‘Oh, not a great deal really. Only that they never leave me alone when I’m on holiday. I pulled a huge one off my leg last year in Jamaica. Stamped on it. I don’t like killing things but then he’d only have tried to get me again, wouldn’t he?’
‘She,’ Mather said.
‘Pardon?’
‘She.’ He left the word in the air while I stood in the doorway feeling slightly puzzled. He dropped a couple of teabags into a faded brown teapot and said, ‘
She
would have tried again, not
he
. Only the female mosquito bites people.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I watched Mather take the kettle and pour the boiling water into the pot. ‘So the males don’t bother people?’
‘Well,’ Mather began, putting the kettle back in its cradle. His expression was serious, but I sensed he was enjoying the informal tutorial. ‘There are cases of males biting people, but it’s a very rare occurrence. They’re probably just . . . confused.’
‘Confused? You mean, they thought they were girls?’
Mather gave me an odd look, clearly unappreciative of my stab at humour. ‘Well, not quite. They just made a mistake, that’s all. It happens.’ He sounded a little frustrated with the direction the conversation was taking. ‘Males feed on vegetation, you see. Females do the same, but they need to ingest blood because the protein it contains facilitates egg production.’
‘I see. So it’s more for breeding purposes than for sustenance?’
‘That’s right. The blood meal is purely to aid reproduction.’
‘So I squished a lady. How rude of me.’
‘Indeed.’ Mather placed cups and plates on a large tray. ‘Would you mind giving me a hand?’
‘Of course not.’
He added a large plate of toast, some butter and jam, and a couple of napkins. ‘I’ll bring the rest in,’ he said.
‘Right.’ I turned and left the kitchen, taking the tray into the living room, where I set it down on the small table by an armchair. Mather followed shortly with the tea. It was only then that I realized how hungry I was. Sitting down in one of the armchairs, I set about filling my stomach.
The birds were still singing in the trees outside as I ate the toast, pausing only to wash it down with gulps of tea. Once more I was struck with the feeling that I might have had a wasted journey. I was keen to conclude my business on the island and get started on the journey back to London. I did, after all, have a job to get back to. Nevertheless, I decided to delay a while longer before saying something that might sound rude. Sitting back in the chair with my tea, I waited for him to resume the conversation. He had the detached look that had been so common amongst my lecturers at university. I guess he too believed that a speech should be thought through as much as possible in advance, instead of being delivered unprepared. Only when he had finished his first piece of toast did he continue.
‘You see, Mr Reeves, the male mosquito is of no real interest to entomologists,’ he began, cleaning his teeth with his tongue. ‘He is little more than a drone. Once fertilization has taken place, he’s out of the picture. He can do what he likes until he finally expires. It is the female that really matters.’
‘I see.’
‘
She
is the one who penetrates us – violates us, if you like.’ He grinned.
‘Right. So tell me a little about malaria,’ I said, trying to get to the point of my visit.
‘Malaria?’ He took a sip of tea, eyeing me curiously.
‘Yes. How does a mosquito pass it on? Where does it get it from in the first place?’
Mather looked through the window into the distance to my left. He broke a piece of toast off his second slice and put it in his mouth. He was clearly relishing a perhaps rare opportunity to educate another on his favourite subject.
‘A lot of people wrongly assume,’ he said, still chewing, ‘that the mosquito somehow introduced malaria to the world and proceeded to spread it from human to human like some flying poisoned needle.’
A plane passed overhead, temporarily breaking my host’s narrative. Perhaps the isolation of the island had already got to me, as the sound of the plane seemed like a reassuring connection to the outside world. Mather waited until the sound had gone altogether.
‘You see, the mosquito is a disease vector. It doesn’t create the disease, it only carries it. After ingesting the blood of an infected person, it will fly off and unknowingly incubate the malaria parasite until it feeds on another human, passing it into their bloodstream, where it multiplies and attacks. Malaria isn’t something mosquitoes are born with, you see; they have to feed on someone infected with it. It’s the same with yellow fever, dengue and the West Nile virus. The mosquito is extremely proficient at disease transmission, even though it’s completely unaware of what’s going on.’
‘We’re lucky to still be here then,’ I said.
‘Hmm.’ Mather considered this briefly. ‘Well, possibly. You have to bear in mind that there are a lot of factors that affect a certain species or a certain disease. If there were, say, a thousand times more mosquitoes in the world than there are now, they might spend too much of their time attacking each other over territory to be bothered with us. If they didn’t destroy themselves, they might end up wiping out the diseases they carry by spreading them too thin. Perhaps the more a disease is spread, the less potent it is, and the more resistant we become. But’ – he chuckled – ‘it’s all guesswork, I’m afraid. I’m no expert on tropical diseases, I’m just theorizing. Although, everything in nature is exhaustible. Nothing is infinite if you look far enough down the timeline. If a certain disease became more widespread, there’s a chance that the human race could become more resistant to it, and the symptoms, in time, could be less severe. But we’re not talking about the common cold. Malaria is pretty hostile and it’s unlikely we’ll ever become resistant to it.’ He stopped, pondering what he’d said. ‘It’s a most interesting subject though. I’m sure someone’s written a book about it.’
Although it was nowhere near as interesting as the story I’d come to the island for, there was a chance I could use some of what Mather had said as the basis for an article, bolstered perhaps by information I might find on the Internet. Derek had told me to return with something. Perhaps a story about mosquitoes and mosquito theories would be a good enough substitute. Something rational and thought-provoking might even make a nice change for the magazine.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Mather said, setting his cup down on the tray and rising to his feet. ‘I won’t be a second. Have you finished?’ He gestured towards my tea.
I drained the last of it, then gave him the cup. ‘Thanks. I’m not a big tea drinker, but that was very good.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He picked up the tray and left the room. I heard him put it down in the kitchen and run some water. A few minutes later there came the sound of footsteps in the corridor and what I guessed was the bathroom door closing.
While Mather was away, I took another look around the living room. Now that more daylight had been allowed in, it seemed bigger. I went over to the piles of books, crammed together on the shelves opposite the window. Some of them were very old; many were bound in a thick material, embossed in some cases with lettering and patterns. Some volumes seemed to be falling apart: loose pages were poking out from them. I picked up one of these editions for a closer look, careful not to cause any further damage, and realized that it wasn’t falling apart at all. The pages that stuck out in various places were actually from other books. Mather seemed to be using them as bookmarks. Why he would want to do such a thing was a mystery, unless the pages had been torn from a book he would otherwise have thrown away. Given the number of books he had though, it was hard to believe that Mather could be so destructive.
The book in my hands was an anatomical textbook called
Body Ratio
by the Reverend C. N. Tantica. There were countless pages from another book which must have been somewhat smaller, judging by the difference in page size, inserted at regular intervals. I opened the book to one of the marked pages and found a drawing that depicted a human liver. Checking a few of the other bookmarked pages, I found further diagrams of various organs. Mather had clearly studied the book in detail at some point, probably during his days as a medical student. It seemed to be well looked-after, being practically dust-free, unlike many of the other titles.
Turning from the bookcase, I noticed another of Mather’s framed silhouettes hanging to the left of the window. I don’t know why I hadn’t spotted it before, because it was striking. It must have been concealed in shadow the previous night, but now, in daylight, was hard to miss. Judging by the long feeding tube that extended from its head, it was a mosquito and was about the size of a small bird. Written beneath the finely crafted image in clear, elegant handwriting were the words:
Ganges Red
(Actual Size)
‘Big, isn’t she?’ Mather said from the doorway.
I jumped in surprise. ‘Yes, it certainly is.’ I found it hard to tear my attention away from the picture. ‘It’s not actually that big though, is it?’
‘Oh yes, indeed. And if you’ll follow me, I’ll prove it.’ He turned and walked off down the corridor. With some trepidation, but also a hope that I might finally get to see something of interest, I followed.
Mather’s bedroom was larger than I had expected, with wooden panels extending from ceiling to floor, all beautifully sanded and stained. Even the floor was bare wood and coloured to match the walls. Arranged neatly around the panels were more of the delicate and elaborate insect silhouettes. There were two more mosquitoes, another butterfly, a hornet, what looked like a praying mantis and something else that I didn’t recognize. To the right of his small bed, under the room’s only window, was a handsome roll-top desk. In general, Mather’s room was tidy, almost minimalist in arrangement.
He walked over to the right wall and took hold of a long, thin horizontal panel that split the wood in two. The whole right side of the panel slid across, revealing a large compartment behind the wall. The space was occupied by a single glass tank. The lid was metal, perhaps brass, and etched with delicate, swirling patterns, as were the strips that ran down each corner – fitted, perhaps, for extra strength. The glass panels had yellowed so I guessed the tank had been in use for some time. I realized then that up until that point I’d assumed the insect to be dead. It seemed, however, that this was not the case, and the fact that Mather kept the creature in his bedroom left me somewhat perturbed.
‘Fear not,’ Mather said, gently tapping the front of the glass box. ‘She sleeps during the day, so it’s sometimes necessary to give her some encouragement.’ He waited for a couple of seconds, but nothing happened.
I studied the leaves, grass and twigs that filled almost a third of the container, hoping to spot some movement. Remaining unruffled by the no-show of his exhibit, Mather drummed his fingers lightly on the glass, then stepped back, a look of satisfaction on his face. I then heard a whining sound coming from within the glass prison. I was still prepared for disappointment. However, to my combined surprise and horror, a mosquito far bigger than it had any right to be detached itself from the underside of the lid where it had been hiding, and dropped, turning itself over in midair to hover before our faces.
IV: PRESENTATION
A remarkable thing occurred during my introduction to the Ganges Red. I was assaulted by a brief yet piercing headache unlike any I’d experienced before. It was as though, for a moment, an inaudible scream resounded in my mind, straining to be heard but achieving only pain. I rubbed my temples as it subsided, and concentrated on the tank. The Ganges Red was simply awesome, and if I hadn’t gazed upon it with my own eyes I’d have had a hard time believing the size of the creature.
It stopped hovering and attached itself to the glass panel, perhaps to get a better look at us. The oversized body of the insect was a deep, glistening red, a colour that seemed to indicate danger. On her abdomen were several wide, broken black stripes. Even her long, needle-like feeding tube was red, making me wonder what a sight she must be after feeding.
‘Quite the study in scarlet, isn’t she?’ Arms folded, Mather stood watching me, relishing my reaction. I might have been shocked, perhaps even scared to begin with, but I couldn’t help but admire the unique beauty of the creature.
‘She’s incredible. I didn’t think it was possible for a mosquito to be so big.’ She could have wrapped herself around a tennis ball and been able to cross her legs. Her wingspan alone must have been over twenty centimetres. I turned my attention to the lid of the tank, feeling a momentary sense of panic.
‘I don’t think I will ever tire of looking at her,’ Mather said, clearly enraptured.
There came a scratching at the window. I turned to see a rather dirty and dishevelled-looking cat. Its fur was damp and matted in a number of places and half its right ear was missing. I was about to mention the visitor to Mather when he spoke.
‘That,’ he said, clearly unimpressed at the sight of the animal, ‘is Mr Hopkins. The rather scruffy bane of my existence.’
‘He’s not yours then?’
‘Certainly not,’ Mather replied, as if insulted. ‘I would never associate with such an unpleasant animal.’ He walked over to the window. For a minute I thought he might shout or bang on the pane, but he just stood there glaring at the poor creature. ‘He must have sneaked onto the island by stowing away on my boat.’