Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (7 page)

Breathing hard with resentment, he used a rock and a long chisel to smash away the padlock that secured his father’s sea trunk.
 
He didn’t know where the key might be, since he hadn’t seen his father open the chest in years.
 

Nemo rummaged through the documents and keepsakes, found an old engraving of his mysterious, dusky-skinned mother.
 
The chest also contained dried flowers, a book written in a language he couldn’t read, a set of cups, a dusty bottle of wine that Jacques must have kept for some anticipated celebration he would now never witness.
 
Perhaps his son’s marriage?
 
Nemo couldn’t venture a guess.
 
And hidden behind the false back of one divider in the trunk, he discovered a handful of coins.

The next day, by selling some of the trinkets to a vendor of eccentric items, Nemo scraped together enough money to have a funeral Mass read for his father at the Church of St. Martin, along with those of the others who had lost their lives aboard the
Cynthia.
 
Hearing the priest speak Jacques’ name aloud, though, Nemo felt no particular honor, no special consolation.
 

Neither he nor his father were devout Catholics, but sometimes, when a teary-eyed Jacques had had too much wine or just seemed sad with life, he would recall the promise he’d made to Nemo’s mother on her deathbed, that he would give her boy a proper upbringing. . . .

Alone in the empty room, Nemo slept on a straw-stuffed tick that served as a mattress.
 
He continued, one day at a time, not looking beyond the following morning . . . until he realized he had to plan for his future.
 
Nemo always had plans, but they were too many and too unrealistic.
 
Now he didn’t know what he would do.

Four days after the disaster, the squint-eyed landlord and a pair of burly companions burst through the door without knocking.
 
Nemo sat at the rickety table on which he ate and where he had learned his letters and arithmetic.
 
The two hirelings stood together, a barricade of muscle and flesh.

The landlord stepped forward, a small-statured man with one eye larger than the other.
 
His seamed face displayed a heartfelt sorrow, belied by his stern voice.
 
“You’ll have to move out, boy.
 
Got no choice.
 
Sorry.”
 
The landlord frowned at the two toughs, as if dismayed by the necessity of bringing them along.
 
“And I’ll take any possessions as part of the payment for which your father was in arrears.”

Nemo, though, would not be bluffed.
 
“How could my father be in arrears?
 
You’re lying.”
 
He stood up from the table, arms loose at his sides, ready to throw himself on the thugs if they harassed him.
 
“He had a job.
 
He paid you every month.”

“No, he
promised
to pay me every month.
 
He was two months behind.”
 
The landlord’s drooping eye squinted, and he shook his head sadly.
 
“I gave him credit because I knew he’d get a bonus when the
Cynthia
was christened.”

“And dead men don’t get paid,” one of the hirelings said.
 

The landlord nodded.
 
“Even as his son, you have no claim on his back wages.
 
Sorry, boy.”

“I’ll find some way to pay you.”
 
Nemo gripped the side of the chair with a white-knuckled hand.
 
He felt hot, angry at this second wild joke Fate had played upon him.
 
“Let me stay here until I can come up with a job, a plan.”

“A job?”
 
One of the henchmen laughed.

Nemo bristled.
 
“Never underestimate me.”
 
His voice carried such a low threat that the thug flinched.

The landlord tugged at his waistcoat to straighten it, uncomfortable.
 
“Be realistic, boy.
 
Are you going to work fifteen hours a day in one of the garment factories?
 
That’ll only bring you thirty sous a week.
 
You’ll never have enough to pay me what your father owed.
 
I’ve already done the arithmetic.”

Nemo took deep, heavy breaths, trying to calm the rising anger in his gut.
 
“Then I’ll sell some of my father’s artifacts.”
 
This brought another round of laughter from the henchmen.
 

“He’ll rob the citizens of Nantes, more like,” one of the big men said.

“I’ll not have a thief in my house,” the landlord said with increasing sternness.
 
His smaller eye twitched with a nervous tic.

“I am
not
a thief.”
 
Nemo’s dark eyes flashed, and he stepped forward.
 
Though he was much younger than the other man, his look of furious determination drove the landlord back a pace.
 
The two muscular men closed in, ready to pound him -- but Nemo looked as if he just might best both of them, then go after the landlord.
 
He would be in jail before the day was done.

“It’s only a matter of time, boy.
 
You’ve no prospects, and there are good families in need of a dwelling like this,” the landlord said from behind the broad shoulders of his two companions.
 
“If you’re not gone tomorrow, I’ll have my friends carry you into the streets.”
 

“They can try,” Nemo said in low fury.

The landlord squinted once more.
 
The men looked as if they wanted to break something, but the landlord marched them out.
 
In an unexpected show of courtesy, the small-statured man closed the door behind himself.

Some time later, Nemo went to the doorway.
 
He looked between buildings down toward the river and the shipyards where the masts stood tall.
 
He could hear the sounds of workers on the docks as vessels prepared to set sail with the outgoing tide.
 
He recalled the tales his father had told of his days at sea.

vii

Caroline Aronnax arranged to meet him at the rue Kervegan flower market, where she often went with Marie to gather fresh bouquets.
 
The Aronnax household was well known for its sweet scents and colorful blossoms.

Nemo watched the intelligent and independent Caroline, but he could no longer allow himself to dream of a future with her.
 
He remembered their night under the magnolia trees, when they had spoken foolish promises.
 
Now an invisible chasm separated him from the young woman he loved. . . .

Rather than let the landlord take his father’s belongings, Nemo had sold every scrap and trinket that might bring him a few sous, even the sea chest.
 
He had kept only the engraving of his long-dead mother.
 
With her dark and mysterious features, her large black eyes, and a smile that seemed just for him, Nemo had always gauged feminine beauty by her standard.
 
But Caroline Aronnax, though, established a standard all her own.

He had lost his mother before he’d ever gotten a chance to know her.
 
Now it looked as if he would lose any hope of Caroline before their love could grow.
 
Perhaps that was for the best, though his heart would ache for the rest of his life.

In the afternoon sunshine, Caroline moved with flowing grace, despite the frilly clothes she wore and the high-society airs her mother urged her to imitate.
 
Although Madame Aronnax made her daughter cater to fashion, Caroline’s burnished hair and blue eyes announced to anyone that she was her own young woman.
 
The delicate freckles on her face would probably fade with age, or with a deeper tan, if -- to her mother’s chagrin -- Caroline continued to spend time out in the sun.
 
She would never grow up to be a quiet, gossiping socialite; no doubt she would be quite a challenge for her future husband.
 

Nemo thought she was magnificent.

Caroline drifted through the flower market, humming the melody of one of her secret compositions.
 
Nemo recognized it, since he ofttimes lingered in the street outside her home, just listening to her play the pianoforte as the town sounds dwindled with the gathering dusk.
 

Late at night, he and Caroline had held long, but hushed, conversations from her window.
 
He encouraged her to nurture her creativity.
 
“You can do anything you set your mind to, Caroline, whether it be writing music, traveling the world, or running a shipping company.”

“But everyone says it’s impossible,” she had said, leaning over the windowsill.

“Those who believe in impossibilities prove themselves correct every day,” Nemo said.
 
“You know better than that.”
 
In those stolen hours and secret conversations, Nemo and Caroline had both dared to believe -- just a little -- in their waking dreams.
 

But now, for him, those dreams had been crushed under the boot heel of reality.
 
All of his promises and reassurances to Caroline now seemed as empty and implausible as an old sailor’s stories about sea monsters.

Now in the flower market, he watched her sort through roses and magnolias, pansies and chrysanthemums, sniffing a few, shaking her head at others.
 
Her maidservant was captivated by simple blossoms, daisies and hollyhocks.
 
The two young women chatted, easy in each other’s company now that they were away from home.

Sensing his gaze, Caroline looked up and her vibrant eyes met his.
 
She flashed a sudden smile that quickly changed to a look of concern.
 
Nemo stepped forward, paying no heed to the people in the market, not hearing the bartering voices, not smelling the heady perfume of flowers.
 
Caroline was as much beauty as he could handle at one time.

“André, I am so sorry about your father.
 
But I believe I have good news for you.”
 
She reached out to touch his arm with her delicate hand.
 
“I have found a way to help.”

“I don’t want your money, Caroline,” he said.
 
“Just your . . .”
 
He stopped at the word “love.”
 
He swallowed his pride.
 
“I just want you to think about me.”

“Of course I will think about you, André.
 
I remember the promises we made, under the trees --”

Nemo looked away.
 
“Too much has changed, Caroline.
 
I won’t hold you to unwise words spoken in haste.”

Caroline sniffed.
 
At another time, she might have teased him.
 
“I intend to do what I said, sir, and I expect you to do the same.”

Marie looked up in warning.
 
“Your mother would not like you to be seen talking with him, Mademoiselle.
 
And I know too well about a young man’s promises that aren’t strong enough to hold a snowflake.”

Caroline rolled her eyes.
 
“Then you should choose your young men with better care, Marie.
 
My mother wouldn’t approve of some of
your
liaisons, either.
 
I thought we had an understanding?”
 
Her voice had a firm edge of command, and Nemo could see that someday she would indeed be able to run a shipping company with as much verve and vision as any man could.

She took Nemo’s arm in her own and nudged him to the left.
 
“André and I are going to have some chocolats chauds in the café over there.
 
You will be able to see us at all times, but we must have a private conversation.”
 

With her other hand, she touched the sleeve of Marie’s dress.
 
“Go choose some flowers, but make certain to buy bouquets that
I
would select, so my mother believes we bought them together.”
 
Caroline’s smile turned mischievous.
 
“And perhaps you should also pick a carnation for whichever of your gentlemen friends kept you out until near dawn Tuesday last.”