“Call me Harriet.” That was what I told Herman when we first met in 1837. He was a sailor of 18 while I was a Galápagos tortoise of 7. Herman said his dream was to write novels. I said, “What are novels?”
“Novels are fiction books comprising a few hundred pages.” He holds out his fingers an inch apart. “About this thick, I’d say.”
“What’s fiction?”
“Hm, I suppose you could say it’s a story that is similar to history, but not history itself.”
“So, it’s a story you make up?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s it. I want to write novels that people around the world will read and love.”
“So, what’s stopping you from becoming a novelist?”
“Come on. I’m just a sailor, and an American at that. Who would want to read stories about the high seas? We harpoon whales for a living and sell the spermaceti to make perfume.”
“I would. I’ve never sailed before. I would like to know what it’s like out there in the vast ocean.”
“Maybe you will someday, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. The sooner I make my fortune, the sooner I can hole up in a tavern somewhere with a quill and pot of ink.”
“Why not make your fortune doing something you love?”
“Ha, ha, ha, those are the words of an idealist. I do have to be somewhat pragmatic in my thinking. I have some serious competition if I make my debut now. Maybe in a few years, though.”
Herman got off the rock. “But I do believe I’m talented enough. I just need one more big score. Then I can settle in Tahiti and write my great American novel.”
“Good luck, my friend.”
***
-1837-
I met the ruddy-looking Englishman named Chuck who placed me in a rusty cage next to about a dozen other creatures I had never seen before. I like to believe that I was Chuck’s favorite Galápagos creature since he frequently kept me next to his desk and we would exchange ideas on his theory of natural selection.
“So, Harriet,” he asked one day. “How do you like my ship and sailing in general?”
“I do like the aspect of sailing even though I miss the island and watching my comrades being eaten was not delightful.”
“Your comrades? Such colorful vocabulary. What do you mean ‘comrades?’”
“My fellow Galápagos tortoises. I heard that because we have plenty of meat and can store water in our bodies. We are a great source of nutrients.”
“I think you’re a little confused?” said the bearded man, lighting his pipe. “You’re already an adult specimen. Too large for any predator, surely!”
All but one, I thought. “Yes…I suppose you’re right. I was just practicing my fiction.”
“Heavens, where did you learn such a word as ‘fiction’? On this ship, we only dabble in natural sciences and history. Nonfiction, if you will.”
“I met a sailor named Herman just before you arrived. He wanted to become a novelist, but he is stuck being a sailor.”
“An Englishman, perchance?”
“Nay, an American fellow. Erudite, yet rugged. Extroverted, yet broody.”
“I say! Those Americans are full of contradictions. It’s a good thing I’m taking you to another commonwealth nation under our monarch, King William IV. Free of those Yankee influences!”
“And where could that be?”
“I’m taking you to Australia, a little coastal town called Brisbane. You’ll love it there.”
“Brisbane? Where is that? And what’s the purpose of the trip?”
“I’m selling you, my dear. To the Zoological Society of the Gold Coast. They shall take good care of you, and I shall make a handsome sum to fund my future publication about the origin of the specimens.”
“Species.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Origin of the Species. It’d make a catchier title.”
“By Jove, you’re right! I shall get to work on my scientific paper as soon as I dump you in the penal colony. I mean, zoological society!”
“I knew you only meant good, Chuck. And I also knew this day would come. Whoever you sell me to, make sure that they fulfill my final request: to allow me to visit my Galápagos Islands for a final goodbye.
“Preposterous! I say, you do have flights of fancy unbecoming of a lady.”
“Call me an idealist. But just promise me you’ll try.”
“I promise,” said the scientist, with fingers intertwined behind his back.
***
-1927-
A dignified-looking man in a British military uniform covered in epaulets entered the Brisbane Zoo to much fanfare. He looked down on Harriet and asked the keeper a question.
“How old is this turtle?”
“Tortoise, sire. She is approximately 97 years old.”
“Fascinating, I am intrigued to know what she’s lived through.”
“Well, we expect she’ll live through a great deal more,” said the keeper. “We’ve no idea how long these specimens live!”
“Excuse me, sir,” Harriet piped up.
“That would be ‘Sire’ to you, Madam. I do have a title to maintain.”
“Apologies, Sire. Are you related to King William IV?
“A distant grand-uncle, so yes.”
“Interesting. Pray, would you have heard of an American by the name Herman?”
“Herman who? I can list hundreds of Hermans.”
“He is possibly a famous author of sorts. Perhaps he wrote about sailing.”
“Oh, yes,” said the dignified man wryly. “I might recall an author of miniscule fame who once harpooned a few whales.”
“Yes, that’s him. What became of him?”
“Well, he left a legacy of a few dozen novels until his death in the 1890s. Not an insignificant achievement, I suppose. But a Yankee, nonetheless.”
“Thank you. That brings great joy to me.”
***
-2005-
A TV personality named Stephan is sailing toward the Galápagos Islands with a tortoise erected taxidermically on a pedestal.
“Crikey! We’ve done it, mates. We’ve reached the Galápagos to return Harriet’s remains.”
“This will make great television,” his producer added. “Land ho!”