold coins. Forsome reason, this is what I expected.

Look what you have done to me! theCaptain cries, and I see him rush out of the

cabin and hear him clamber up the steps tohis quarters. Bloody seasick fugger!

The chamber pot grows heavy in myhands, and when I look down at it again, it is

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about to overflow with the doubloons, theshiny metal clinking as it multiplies.

I drop the pot, and it breaks right throughthe planks of the deck, shattering the woodof each level, creating a cloud of splinters inthe deck below, and below, and below, until

An aortic fountain of sea water bursts up

through the holes until it rushes into mycabin and breaks through the top bulkhead.Shouts and screams for Chips, thecarpenter, but already I can feel the shipcreaking and starting to go underthewaterline outside has risen almost level withmy porthole.

The Captain, shoving panicked sailors outof the way, rushes back down the steps andagain into my cabin, his brass-boundbreeches pooled around his ankles. Standbackfor the good of Christ, stand back!he bellows, and leans his bottom over the

gusher. He strains, and a flood of heavygold coins rains from his arse. They aremassive, bigger than any South Americanshield of the sun, and fill the ballastcompartment, blocking the water. Then thelowest levels of the ship are filled

completely with the golden mass, and thewater is forced out. The ship rises in thesea.

Screaming Look what youve done,fugger! again and again the Captain shits

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and shits his mountain of gold, until the shipis overflowing with money, buoyant, and

lifts out of the water completely, rising intothe sky, up and up and finally gone.

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The Beagle, Salvador, Brazil, 1832

As Darwin was handed up the side of theship from the jolly-boat, Captain FitzRoytook his hand himself and pulled him

aboard. My God, man, whats happened toyou? Youre white as new muslin. Did younot find the specimens you had wished for?

Indeed I did, Captain; they are in theboat below.

Then what But he stopped himself.

His first job was to comfort his friend, not tosatisfy his own prurient curiosity. Come tomy cabin and let us have a dramBennett,there! Bring our Philos to my quarters andset him up, will you? I shall be alongpresently.

When his coxswain had led Darwin away,

FitzRoy leaned over the side and calleddown to the men in the jolly-boat asdiscreetly as possible, Mister Covington,

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report there! What has become of MisterDarwin?

Covington stood from the crate ofspecimens, which looked to FitzRoy to be allmanner of rocks and stones, something hecould not see the need for on his ship. Stillanother time for that, he reminded himself.After naturalizing in the forest, sir,

Covington said, hesitating slightly, he sawsomething upon coming onto the beach.

That is to be expected if his eyes wereopen, Mister Covington. What sight was itthat has disconcerted him so?

The young man paused before muttering,Hes a Whig, you know, sir.

And I a Tory. Now, is this a report or is ita conversation? Get on with it before I havethe cat brought out.

Covington nodded, steeling himself.Mister Darwin witnessed a Black beingcorrected, sir. Speaking of the cat.

FitzRoy shut his eyes. A Liberal who hadnever been out of Britain, seeing for the firsttime the flogging of a slave... he doubtedvery much that Darwin would understandthe need for such unflinching discipline,even in an unruly place such as South

America. Very good, Mister Covington.Mind your mates take care with hisimportantthings.

The captain straightened his hat, tuggedhis coat a bit more snug around his

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shoulders, and proceeded to the aid of hisfriend, the person to whom he had grown

most close on the months of their voyagethus far. This was his compatriot; he wouldgive him his full sympathy andunderstanding.

The half-hour bell had not yet rung againwhen the entire ship shook.

Do not presume to quote Scripture atme! Fitzroy shouted with a voice usuallyreserved for being heard over full-tilt

fusillades. It does not matter if you are toenter the clergy upon your returna man ofyourstation will notspeak condescendinglyto a captain of the Royal Navy!

Robert, IYou will address me as Captain FitzRoy

or you will not address me at all! You have

become all too familiar in your dealings withme.

Darwin recalled the captains insistencethat he be called friend or Robert whenthey were in the privacy of his cabin, butsaid nothing except, Captain FitzRoy, sir, I

meant only to point out that while the Bibledoes casually mention slavery, even to thepoint of seeming to endorse it, nowheredoes it call for mens torture and humiliationat the hands of brutes and killers.

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Casually mention it? St. Paul himselfturned an escaped slave away and sent him

back to his rightful master. That is as goodas blessing it.

But Paul also told the master that hemust keep his responsibilities.

Of course! Men are always to take careof their property.

Property! My dear Captain, could ourloving God truly mean for some men to beowned by others? Even if this evilarrangement is, as you say, acceptableunder the laws of men, I cannot believe it isso under the laws of God.

Coldly, FitzRoy said, The trade, if it isevil, is a necessary one for the glory of ourEmpire, and also it brings Salvation to thesepoor souls, something which they had nochance of finding as savages wanderingnaked in Africa. His delicate features werenow aswirl with red, which made his newly

becalmed tone seem all the more chilling.You will not lecture me, Mister Darwin. Iknow my Bible.

But you are satisfied to follow only theparts that suit you, Darwin saidandregretted it immediately, even before

FitzRoy had leapt to his feet with new rage.And you, sir, are never to sit at my tableagain! Now kindly comport yourself to yourown quarters before I have the Marines

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escort you to shore and leave you therewith your bugs and your carcasses!

A retort danced at the very edge ofDarwins tongue, but he swallowed it.Instead, he bowed curtly and exited theroom.

The captain was a good and moral man;he just didnt know the Book the way Darwin

did, and it showed in the aristocratic way hedefended the interests of Man over those ofNature and God. Besides, the man had aright to his own opinion, especially on hisown ship

Brig, he reminded himself as he trundledup the ladder to the poop, trying daily tobecome more nautical. The Beagle is adouble-masted brig. It was a ship, of course;but he had been told by more than onecrewman that it was more accurate andseamanlike to refer to it as a brig. Notthat it mattered anymore; obviously he

would be getting off when they put in onceagain, and finding his own way back toEngland.

And his imminent exile notwithstanding,he still argued the point in his mindforwho had ever said that a man had the right

to his own opinion about moral matters,matters of Gods justice, just because heknew how to hoist a sail? Dont quoteScripture at me, indeed. The man was a godupon the water and a devil everywhere else.

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Darwin did comport himself back to thechart room, which had never seemed so

small, and bent double against the nauseacaused by the movement of the boattheshipthe brig. The movement of the brig.

He muttered an oath, and moved to thehammock. Through trial and error, mostlythe latter, he had finally realized that one

could not enter a hammock with his feetplaced first. That would end with a naturalistupon the floordeckand a curious captainin the cabin just below. No, now he placedhis fundament into the belly of the beast, asit were, and allowed himself to be cradled,turning to the correct alignment within thehammock as he did so.

There. Just in time to be cast ashore, hewas becoming a thorough seaman.

Now that he was in place, however, hefound that the book he had been readingPaleys Natural Theologywas still on the

edge of the chart table, just beyond hisfingertips. He stretched to reach it, and withthe help of the ships rocking was able tobrush the spine.

He added a bit of his own weight to theslight swing of the hammock, and allowed

the ships movement to bring him back.Again he reached, and this time just nudgedthe book, his fingers not quite in place tograsp it. The next pass would do it.

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More weight, more momentum added tothe pendulum, and this time he clutched the

book by stretching his body as far to theedge as it would go and clamping his thumband forefinger like a vise around thebinding. Success!

But he had overreached, and thehammock turned and bulged convex and

spat him and his book onto the deck,leaving him crumpled in a painful,nauseated heap. In this position, with his

journey truncated, his vision of a kindEmpire in tatters, his shoulder aching fromthe tumble, Darwin wept. For the Salvationof his friend, for his own foolish pride, forthe long trip back home with nothing butempty hands.

He wiped his eyes, then leaned on thechart table to bring himself back to his feet,brushing off his coat and trousers with hispalms. Then he picked up the Paley and

placed himself back into the hammock,adjusting perfectly to keep it level andaccommodating.

He had barely cracked the book whenthere came three sharp knocks on the door.If that is one of the Marines, please note

that I am unarmed.The door swung open and Robert FitzRoystepped in, his hat in his hands.

Captain! Darwin started, almostcapsizing once again.

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Mister Darwinno, please, no need toriseI need only to ask you FitzRoy

paused, then straightened his back andstiffened his lip. May I ask of you a favor?

Darwin settled back. I am yours, sir.I ask only that you accept my apology. It

is offered sincerely.Nothing would make me happieras

long as you will accept mine as well.A smile broke out under the captains

wispy moustache. I agree to your terms.A most gentlemanly surrender.Indeed. FitzRoy placed his hat back

upon his head and bowed. After your rest,you will be most welcome at dinner. AndDarwinCharlesyou will address me asRobert, or you will not address me at all.

With a smile, Darwin nodded, and thecaptain took his leave, leaving his naturalistto marvel at the ebb and flow of his friendsemotions. As hot as coffee, it was true, and

just as bracing. After a few minutes ofstaring at the closed door, he once againopened his book but, exhausted inside andout, drifted into sleep after running his eyesover just a couple of lines.

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Paley

In this world, any level of complexity isdue to conscious, intelligent design.

The port hugs the shoreline of the bay,

docked ships being loaded with bags ofgrain carried by Negroes on the tops of theirheads. Nearby, the naturalist walks withbare feet, enjoying the cool foam racingacross his toes as the surf breaks on thebeach. Tiny stones, churned up from the

floor of the bay, are spread before him bythe waves, and as they retreat it is only withcare that he avoids treading on them.

The stones are smooth, polished by manycenturies of contact with the water. Thenaturalist pauses and bends to select oneespecially shiny specimen. How very much

it looks like a bauble buffed by a gem-smithto its finest luster, all the better to catch theeye of a lady walking by his shop window.Its design is simple, but reveals its divine

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origins by its beauty. Amused, he tosses thestone back into the bay.

A new sheet of tide rushes over his feet,and when it recedes, another tiny stone hasbeen deposited before him. But noit isnt astone at all, but a shell! Delighted, thenaturalist crouches and picks it up carefully.It has no occupant; it is as a fossil on a

mountain, lifeless, although it has remaineduntil now under the sea, where its creaturehad once lived. It was a home to thatanimal, but was also formed by the animalitself. A brilliant idea, only one of Godsinfinite series. He stands and tosses theshell into the water, hearing as he does sothe cry of one of the slaves loading theships.

He fixes his sharp gaze the few hundredyards away to the dock and sees a whipcome down across the back of a Negro heldfast against a railing by chains. The white

man with the whip lashes the slave a dozentimes, while all on the dock and the ship goabout their business. There are no womenat the port at this time, no squeamishmidshipmen, and no one but the naturalistseems alarmed at the display.

The man with the whip motions to two ofthe other Negroes to release the whippedman, who collapses onto his knees,untended even by his fellow slaves, whofear the whip themselves. In half an hour,

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before the naturalist has wound his way tothe port, the man is back at work, toiling

under his load, his back still wet with blood.The work continues, the waves still crash,

and the tide yet dredges from the bay.Carried by the rushing water, a lock of

seaweed curls around the naturalists ankle.Dark and briny, the broken piece of plant is

the perfect food for hundreds, perhapsthousands, of diverse species. The naturalistsmiles as he unbends it from his leg andexamines its cellulose structure. Thecellulose itself is innutritious, indigestible toany animal, but absolutely necessary as aframework for the edible components to bemade available to the creatures that ingestit. The naturalist sniffs the plant and with asmile shakes his head; he doubts he couldever find such a thing palatable at all, letalone the basis of his diet. Amazing that itsconnoisseurs are lucky enough to live under

the sea, he thinks, or would be amazing, ifGod had not designed it exactly that way.

Another wave, another discovery, thistime a small fish deposited at thenaturalists feet, heaving and twitching forair. Instantly he scoops it uptaking time

for the tiniest of examinations to see that itis a common carp, nothing he need make anote of or bring back to the shipanddelivers him back into the water. He smilesat his own compassion, but also at the fact

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that there is nothing but air in theatmosphere above the ocean, but this air is

useless to the carp, since the fish must stripit from the water through its gills. That ishow it was made, another miracle. Things sodesigned are a source of happiness to thenaturalist, filling his breast with faith andconfidence. For a system to work, the Lord

must put it into His plan; nothing complexcan be, unless He blesses its workings withHis design.

Lost in his musings, the naturalist isstartled when the crack of rifle-shot rendsthe air. He jumps at the sound, only to seethe beaten slave running up the beachtowards him; his master leans over therailing and squeezes off another volley, butthe Negro has outrun the shooters range.

The naturalist steps out of the escapeespath; he would be unable to stop the muchlarger man even if he were disposed to aid

an inhuman slaver. But breaking forth fromthe dock come three huge Negroes, sendingup arcs of sand as they race after theircompatriot, past the onlooker, and in whatseems like seconds they have caught himand forced his face into the wet. They stand

him up and lead him back towards the dock,his head hanging in defeat.The waves rush over the naturalists feet

once again, and he looks down as he feelssomething hard tap against the metatarsal

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of the rightmost toe of his right foot. Thewaves have deposited a gleaming gold

pocket-watch, ticking as if it were just puttogether by its maker. An even morecomplex design than shells and fishes, to besure! But, still astounded by the complicityof the slaves in returning the runaway to hisangry master, the naturalist takes no

interest in the intricate gears and springs ofthe machine. It cannot reproduce; it has nonatural habitat; its intricacy holds nomystery. God would not waste His time onsuch things, would not design such works.

The systems and devices of Man must beanathema to Him, or at the very leastbeneath His notice. And if that were nottrue, then the naturalist would ratherbelieve there is no God at all than believe inOne who is in equal part trivial and cruel.

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Antemeridian

I sit in an oak tree, a hundred feet fromthe ground, the branches swaying in thebreeze. My father is with me; he is an eagle

perched a few yards away, so he can keepan eye on both myself and its huge,scraggly nest.

You hold on to those twigs for dear life,the eagle says with disdain. Do you thinkno one can see you? For Jesus sake, boy, let

them go.Ill fall.If you fall, stretch your wings and catch a

draft back up. The eagle leans forward andlets itself fall, dropping twenty feet beforereaching out and riding the wind to placehim in exactly the spot he left. You see? Its

what eagles do.But I only look at my hands, which are

hands, not talons; and my body, which iswrapped in a waistcoat and breeches, not

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adorned with feathers. I mutter weakly, Iam not an eagle, Father.

I can see that for myself! Now fall, or Illpush you off.

Heads peek out from the nest now. Hisbrother Erasmus, his sister Caroline, theirmother, the neighbors, Josiah Wedgwoodand his daughters, FitzRoy, a Dragoon

soldier, a stuffed dragon, the Mayor ofShrewsbury, all of them staring at me,unblinking, with their black bird eyes.

Fall, Bobby. Im a physician, remember.Youre an eagle.At that, the eagle makes good on his

threat, hopping over to me and pecking outa chunk of flesh from my back, ripping ahole through my coat. I cry out and let go ofthe branch, dropping immediately out ofsight of the burning eyes and hitting limbafter limb of the tree on my way to theground. The branches snap, my bones snap,

and when I reach the ground, the finalbranch whirls me around before setting megently on my feet.

Stellar! my father calls from thetreetop. Now fly back up!

II cant! My arms are broken!

A grunt of frustration from above, andthen the eagle flies out and carves an arcthrough the air, coming to a halt at theground in front of me. What do you wantfrom me, then?

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Fix my arms? You are a physician.I am an eagle. It preens for a moment,

ruffling its neck feathers, then regards meagain, coolly. But let me see what can bedone.

I lie on the grass and watch the hundredsof birds hop down, from branch to branch,the tree groaning under the shifting weight.

My father pecks out a piece of flesh from myarm, then another, then another, everyonewatching as I writhe and scream under hiscare.

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Bahia Blanca, Argentina, 1833

I dont believe I have spent a full weekout of sight of the sea since I was twelveyears old, FitzRoy said with a rueful smile,

taking a rest from the hike to look out overthe valley. For once I am thankful thatships are made of wood that rots and mustbe replaced.

Darwin chuckled and translated thecaptains words to the curious gauchos who

led them on the trail. They guffawed inappreciation, although they would have hadno idea why a sea captain should be happyabout such a thing, the mountains being asmonotonous to them as the airless doldrumswere to sailors. Darwin was glad simply tobe off the rocking ship, which caused him

dreams far stranger than anything he wouldhave expected from simple seasickness. Onland, at least, his sleep had remainedblissfully blank.

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Your bags of rocks and bones areseverely testing our poor burro, FitzRoysaid lightly. Could we perhaps draw a fewof them instead of dragging them aboutwith us?

Im afraid I am not much of an artist. Iwish Mister Martens had come.

With revolution in the airwhat do they

call it? Revuelta?the gauchos both lookedback at them at the sound of the wordsIthought it would be safer to keep our partyto a minimum. Darwin nodded, glancingwith regret at the struggling burro, andFitzRoy startled him by shouting, But blastMartens! You have in your company one ofthe finest naturalist artists in the Navy!

Darwin laughed with pleasure. Ofcourse! I must admit that I had forgottenentirely your charcoals of the Fuegians intheir natural habitat. I would be most happyto lighten this poor animals load.

Delighted, FitzRoy had Darwin call for thegauchos to stop and rest while he pulled hissketchbook and pencils from the pack, toolshe had brought in the hope that he couldassist Darwinwho, for all his brilliance withrocks, was indeed a hopeless artist.

Pick your pleasure, whatever you mightlike to leave behind, FitzRoy said, settlinghimself against a boulder near the trail. Iam entirely yours.

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But Darwin surprised the captain bypulling out and unwrapping a large, striated

stone and saying, This one, I think.Do you not want to save the rocks and

leave the skeletons? I thought you wereinterested primarily in the geology here.

The geology is fascinating, but over thecourse of the past few days I have found

fossils of animals I cannot identify. I thoughtI should bring them back and

FitzRoy stood and marched to the burrospack, an expectant smile lifting one side ofhis mouth. Show me, if you please. Ibelieve I can be of service here as well.

Darwin kept his eyes on the captain for afew seconds, then let out a breath andpulled one of the large, carefully wrappedfossils from the pack, handing it gingerly toFitzRoy, who carefully laid it upon theground and unwrapped it.

Ah, I see you have a member of

rodentia here. Note the dentition, and thewell-developed pterygoid region. Yes, it is arodent, although I admit of unusual size.

Unusual size? The skull is as big as adogs! Darwin said with a laugh. But moreimportant than that, even if it is an entirely

new species, is where it was found.Where? You and Covington were diggingnot twenty paces from our tent.

Yes, but this skullthis whole fossil of alarge land mammal, obviously of great

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antiquitywas to be found only under alayer of fossilized seashells.

FitzRoy marveled at this. Is it some sortof mammalian amphibium?

The rest of the skeleton does not seemto indicate that, no.

Then how could its fossils be under thoseof sea creatures? The Flood, perhaps?

That is the usual explanation for shellson top of mountains, of course, but if thereis to be a scientific explanation made Hewatched for the captains nod, thencontinued, Im afraid a sketch wouldnt dothis kind of anomaly justice. Besides, I havethe rest of it wrapped in the pack and readyto be analyzed. Darwin patted the heavybag, which was enough to make theiranimal shift his feet.

No wonder our burro is thinking ofjoining the resistencia. The idea of a rebelburro stretched a smile across FitzRoys

faceuntil he saw that one of the gauchoshad stood and was now stalking towardsthem, his machete pulled out of its sling.

Hay un problema? Darwin asked as herapidly rewrapped the skull and jammed itback into the pack. Theres no problem

here. No hay problema aqui.The gaucho narrowed his eyes and saidsomething in Spanish so rapidly that FitzRoywondered how even another Argentineancould understand it. The mans stare was

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murderous, and his hand gripped themachete more tightly. Darwins rifle was on

the burro, but FitzRoy saw that the gauchocould shoot him down before he even gotthe first buckle undone. If this revolutionaryand his friend, who had to be personallypersuaded by el general to escort FitzRoy,Darwin, and their jobs man Covington

across the rebellious territory, decided to killthem, there wasnt a thing they could do tosave themselves. The gaucho leaned incloser to Darwin and let loose with anothercannonade of angry gibberish.

But Darwin laughed. The madmanlaughed, and after a few secondshereFitzRoy literally blinked and rubbed his eyesthe gauchos angry gaze broke, first justin amazement, and then into a disbelievinggrin, and then with unmistakable laughteras the huge man was reduced to tears.

My God, Darwin, what did you do?

FitzRoy almost yelled as the second gauchocame over and heard the naturalist, at thefirst mans request, repeat his statement.After a another moment, he too doubledover, shaking with mirth.

They heard you saying la revuelta and la

resistencia when I had told them you knewno Spanish. They thought I was a liarthatwe were spies!

But what did you say to render themso hysterical?

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Waste not another thought about it, mydear. It has disarmed the situation.

What did you say, man? Tell me!Darwin hesitated before finally saying, I

told them that you didnt know any betterthe only Portuguese you knew was what youpicked up from as putas.

From what? FitzRoy asked, but he

knew. He had been a sailor all his life.From prostitutes, Darwin said,

confirming FitzRoys surmise. I had hopedit would strike their funny-bone. It seemsmy aim was true.

For a moment, FitzRoy was perfectlybalanced between horror at being called awhoremongereven in jestand relief thatthe larger of the gauchos was sliding hismachete back into its sling even as hewiped the tears from his eyes.

I do apologize, Robert. It certainly wasntin reference Darwin said, but here he had

to stop, lest their accompanying crewmanbelieve his captain was partial to jokingabout prostitutes with clergymen-to-be.Covington once told me that the Braziliansfind the thought of pink-bodied Englishmenin flagrante delicto uproariously funny.

Its true, sir, Covington said, his eyesangled towards the ground.FitzRoy swallowed. Itit was good

thinking. Saved our skins, so it did.

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Darwin nodded, but a silence remained,so he took the massive rodent skull from the

pack once again and added brightly, Irather think I agree with you about theskeleton. Perhaps you could sketch it and

I think not, my friend. I seem to have lostthe taste for drawing at the moment.Excuse me, FitzRoy said, and walked up

the trail, ahead of the gauchos, who werestill trying to control their laughter, and overthe ridge, out of sight.

Darwin watched him go, but wasdistracted by the smaller gauchoapproaching him as if he were an explosivedevice. Seor! he whispered as loudly ashe dared. No se mueva, seor!

Dont move? Darwin translated to himself,and thought: Why ever not?

The gaucho inched closer, his handextending to where Darwins sleeve hadbeen rolled up to his elbow. On his bare

forearm, he could see, sat a massive black-and-white-striped insect with a tawnymidsection, its shock of bristles extended ina way that suggested great agitation,offense, even anger

Robert, I am sorry, Darwin said. The

gaucho lunged, and the insecta memberofHeteroptera, predators allbit him, stunghim, whatever Heteroptera didit wasundecided, more research needed to bedoneand sent him into a convulsion of

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pain that knocked him to the rocky ground,straight into unconsciousness.

When he came to, his entire armthrobbing through the crude poultice thathad been applied, the sun had gone downand the others had set up camp near wherehe had fallen.

My dear Philos, FitzRoy said as soon as

his eyes were open, you have received amost dreadful bite.

It could be a sting, Darwin slurred.Need more research.

You have a high fever. We dared notmove you, FitzRoy said, and leaned in closeenough to whisper. The gauchos theykeep pointing at where you received yourbiteor stingand then at the insect,repeating, Malos sueos, malos sueos porsempre. Do we need to take you back to theship? To the apothecarys? What do thesewords mean?

Darwin searched his mind for the words,and when they finally came to him, healmost wept: Bad dreams. Bad dreamsforever.

Before he could speak these words toFitzRoy, he slipped away again, and slept.

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Leonardo

In this world, Leonardo is right: Thehuman body and the corpus of the Earth aremicrocosm and macrocosm. Scientists canlearn about the history and workings of theplanet by studying the physiology of the

body, and vice versa, since they are morethan analogousthey are a unity. Theywork the same way, through the interactionof the four elements, earth for heavinessand stability, water for cohesion andcirculation, air for movement, and fire for

heat.The fecund Earth is a mother, birthingseason after season, eon after eon. Shebrings forth the animals and plants thatclamp to her and suckle from her, growingand thriving in her presence and her care. Amother is a lush Earth, blossoming with

spring as her breasts fill, her cheeks redden,and her belly becomes round like the sunappearing over the horizon, giving birth to anew day.

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The marine fossils found in the mountainsare there because water, the circulatory

fluid of the Earth, pushes the remains of seacreatures up and out from the ocean flooras the planets blood moves into greateraltitudes. Silt and dirt are dragged back intothe ocean as the blood, having delivered itsnutrients, is drawn back down towards the

heart of the Earth, its lungs, the ocean.The lungs breathe, rising and falling every

six hours, filling the veins with water assalty as human blood is salty. The humors ofthe human body are stirred through thebreathing of the lungs and the beating ofthe heart, although each will settle into itsnatural place at death; so too are theplanets elements circulated, but at its lastbreath will settle into its naturalconfiguration of heavy earth at the center,the less heavy water above it, then lighterair, then fire, the lightest element, which at

death may escape entirely.The harmony between mans corpus and

that of the Earth is repeated as thatbetween the Earth and the body of theUniverse. The sun, the heart of theUniverse, pulses with vitality and energy

that are pushed outward, through the veinsof the ther, to nourish the planets and thestars, cycling back in that same invisiblesubstrate. Its elements are the same: earth,in the solidity of planets; water, in the

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cohesion of gravity; air, in the ther; andfire, in the burning of the stars. It is not an

analogy. It is again a unity, a literalreflection from the smaller mirror to thelarger.

If these are true, say the clerics, then thecorporeal Universe must be a microcosm forthe only greater body, the infinite body of

God, and this too must be a unity, a concordwith the lesser, not some kind of game-players analogy. But what are Hiselements? Where is His heart? Cansomething be said truly to circulate if itmust travel an infinite distance beforereturning? These questions are raised inmedical school lecture halls, in scientificdebates about the nature of fossils, anyarena in which the bodybe it of Man,Earth, the Universe, or Godis dissectedand analyzed.

The most popular conjecture is that Gods

body is made up of omniscience (earth),omnipotence (fire), infinite love thatconnects (water), and infinite love thatliberates (air). Others say that God isHeaven (air), Earth (earth), and Hell (fire),with the water element binding the realms

together. And still others maintain that Godmust be comprised of time (water), space(air), matter (earth), and consciousness(fire). The idea that God has no body, that

Jesus was the body of God and so was made

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of the same elements working the same asin any other man, is rejected because God

can never be microcosm, only macrocosm.Whatever its proposed makeup, all agree

that the body of God must be a unity withits microcosms, its water element flowing asblood flows through a human, as waterflows through the Earth, as gravity flows

through celestial bodies. This is little morethan piffling, savoring that the Godheadoperates exactly as does the Universe, theEarth, the bodysince it cannot be subjectto experimentation or even observationbut it is a way of worshiping all of those atonce, especially among scientificgentlemen.

It is in this atmosphere of enjoyablespeculation that someone kills God.

A bill nailed one morning to the door ofthe Royal Society reads:

If the body of God is a unity with these

other bodiesnot in the way of somespecious analogy, but a true unitythen wehave made God mortal, for the body of manmust die, and so its unity the Earth mustone day die, and their unity the Universemust die. Their pulses must come to rest;

their elements will separate and settle; andthey will live no more. This is also theultimate fate of the Lord our God. We haveput our faith in a small deity, a God who will

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die. We have wasted our prayers, sent to amortal being.

No one knows who posted this thesis, orwhy. But that hardly mattersthe idea isloose, and it shakes every field fromgeology to astronomy to medicine totheology. It is quickly proposed atWestminster Abbey and at the Royal Society

that this mortal God revealed by the billcould be but a lesser deity than the one trueGod, who cannot die. This attempt atcorrection of the anomaly is undermined,however, by arguments that if there isanother God above this mortal one, then Hetoo must be mortal, if He is of a unity withthe other parts of His Creation, if Man weretruly created in His image.

There is fear in the streets, losses on thestock exchange. The Queen, temporalguardian of His Church, hides in shame forhaving hired herself out to One so common.

The Church itself, desperate to save itself,calls on the leading scientific minds of theday to show that the relationship betweenMan and Earth, between Earth andUniverse, is not a unity; only in this way,they reason, can they restore Gods

immortality.The scientists, funded by the Church,engage in a storm of research anddiscovery. After a year, they announce thatfossils appear on mountaintops because the

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Earth is of incredible longevity, thousands ofmillions of years, and what are now

mountains were once the bed of an ancientsea. There is no circulatory fluid to theEarth; although there is a vapor cycle bywhich water evaporates from the ocean andis returned to the land in the form of rain.Mans blood does not evaporate and rain

down on his headthere is no unitybetween the two.

And through their researches,astronomers and physicists find that there isno substance called the therinstead,they announce, they have reason to suspecta substanceless void filled only with chunksof matter and electro-magnetic energy. Thismeans that there is no circulation to theUniverse; there is no unity with the Earth.

The faithful rejoice, for the research of theChurch and science has protected thedignity and sanctity of their immortal God.

But on their knees at night, or sitting inchurch, many despair, wondering what theirCreator must look like, if not like Hiscreations. He is not of a unity with them. Tokeep Gods throne unsullied, His childrenhave been turned into orphans.

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Antemeridian

In the mouth of the ftus of the universeare the buds of first teeth, undetectable asyet but poised to strike out and become

stars, spin into galaxies, burst into gasesand flame. Here is the prehensile tail,grasping the planets and flinging them ontheir curled trajectories; here are the gills,breathing the fluid of the ther; here arethe webs between fingers and toes, allowing

it to swim through the Milky Way.What is this egg become embryo? Whatwill the universe bear? Rippling throughspace and time are the kicks of this ftus,sending waves of Creation to form all thespecters of the night sky, a million millionmillion suns.

The monster is ready to break the waterof its cosmic mother, to shriek out itsexistence. It bloodies the walls of the wombas it fights to escape, it piercesit burns

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It illuminates, this Idea.

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Valparaiso, Chile, 1834

I understand you knew our Darwin atShrewsbury, FitzRoy said over tea inRichard Corfields sitting room.

Quite so, said Corfield, a congenialtwenty-five-year-old who looked much likeDarwin, except his nose was unblemishedby misfortune and remained as straight andnarrow as a Fuegians canoe, and hechuckled. He wasnt then the responsible

and learned man you have aboard your shipthese days. He liked his shooting and ridingeven then, but was not much of a reader, Imust tell you. His tales of his prodigiousreading on the Beagle astound me morethan does even his amazing long beard.

While were at sea, Im afraid there isnt

much for him to do, being as sea-sick as heis on any water. But he is a most estimablereader now, and he applies that knowledgeat every opportunity, even to the most

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ungentlemanly point of winning argumentsagainst his captain.

They shared a laugh, but soon enough themood turned somber once again. FitzRoysaid quietly, He hasnt stirred today sinceIve been here.

Corfield instinctively glanced in thedirection of the sickroom. No. The longer

he has been herewhat is it, several weeksnow at the leastthe more time he spendsin sleep, falling into it from a mostunpleasant state of fever and discomfort.

The physician? What does he say?He is truly perplexed, Corfield said with

a shake of his head. He has theories, butnone of his treatments have made a whit ofdifference to our poor Charles.

FitzRoy barely checked himself fromsaying It was that damned bug, not onlybecause it would have been impolite butalso because the only evidence he had was

that Darwin had become progressivelysicker, on and off, since he had received thenasty bite the year before. Now he hadfallen into a swoon and had scarcely comeout long enough to talk to his old schoolmate, let alone return to the ship. Has

DarwinCharlessaid anything himself?He is in the world of dreams andnightmares, I think. I tried to comfort him byrelaying how much the learned world isabuzz over the fossils and specimens he has

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sent to Reverend Henslowbut he cried,Fame! I am renowned in time to die. I allow

that this frightened me, to hear a man asyoung as myself calling for the Reaper, and Itold him no more about his growingreputation back in England. Corfieldcleared his throat. Captain, I must tellyou

FitzRoy steeled himself. Yes?He could very well die before the week is

out.This is what the doctor said?He did, but he didnt have to. You can

see it in Charles himself.Can nothing save him?Nothing but Providence, I believe,

Corfield said. At least he is as comfortableas possible.

FitzRoy very nearly muttered Blastcomfort! but again checked his rebellioustongue, instead standing and placing his hat

upon his head. I thank you for yourkindness to our mutual friend, sir.

Will you not stay the night?Many thanks to you, but as captain, I am

required to sleep only aboard my ship,FitzRoy said, and allowed Corfields

summoned servant to lead him to the door.You will send word if his condition takes aturn for if there is a change?

Of course. You will be the first to knowafter myself.

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They shook hands and bowed. FitzRoy leftthe house and began the short walk down to

where the Beagle was docked, a planforming in his mind to save his dearestfriend. Upon reaching the ship and beingreceived aboard by the few crew memberson the top deck, he called over his coxswainand said, Mister Bennett, I will be in my

quarters. Unless war breaks out anew withFranceno, even thenI am not to bedisturbed.

FitzRoy shut the door and immediatelyfell to his knees, his hands clasped and hiseyes tightly shut, and spoke out loud: Mostpowerful and glorious Lord God, at whosecommand the winds blow He could hearthe words, was sure of their orderhe readthem to the crew every weekbut on this

occasion could not allow a syllable out of itsrightful place. He leaned, still on his knees,to remove his Book of Common Prayerfromits shelf and place it, opened to the usualpage, on the edge of his writing desk.

Lord, I know there must be a better

prayer. II confess I have not studied yourBook as I should He amazed himself byheaving in a sob and shedding a tear, whichraced down his cheek. But please hearme And he began again, his eyes

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clenched and his fingers intertwined,stopping after every score of words to look

and make sure he was praying correctly:

Most powerful and gloriousLord God, at whose commandthe winds blow, and lift up thewaves of the sea, and who

stillest the rage thereof Wethy creaturesah, we thycreatures

He squinted at the page, thenquickly resumed his position.

but miserable sinners, do in thisour great distress cry unto theefor help: Save, Lord, or else wewill perish Or else we perish.We confess, when we havebeen safe, and seen all things

quiet about us, we have forgotthee our God, and and refusedto hearken to the still voice ofthy word, and to obey thycommandments: But now wesee, how terrible thou art in all

thy works of wonder; the greatGod to be feared above all: Andtherefore we love

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Again he snuck a quick glanceat the book.

we adore thy Divine Majesty,acknowledging thy power, andimploring thy goodness. Help,Lord, and save us for thymercy's sake in Jesus Christ thy

Son, our Lord. Amen.

Now, strengthened by hearing the wordsas he himself spoke them, he could seethem on the page, in his mind, even with hiseyes closed, and began a new prayerwithout once looking at the prayer book:

Mostglorious and gracious LordGod, who dwellest in heaven,but beholdest all things below:Look down, we beseech thee,and hear us, calling out of the

depth of misery, and out of thejaws of this death, which isready now to swallow us up:Save, Lord, or else we perish.The living, the living shalt praisethee. O send thy word of

command to rebuke the ragingwinds, and the roaring sea; thatwe, being delivered from thisdistress, may live to serve thee,and to glorify thy Name all the

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days of our life. Hear, Lord, andsave us, for the infinite merits ofour blessed Savior, thy Son, ourLord Jesus Christ. Amen.

This second sailors prayer finished,FitzRoys eyes popped open as he searchedhis mind for another prayer he knew by

heartone that would help Darwin defeatthe death inside himand finally it came.He shut his eyes again and beganimmediately, not worrying about a wordhere or there, but speaking, shouting, withfull force and conviction to make certainthat God should hear him:

Most powerful and gloriousLord God! The Lord of hosts thatrulest and commandest allthings!

FitzRoy gasped for air, sobs ripping thebreath from his lungsand leapt to the endof the prayer

Make it appear that thou art ourSavior and mighty Deliverer,

through Jesus Christ our Lord!Amen. Amen! Lord, please spareyour servant, my brother,Charles Darwin!Amen!

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Although he said not another word for thenext four bells, FitzRoy remained on his

knees with his hands wrapped together, hiseyes closed and leaking tears as hepromised everything he had, anything hewould ever have, to the God he had so longneglected, if only He would answer thissingle prayer.

The ship was as quiet as a grave, most ofthe crew being ashore and Bennett havingrelayed the captains words to all who

remained on board. So when FitzRoy heardthe shifting sound of paper dashed underhis cabin door, it may as well have been anexplosion for how it pulled his attentionback into the world of men.

He turned on his knees and picked up theenvelope, which showed the seal of Richard

Corfield of Valparaiso. Quickly opening theletter without the aid of a dagger, FitzRoyread the single, hastily scrawled line:

The fever has broken.

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Vesalius

In this world, individuals cannot bedistinguished by their outward appearance;humans are as similar to one another as

penguins.Their voices are all alike, as are their

mannerisms and postures. Men and womenmate by instinct, their ability to distinguishthe opposite sex owing to nothing eitherparty can put a finger on. All surface

evidence points to a world of uttermonotony.But that is only the surface evidence. A

scratched finger, a gouged eye, a weepingrashall give rise to particularity, releasingthe sufferer from anonymity, for everyone isdifferent on the inside here, every single

person has a distinct chemistry, and eventhe smallest amount of the inner workingsmade visible is enough to declare a uniqueidentity to the rest of the world.

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A razor slice, exposing the musclebeneath the skin, unleashes the essence of

the man within like a mist of perfume. Abroken bone, piercing into visibility, bringsforth ones claims of individuality,something that can be sensed by everyonewho comes into contact with the victim.

This is a world where the terribly

wounded, spurred by the need to be seen,to be heardto be knownare thecelebrities. Their blood is their autograph;their bones their cathedrals; their beatinghearts their symphonies.

Children are conceived through theessences contained in sperm, reaching intothe womb and combining with the essencesof the egg. At birth, children are scratchedso that they can be named.

In time, people greet one another byspitting, or vomiting, or breaking wind,anything that releases their essences into

the atmosphere. Blood and infection areeverywhere; it is a world of death. To beknown is to be doomed; everyone is awareof this fact and yet everyone seeks to bleed,so that others may know of their existence.

It is a world of skeletons, a world of

peeled skin and hanging tongues. The moregrotesque the injury, the more famous theindividual, and the shorter his remaining lifeas he is exposed to decay and putrefaction,to the world of others.

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However, one man does not cut himself,or spit, or fart around others. He keeps his

skin as intact as at the moment he wasborn. His mother did not want him scraped,and so he has no name. He does not openhimself, and so it is as if he has no face; hecannot be recognized by any streamingessences. He is a man alone in this world of

screaming celebrity, of oozing identity, andhe treasures this anonymity.

But in time, as the famous die and theirslashed and broken contenders take theirplaces in the public eye, there is no one elsewho has chosen to remain anonymous, whohas kept his body in one piece, who has notexposed himself to the essences of otherbodies. When this is noticed, he is no longeranonymousbut he is mysterious, and thebloodied come to see him, follow him, askhim questions about the nature of hisexistence, demand that he defend his

decision to be the only person who is noone, and thus the only person remainingwho is someone apart.

He runs from the living dead, theputrescent anatomies that scream for hisname, that he must have a name and they

must know it, and hides from them, his onlyshelter being that they cannot smell him,cannot sense his essence.

It does not last for long. The ambulantcorpses drag their broken bodies, never

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sleeping, until he must come out for food ordie himself. When they see him, they shriek

and give chase, the bloody multitudesrushing up and surrounding him.

Too horrified even to scream, theanonymous celebrity pushes at the crowd,making himself a small circle in the gore,then reaches in his pocket for a razor and in

one quick move slashes his own throat. Afountain gushes from his jugular, soakingthose nearest him in even more blood. Hisessence spills out with it, and the scent of itwafts over the mob like woodsmoke.

They understand who he is now, anindividual like them, another face in thecrowd, a nobody. After a minute or two, ashe falls to the ground, spurting the last ofhis blood, they can no longer see him, theyno longer want to see him, this one whorejected individuality, rejected fame,rejected it when all those around him flayed

themselves alive just to taste it for amoment.

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Antemeridian

At the rear of the formation I fly, flappingmy black wings in time to catch the updraftof my brother in front of me, easing my

burden of flight.Why dont we ever look down? What does

the Earth look like from such a height? Ourten members make half a V; if I looked anyway but straight ahead I could see right upthe line at

My brother all the way in front falls off thelead of the line, holding his wings still andcoasting back behind me. Now my flappingprovides him with extra lift as the brother infront of me provides me.

Is it cold up here? Do my feathers providethe proper insulation? Surely they do, else

my species would travel in a different way,or to a different place, something moresuited to our bodily form.

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Or maybe our bodies changed in formwhen we started flying like this, flying to

wherever we are going. Do I have a pictureof it in my mind? Will I simply recognize itwhen we get there? The lead brother falls tothe back again, and a sister now leads theway. What does the leader know? Does sheknow where we are going? Does she know

when we are hungry?After a couple of miles she too falls to the

rear, and now I fly in the middle of theformation.

When did we start doing this? Whose ideawas it to save energy by keeping a positionto help with lift? What vote was taken toinspire us to change our leader every sooften, to share the burden of being leadbird, the one who receives no extra lift, butonly provides it?

There are just two in front of me now. Iimagine I can see the horizon stretching

across my field of vision, the way the oceanlooks when viewed from the cliffs by thesea.

I am next. My sister exerts herself againstthe cutting wind, giving me the gift of ease,which I provide to the brother behind me.

We are beauty, we are elegance in motion,we are the logical outcome of our needs andsituation

Now my sister falls off, out of my ken, andI am alone. I see only sky and green earth

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as I push my wings against the air. Wherehave they all gone? Where are my brothers

and sisters? I dont know where I am going!I have lost my family, the ones who led

me on and kept me aloft. I let out a cry ofanguish and exhaustion, and give up trying.I let my wings go slack and drift, drift andlet a line of birds pass.

My family. I am swept up by their draft,and join them.

At the rear of the formation I fly, flappingmy black wings in time to catch the updraftof my brother in front of me, easing myburden of flight.

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Charles Island, Galapagos, 1835

Mister Lawson did not meet many newpeople as Vice-Governor of the tinysettlement on these tiny islands. Two

hundred people he knew on a regular basis,two hundred Christians to be sure, butoccupied with the meanest tasks of survivaland not able to dine with him at his finehouse on Charles Island, or not interested indoing so. It was a busy, but rather lonely,

existence. It was for this reason that whenhe happened upon them during his visit to awhaling vesselno gentlemen aboard,unfortunately, no one at all to talk toitseemed like Providence itself.

For here at his island was the famousCaptain FitzRoydirect descendant of

Charles II, nephew of Viscount Castlereagh,unfortunately a suicide, which precludedmention of his name at the table, but still!And the captains particular friend, Mister

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Darwin, a naturalist, or perhaps a geologist.Keen minds, both! Lawson spent the day

henpecking his servants, following themaround in a state of agitated happiness,waiting for his guests to finish their businessand finally, finallyarrive for dinner.

The steward had no sooner announcedCaptain FitzRoy and Mister Darwin, sir,

than Lawson had whisked them into thesitting room and fastened their handsaround tumblers of whiskey. A pleasure tohave you here, gentlemen, a pleasure!Lawson said, catching his breath and takinga seat in the wicker chair across from theirs.How do you find our bit of England this sideof the world?

It is rather dry, isnt it? FitzRoy said.Lawson laughed heartily. Indeed it is, sir!

When the whalers stop here for provisions, Ialways wonder if they should not pay uswith some of their water!

FitzRoy and Darwin chuckled along withhim, sharing a bemused glance.

The volcanic soil must be good forlizards, Darwin said. I would say they arethe main animal I saw on the trip inland.

Oh, yes, yes, we are very proud of our

lizards here. They warm themselves all theday long on the black rock. Lawson shiftedhis eyes between his two guests. But wehave quite a variety of fauna here. Tortoiseseverywhere! The ones who liv

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Darwins Dreams: A Novel