The Year is Almost Over

An Item of Such Rarity

"Tell me Mister Butler. Have you ever had to keep a secret?"

August 21st, 1933. After a six day journey across the Mediterranean, my ship arrived at Alexandria. I had journeyed there to find specimens for my butterfly collection - in particular, I had my heart set on finding an example of the Madagascan Sunset Moth, Chrysiridia rhipheus, one of the most beautiful and colourful moths in existence. Even poor quality specimens were sought after with great determination by collectors - In 1862, the Scottish explorer Angus Morley raced across Africa and Europe in two weeks to preserve a living specimen he had captured for his patron, King Maximilian of Bavaria. He presented the Chrysiridia in a silver cage to the King, but the next day the moth was eaten by one of the splendid, carefully bred peacocks that were allowed to wander about the palace. As the moth is poisonous to most predators, the bird died not long afterwards. But the story goes that the King was more grieved by the loss of the moth than the peacock, and to the relief of Morley, his funding was continued.

Examples of the Chrysiridia were rare in the European market, particularly after the war, but the regular journals of lepidoptery had often mentioned that excellently mounted butterflies, moths, spiders, scorpions and other insects were common in the markets and shops of Alexandria. I had been planning this little mission for some time - with the money I had saved by taking cheap passage across the Mediterranean, I was able to treat myself to comfortable accommodation, and I looked forward to the adventure of wandering the streets and alleys of the city.

As my ship approached the docks, I was assaulted by the smells that surged back and forth with the angry gulls in the hot air of the old port. Of course there was the black stench of the many steamers moving around each other, but beyond that there was a many faceted odour that told of ages of history, of sprawling humanity squabbling and scrapping for survival, of hard commerce and exotic wares, but also, and most compelling of all, the scent of danger. How could this be so unmistakable? Was it my imagination? Had I seen so much and taken fright too often, that I saw peril everywhere? The fear gripped me, and almost made me think of leaving, of continuing to some place that did not disturb me so much, disturb me with something not heard or seen, but still there.

I had to stay. Yes, I wanted to follow my quest, however trivial, to find the Chrysiridia. But I could not live with the knowledge that I had turned so easily in the face of nameless fears. What if I should suffer derision, theft, injury, even death? There is always risk in life, and as the passing of my wife had shown me, always loss. Whatever I might suffer, I was determined to retain my self respect.

I disembarked, went looking for my luggage, arranged some currency exchange, paused for breath, wiped my brow... but the sense of threat remained. I made my way to my hotel, and spent an hour lying in a tub of water, without afterwards feeling any cleaner or more at ease than before.

I spent the next few days wandering the streets and alleys, carrying as little cash as possible to frustrate the pick-pockets. The feeling of danger was continually with me, in my nostrils, in the sly glances of people in the streets and in my own unnamed fears. In my travels I had developed a technique to avoid becoming lost, which was to always walk in a straight line, and if a deviation was necessary, to look around and try to remember the intersection first. There were few street signs, and God knows what would have happened had I become lost. Fortunately that never occurred, however there were many parts of the city which I was not seeing as a result of my technique. At one point I stopped at a corner, and as I was trying to memorise the landmarks, I became aware of the sensation of being watched. I looked around to see that, indeed, a man was watching me, about thirty yards down a lane filled with a small number of street children. He wore a white linen suit, grey vest and a dark cherry coloured tie, and although much of his face was shaded by a pith helmet, I could see that he was an Egyptian. He kept returning my stare, then after a few moments he smiled and raised his hat. I nodded, then kept walking.