A More Interesting Reality than Ours: A Close Look at MATANGO
Author: Sean Kotz
For all the artistic beauty of ONIBABA, the graphic intensity of JIGOKU, and the genre-blending impact of GOKE: BODYSNATCHER FROM HELL (Kyuketsuki Gokemidoro), Ishiro Honda’s MATANGO is probably the most significant, disturbing and influential of Japan’s 60s horror/sci-fi psychodramas. Often cited as an anti-drug film, MATANGO is more significant in its conscious embrace of psychology. In its original language form, MATANGO is a creepy and intelligent film that stands in sharp contrast to Toho’s generally optimistic sci-fi of the decade. With a slow-boiling tension, smart writing, convincing portrayals and some simple but effective special effects, MATANGO deftly explores the limits of human will and the lengths of social restraints. At the same time it directly questions the fabric of reality and the nature of happiness. And somehow, it also manages to consider life in a post-nuclear world with a rather nihilistic point of view. These elements make MATANGO arguably the most complete and satisfying film in Toho’s sci-fi catalogue and equal to or perhaps even exceeding Honda’s GOJIRA.
Better known to Americans as ATTACK OF THE MUSHROOM PEOPLE, MATANGO revolves around an array of characters on a hedonistic yachting trip accidentally stranded on an island without food. Living in an abandoned shipwreck covered in moss and fungus, the characters are severely tested by hunger and desire. Between the dwindling provisions, simmering resentments and sexual tensions, they weaken one by one and consume the prolific and prodigious fungi despite well-founded fears that the mushrooms degenerate the nervous system. The “laughing mushrooms,” as they are called provide a sense of well-being and take away the hunger, but gradually transform the diner into a walking shitake with a bad attitude and a “come join us” agenda.
This story can quite clearly be read as an anti-drug parable, especially since there was much international debate about the mind altering effects of psilocybin producing mushrooms in the late 1950s and early 1960s. At that time, hallucinogens and Zen began to be tied together loosely and trippers were showing up high in Japanese temples by the early sixties. The drug problem in Japan has never been as pressing as in America, but in Japan, psilocybin mushrooms were not illegal until 2002. (A legislative loophole meant that consuming psilocybin was illegal, but the mushrooms themselves were not and were even available in vending machines for a time.) Whether this was on Honda’s mind or not when creating the film, the elements work in this way and it is a popular way to read the film.
However, as an anti-drug movie, MATANGO becomes and oversimplified message movie—i.e. “just say ‘no’ or you will become a monster, ya crazy hipsters!” Perhaps that is there, but writer Masami Fukushima’s screenplay is more complex than a Reaganesque platitude. His story involves people with many motives—greed, ego, indebtedness, lust, power and even love. These flaws allow the filmmakers to explore subjective nature of reality, psychosis and meaning in life.
Also, there is known source material worth considering—a short story by William Hope Hodgson called The Voice in the Night published in the November issue of Blue Magazine in 1907, way before any psychedelic propaganda wars evolved. The original story concerns an engaged couple marooned on a fungally infested island. They too find a shipwreck, clean it up, and proceed to gradually starve. First, the bride eats the fungus, but later the same afternoon, the groom of the story tangles with a once-human mushroom and gets the taste in his mouth, dooming him too. This twisted Garden of Eden story emphasizes compassion and demonstrates that the main characters do love one another by choosing to suffer together. Thus, as an inspiration for MATANGO, The Voice in the Night encourages more depth than anti-drug dogma.
Having said all that, MATANGO is worth a closer look, starting with the characters of the film. The ill-fated trip is financed by an aloof and self-possessed millionaire businessman, Fumio Kasai (played by Yoshio Tsuchiya). As a vicious storm rises on the first night of sailing, the skipper of the ship, Naoyuki Sakeda (Hiroshi Koizumi) and his first mate, Senzo Koyama (Kenji Sahara) want to turn back. Kasai, dismisses the advice and insists on pressing onward, not wanting to disrupt his plans, subjecting his entire entourage to life-threatening conditions.
We learn through flashbacks, radio alerts and character interaction, that Kasai has invited an eclectic group. For his own purposes, he brings along seductive entertainer Mami Sekiguchi (played by Honda and drooling-otaku favorite, Kumi Mizuno). Mystery novelist, Etsuro Yoshida (Hiroshi Tachikawa), joins the party as well, and like Mami, he represents the fashionable, cosmopolitan world of modern Tokyo. Finally—and significantly—the guest list includes a psychology professor, Kenji Murai (Akira Kubo) and his innocent and trepidacious student, Akiko Soma (Miki Yoshiro). (Soma, by the way, is the name often used for hallucinogenic mushroom teas used in India and elsewhere.)
If we can get beyond the eerie similarity to GILLIGAN’S ISLAND in this group, we can see an interesting cross-section of early 1960s Japanese society. Japan’s tradition of seafaring is present in both Captain Sakeda and mate Koyama, though Koyama is conspicuously low-minded and the college educated Sakeda is driven by higher motives. Kasai, the successful business man, reflects Japan’s rapid rebirth as an economic power and the central role of businessmen in post-Imperial Japan. Kasai is arrogant and expects to be served, but at least initially, every other character is dependent upon him to some degree just as Japanese society was dependent upon its newfound wealth.
Kasai’s primary guests, singer Mami Sekiguchi and writer Etsuro Yoshida appear to have found their way into influential circles through the arts, or at least entertainment, soaking up the sensual pleasures of life. Mami feigns an interest in Kasai to get a trip to Europe, but clearly has more interest in Yoshida, another sensualist. If the crew represents the diverging directions of Japanese tradition and Kasai is Japan’s renewed economic status, then Mami and Yoshida express the escapism and indulgence of the post-war generation. Together, they create a microcosm of 1960s Japan.
Set in place to observe what happens to such a society when cut off from basic needs are the final two characters—the psychologist, Murai, and the student, Akiko, who share an unspoken, unexpressed love. In fact, Murai becomes the true protagonist of the film, which actually begins in a Tokyo psychiatric ward where Professor Murai is under observation. Technically speaking, he is the lone survivor, but his cryptic opening statement sets a tone of painful introspection. With his back to the camera and the neon lights of Tokyo blazing through an open window, Murai muses:
“They are all dead… every one of them. No… I am the only one dead. It’s true. The others are still alive. Why didn’t they return, you ask? If you listen to what I tell you, it will probably convince you that I am insane, huh?”
Literally and figuratively, we begin MATANGO with serious questions. Clearly, he is physically alive, so life and death in this context mean something else. His lines, of course, are atmospherically ominous, but they open this tale with a pair of themes that Honda will execute brilliantly without ever being heavy handed or preachy. First, what makes life meaningful? Second, what is sanity if one has a different reality?
The next few minutes of the film are lighthearted and indulgent to divert our attention, but the complexity of MATANGO begins to surface once the principle characters are stranded on an island with little food or hope of rescue. With their yacht barely floating, the collective gladly crawls ashore to find food and water. Water they find in abundance, but food is another story. Searching the island, they discover a fungus-covered shipwreck but the castaways find a room full of chemicals and clean it up enough to live in.
The strange ghost ship effectively introduces the theme of nuclear disaster and subsequent mutation. The castaways quickly find equipment made in the Soviet Union, the free world and even Japan reflecting Japan’s political position between democracy and communism. They also find a Geiger counter and samples of mutated animals and plants, evidence that the ship’s crew was researching “the effects of a nuclear explosion.” More disturbing is the fact that the ship seems to have been abandoned with a supply of food left on board, a working rifle, an unfinished ship’s log and all the mirrors broken. For what it’s worth, in so far as the metaphor of nuclear holocaust may apply, their new home is a corrupt and imperfect lost world.
Another important discovery takes place on the ship—a giant mushroom closed in a crate marked, “Matango.” It is unclear whether nuclear energy has made the species so large and… as we soon see… so dangerous. However, it would explain other aspects of the film. Despite your mother’s admonition that you are what you eat, mutating into a part fungus, part human isn’t normal and may be a product of nuclear experiments. Also, it is commonly recounted that the film was nearly banned because some of the special effect makeup echoes the wounds suffered in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The veracity of the story is debatable, but undoubtedly the fully transformed fungi-men look like walking mushroom clouds.
But the most significant themes of MATANGO are psychological. Starving and under tremendous stress, the rainy season sets in midway through the film, bringing a pervasive gloom with it. One night, the characters suddenly encounter the first of many mushroom people lurching through the ship. Frightened and unable to get a good look at the creature, they wonder if they are seeing ghosts or simply going mad… though footsteps in the mud tell them otherwise. No one trusts anyone else and the most self-serving characters–the millionaire Kasai, the deceitful sailor, Yokama, and the novelist, Yoshida–are quick to assume a plot to seize power and resources.
In contrast, however, Dr. Murai (the psychologist), can see what is really happening. Searching for food on the beach, he muses to his student and would-be lover, “The weak restraints of society disintegrate in the face of the will to survive in harsh circumstances. The worse things get here, the worse we behave. Is there any way to change everyone’s feelings?”
Sadly, there is not.
As the will to resist the mushrooms erodes, Yoshida is the first to give in. On the day following the first attack, Kasai enters the ship’s lab to find Yoshida apparently trying to mix a drinkable grade of alcohol from the chemicals. Snubbing Kasai’s pretense at authority, he snatches up the rifle to go hunting. When Kasai warns that he shouldn’t be shooting in case the mushroom people are still human, Yoshida becomes Fukushima’s mouthpiece for questioning perception:
“I hope that it is a man so I can have a talk with him. I’ll be very interested to hear what he says. A man thinks strange things when he is out of his mind. His reality may be more interesting than ours, and it wouldn’t matter what he ate.”
Alone in the jungle, Yoshida quickly proves that rubbing alcohol is indeed a gateway drug for shrooming and sates himself on the forbidden fungi. Ironically, when he returns from his hunt (clearly stoned and without a kill), food is plentiful for the first time… but he no longer cares. Apparently, his reality is now more interesting than ours, fitting perhaps for a novelist (Incidentally, Fukushima was himself a famous mystery and science fiction writer in Tokyo at the time).
Next the energized Yoshida is discovered locked in Mami’s arms by the lascivious first mate, Koyama—but sex is something the men agreed to resist. A fight erupts and Yoshida is barely restrained. Baring the rifle, he soon confronts the other men, threatening to “kill them all.” At this point, the writer reveals the value of research to his foes:
“I ate some mushrooms. Now you know. I read a long time ago that the Mexicans ate them in order to increase their perception and gain a sense of well being… Japanese legends mention laughing mushrooms, so I’m in good company. The people who gathered them danced in high spirits on the mountains and were in touch with the gods. Matango, according to your thinking [creates] a person who is no longer human. That’s fine by me, because when I kill you, I won’t be committing any crime.”
As a writer, he might indeed know this history and it explains his willingness to experiment as well. It also reveals the nature of the mushrooms, which drive him to indulge his desires even further.
He is, however, subdued and the other men lock him up as a dangerous lunatic. From this point forward, the delicate society begins to fall apart. Captain Sakeda abandons the group in the now repaired yacht, (only to die at sea and have the boat drift back to the island). As the others discover Sakeda’s escape, Yoshida emerges from imprisonment thanks to Mami. He separates the women out and prepares to kill the other men, but is interrupted by Yokama, whom he guns down. This gives Professor Murai and Kasai the chance to overpower Yoshida, and they send both conspirators out into the jungle, where they gorge on more mushrooms.
The next day Kasai, too despondent to search for food, is left on board the ship while Murai and Akiko are gone. At this point, Mami returns and seduces Kasai off the boat, taking great pleasure in the way he begs her for help. She feeds him mushrooms and for a moment, he‘s rewarded with an exotic fantasy of women dancing in a Tokyo club. But before long he is running in confusion amid a number of mushroom men, losing his battle against temptation.
Murai and Akiko are the only ones left clinging to hope after Kasai seeks refuge in the mushrooms and Murai proposes that they try sailing off the island. Akiko has a complete breakdown, and the two finally hold one another in a deep kiss, giving her the strength to attempt the escape. But the plan is short lived. Attacked by their former shipmates and fending for their lives, Akiko is dragged into the jungle.
Naturally, Murai rushes to save her, but he is embattled and must flee when he finds his love passively eating the mushrooms with a glazed look and eeire smile, beckoning to him. He escapes the island, as we know from the beginning of the film, but this is no happy ending. Without Akiko, he recounts his story in despair and regret:
“If I really was in love with Akiko, I should have eaten the mushrooms with her and become one. At least we would have been together. Isn’t that it? If I really wanted to live, I shouldn’t have been so stupid and eaten one. With all the pain… all the suffering… all my sadness would have disappeared by eating them! How in the world can I face myself?”
If this is, in fact, an anti-drug movie, it sure doesn’t sound like one in the end. Life is defined here not by existence, safety or even a place in society… but rather, by love. The questions have never really been so much about human nature, but rather human reality—and which ones we choose to live in.
In the last moments of the film, Murai finally turns to face the camera when he is told by the observing psychiatrists (ah, the irony!) that he should be happy for being rescued. But in the struggle to escape, he has apparently been infected anyway, his face beginning a horrible transformation. In this condition, he can only tell the baffled doctors that “Tokyo is not very different from that island. People in the city are just as cruel aren’t they? It’s all the same. I would have been happier on the island.”
Murai’s regrets leave the audience, like the doctors watching Murai from behind an iron gate, to wonder… if a person is happy degenerating and liberated from guilt, isn’t that better than being unhappy and trapped in remorse? Is there really a right and wrong in such situations, or merely choices with consequences?
It is a powerful way to end a film that might easily have slipped into melodrama and left us with our perfunctory mating couple intact and sailing off into the sunset to begin a new life as 99% of science fiction films do. But in the end, MATANGO is really horror as much as anything else, with as much in common with NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD as it has with GOJIRA.
THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT: The Story that Inspired MATANGO
In 1907, British author William Hope Hodgson wrote the short story The Voice in the Night. The story was later filmed twice; first in a faithful adaptation for Episode 24 of the American TV anthology SUSPICION, which was broadcast on the NBC network on March 24, 1958. The episode was directed by Arthur Hiller and starred James Coburn, Barbara Rush, James Donald and Patrick Macnee. Five years later, Toho would use The Voice in the Night as the basis for their horror classic MATANGO.
Born November 15, 1877 in the village of Blackmore End, Essex, Hodgson’s first published work was The Goddess of Death in 1904. Over the next decade, the author wrote numerous poems, short stories and novels; most notably The House on the Borderland (1908). During World War I, Hodgson served with the British Artillery and on April 17, 1918 he was killed by an artillery shell during a battle between British and German forces in the town of Ypres, Belgium.
Much of Hodgson’s writings had been out of print for decades, but were recently reissued by Night Shade Books in the five volume Collected Fiction of William Hope Hodgson.
THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT
By William Hope Hodgson
It was a dark, starless night. We were becalmed in the Northern Pacific. Our exact position I do not know; for the sun had been hidden during the course of a weary, breathless week, by a thin haze which had seemed to float above us, about the height of our mastheads, at whiles descending and shrouding the surrounding sea.
With there being no wind, we had steadied the tiller, and I was the only man on deck. The crew, consisting of two men and a boy, were sleeping forward in their den; while Will— my friend, and the master of our little craft— was aft in his bunk on the port side of the little cabin.
Suddenly, from out of the surrounding darkness, there came a hail: “Schooner, ahoy!”
The cry was so unexpected that I gave no immediate answer, because of my surprise.
It came again— a voice curiously throaty and inhuman, calling from somewhere upon the dark sea away on our port broadside: “Schooner, ahoy!”
“Hullo!” I sung out, having gathered my wits somewhat. “What are you? What do you want?”
“You need not be afraid,” answered the queer voice, having probably noticed some trace of confusion in my tone. “I am only an old man.”
The pause sounded oddly; but it was only afterwards that it came back to me with any significance.
“Why don’t you come alongside, then?” I queried somewhat snappishly; for I liked not his hinting at my having been a trifle shaken.
“I— I— can’t. It wouldn’t be safe. I—” The voice broke off, and there was silence.
“What do you mean?” I asked, growing more and more astonished. “Why not safe? Where are you?”
I listened for a moment; but there came no answer. And then, a sudden indefinite suspicion, of I knew not what, coming to me, I stepped swiftly to the binnacle, and took out the lighted lamp. At the same time, I knocked on the deck with my heel to waken Will. Then I was back at the side, throwing the yellow funnel of light out into the silent immensity beyond our rail. As I did so, I heard a slight, muffled cry, and then the sound of a splash as though someone had dipped oars abruptly. Yet I cannot say that I saw anything with certainty; save, it seemed to me, that with the first flash of the light, there had been something upon the waters, where now there was nothing.
“Hullo, there!” I called. “What foolery is this!”
But there came only the indistinct sounds of a boat being pulled away into the night.
Then I heard Will’s voice, from the direction of the after scuttle: “What’s up, George?”
“Come here, Will!” I said.
“What is it?” he asked, coming across the deck.
I told him the queer thing which had happened. He put several questions; then, after a moment’s silence, he raised his hands to his lips, and hailed: “Boat, ahoy!”
From a long distance away there came back to us a faint reply, and my companion repeated his call. Presently, after a short period of silence, there grew on our hearing the muffled sound of oars; at which Will hailed again.
This time there was a reply: “Put away the light.”
“I’m damned if I will,” I muttered; but Will told me to do as the voice bade, and I shoved it down under the bulwarks.
“Come nearer,” he said, and the oar-strokes continued. Then, when apparently some half-dozen fathoms distant, they again ceased.
“Come alongside,” exclaimed Will. “There’s nothing to be frightened of aboard here!”
“Promise that you will not show the light?”
“What’s to do with you,” I burst out, “that you’re so infernally afraid of the light?”
“Because—” began the voice, and stopped short.
“Because what?” I asked quickly.
Will put his hand on my shoulder.
“Shut up a minute, old man,” he said, in a low voice. “Let me tackle him.”
He leant more over the rail.
“See here, Mister,” he said, “this is a pretty queer business, you coming upon us like this, right out in the middle of the blessed Pacific. How are we to know what sort of a hanky-panky trick you’re up to? You say there’s only one of you. How are we to know, unless we get a squint at you— eh? What’s your objection to the light, anyway?”
As he finished, I heard the noise of the oars again, and then the voice came; but now from a greater distance, and sounding extremely hopeless and pathetic.
“I am sorry— sorry! I would not have troubled you, only I am hungry, and— so is she.”
The voice died away, and the sound of the oars, dipping irregularly, was borne to us.
“Stop!” sung out Will. “I don’t want to drive you away. Come back! We’ll keep the light hidden, if you don’t like it.”
He turned to me: “It’s a damned queer rig, this; but I think there’s nothing to be afraid of?
There was a question in his tone, and I replied.
“No, I think the poor devil’s been wrecked around here, and gone crazy.”
The sound of the oars drew nearer.
“Shove that lamp back in the binnacle,” said Will; then he leaned over the rail and listened. I replaced the lamp, and came back to his side. The dipping of the oars ceased some dozen yards distant.
“Won’t you come alongside now?” asked Will in an even voice. “I have had the lamp put back in the binnacle.”
“I— I cannot,” replied the voice. “I dare not come nearer. I dare not even pay you for the— the provisions.”
“That’s all right,” said Will, and hesitated. “You’re welcome to as much grub as you can take–” Again he hesitated.
“You are very good,” exclaimed the voice. “May God, Who understands everything, reward you—” It broke off huskily.
“The—the lady?” said Will abruptly. “Is she——”
“I have left her behind upon the island,” came the voice.
“What island?” I cut in.
“I know not its name,” returned the voice. “I would to God–!” it began, and checked itself as suddenly.
“Could we not send a boat for her?” asked Will at this point.
“No!” said the voice, with extraordinary emphasis. “My God! No!” There was a moment’s pause; then it added, in a tone which seemed a merited reproach: “It was because of our want I ventured—because her agony tortured me.”
“I am a forgetful brute,” exclaimed Will. “Just wait a minute, whoever you are, and I will bring you up something at once.”
In a couple of minutes he was back again, and his arms were full of various edibles. He paused at the rail.
“Can’t you come alongside for them?” he asked.
“No— I dare not,’ replied the voice, and it seemed to me that in its tones I detected a note of stifled craving— as though the owner hushed a mortal desire. It came to me then in a flash, that the poor old creature out there in the darkness, was suffering for actual need of that which Will held in his arms; and yet, because of some unintelligible dread, refraining from dashing to the side of our little schooner, and receiving it. And with the lightning-like conviction, there came the knowledge that the Invisible was not mad; but sanely facing some intolerable horror.
“Damn it, Will!” I said, full of many feelings, over which predominated a vast sympathy. “Get a box. We must float off the stuff to him in it.”
This we did—propelling it away from the vessel, out into the darkness, by means of a boathook. In a minute, a slight cry from the Invisible came to us, and we knew that he had secured the box.
A little later, he called out a farewell to us, and so heartful a blessing, that I am sure we were the better for it. Then, without more ado, we heard the ply of oars across the darkness.
“Pretty soon off,” remarked Will, with perhaps just a little sense of injury.
“Wait,” I replied. “I think somehow he’ll come back. He must have been badly needing that food.”
“And the lady,” said Will. For a moment he was silent; then he continued:
“It’s the queerest thing ever I’ve tumbled across, since I’ve been fishing.”
“Yes,” I said, and fell to pondering.
And so the time slipped away— an hour, another, and still Will stayed with me; for the queer adventure had knocked all desire for sleep out of him.
The third hour was three parts through, when we heard again the sound of oars across the silent ocean.
“Listen!” said Will, a low note of excitement in his voice.
“He’s coming, just as I thought,” I muttered.
The dipping of the oars grew nearer, and I noted that the strokes were firmer and longer. The food had been needed.
They came to a stop a little distance off the broadside, and the queer voice came again to us through the darkness: “Schooner, ahoy!”
“That you?” asked Will.
“Yes,” replied the voice. “I left you suddenly; but— but there was great need.”
“The lady?” questioned Will.
“The— lady is grateful now on earth. She will be more grateful soon in— in heaven.”
Will began to make some reply, in a puzzled voice; but became confused, and broke off short. I said nothing. I was wondering at the curious pauses, and, apart from my wonder, I was full of a great sympathy.
The voice continued: “We— she and I, have talked, as we shared the result of God’s tenderness and yours—”
Will interposed; but without coherence.
“I beg of you not to— to belittle your deed of Christian charity this night,” said the voice. “Be sure that it has not escaped His notice.”
It stopped, and there was a full minute’s silence. Then it came again: “We have spoken together upon that which— which has befallen us. We had thought to go out, without telling any, of the terror which has come into our— lives. She is with me in believing that to-night’s happenings are under a special ruling, and that it is God’s wish that we should tell to you all that we have suffered since— since—”
“Yes?” said Will softly.
“Since the sinking of the Albatross.”
“Ah!” I exclaimed involuntarily. “She left Newcastle for ‘Frisco some six months ago, and hasn’t been heard of since.”
“Yes,” answered the voice. “But some few degrees to the North of the line she was caught in a terrible storm, and dismasted. When the day came, it was found that she was leaking badly, and, presently, it falling to a calm, the sailors took to the boats, leaving— leaving a young lady— my fiancee— and myself upon the wreck.
“We were below, gathering together a few of our belongings, when they left. They were entirely callous, through fear, and when we came up upon the deck, we saw them only as small shapes afar off upon the horizon. Yet we did not despair, but set to work and constructed a small raft. Upon this we put such few matters as it would hold including a quantity of water and some ship’s biscuit. Then, the vessel being very deep in the water, we got ourselves on to the raft, and pushed off.
“It was later, when I observed that we seemed to be in the way of some tide or current, which bore us from the ship at an angle; so that in the course of three hours, by my watch, her hull became invisible to our sight, her broken masts remaining in view for a somewhat longer period. Then, towards evening, it grew misty, and so through the night. The next day we were still encompassed by the mist, the weather remaining quiet.
“For four days we drifted through this strange haze, until, on the evening of the fourth day, there grew upon our ears the murmur of breakers at a distance. Gradually it became plainer, and, somewhat after midnight, it appeared to sound upon either hand at no very great space. The raft was raised upon a swell several times, and then we were in smooth water, and the noise of the breakers was behind.
“When the morning came, we found that we were in a sort of great lagoon; but of this we noticed little at the time; for close before us, through the enshrouding mist, loomed the hull of a large sailing-vessel. With one accord, we fell upon our knees and thanked God; for we thought that here was an end to our perils. We had much to learn.
“The raft drew near to the ship, and we shouted on them to take us aboard; but none answered. Presently the raft touched against the side of the vessel, and, seeing a rope hanging downwards, I seized it and began to climb. Yet I had much ado to make my way up, because of a kind of grey, lichenous fungus which had seized upon the rope, and which blotched the side of the ship lividly.
“I reached the rail and clambered over it, on to the deck. Here I saw that the decks were covered, in great patches, with grey masses, some of them rising into nodules several feet in height; but at the time I thought less of this matter than of the possibility of there being people aboard the ship. I shouted; but none answered. Then I went to the door below the poop deck. I opened it, and peered in. There was a great smell of staleness, so that I knew in a moment that nothing living was within, and with the knowledge, I shut the door quickly; for I felt suddenly lonely.
“I went back to the side where I had scrambled up. My— my sweetheart was still sitting quietly upon the raft. Seeing me look down she called up to know whether there were any aboard of the ship. I replied that the vessel had the appearance of having been long deserted; but that if she would wait a little I would see whether there was anything in the shape of a ladder by which she could ascend to the deck. Then we would make a search through the vessel together. A little later, on the opposite side of the decks, I found a rope side-ladder. This I carried across, and a minute afterwards she was beside me.
“Together we explored the cabins and apartments in the after part of the ship; but nowhere was there any sign of life. Here and there within the cabins themselves, we came across odd patches of that queer fungus; but this, as my sweetheart said, could be cleansed away.
“In the end, having assured ourselves that the after portion of the vessel was empty, we picked our ways to the bows, between the ugly grey nodules of that strange growth; and here we made a further search which told us that there was indeed none aboard but ourselves.
“This being now beyond any doubt, we returned to the stern of the ship and proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. Together we cleared out and cleaned two of the cabins: and after that I made examination whether there was anything eatable in the ship. This I soon found was so, and thanked God in my heart for His goodness. In addition to this I discovered the whereabouts of the fresh-water pump, and having fixed it I found the water drinkable, though somewhat unpleasant to the taste.
“For several days we stayed aboard the ship, without attempting to get to the shore. We were busily engaged in making the place habitable. Yet even thus early we became aware that our lot was even less to be desired than might have been imagined; for though, as a first step, we scraped away the odd patches of growth that studded the floors and walls of the cabins and saloon, yet they returned almost to their original size within the space of twenty-four hours, which not only discouraged us, but gave us a feeling of vague unease.
“Still we would not admit ourselves beaten, so set to work afresh, and not only scraped away the fungus, but soaked the places where it had been, with carbolic, a can-full of which I had found in the pantry. Yet, by the end of the week the growth had returned in full strength, and, in addition, it had spread to other places, as though our touching it had allowed germs from it to travel elsewhere.
“On the seventh morning, my sweetheart woke to find a small patch of it growing on her pillow, close to her face. At that, she came to me, so soon as she could get her garments upon her. I was in the galley at the time lighting the fire for breakfast.
“Come here, John,’ she said, and led me aft. When I saw the thing upon her pillow I shuddered, and then and there we agreed to go right out of the ship and see whether we could not fare to make ourselves more comfortable ashore.
“Hurriedly we gathered together our few belongings, and even among these I found that the fungus had been at work; for one of her shawls had a little lump of it growing near one edge. I threw the whole thing over the side, without saying anything to her.
“The raft was still alongside, but it was too clumsy to guide, and I lowered down a small boat that hung across the stern, and in this we made our way to the shore. Yet, as we drew near to it, I became gradually aware that here the vile fungus, which had driven us from the ship, was growing riot. In places it rose into horrible, fantastic mounds, which seemed almost to quiver, as with a quiet life, when the wind blew across them. Here and there it took on the forms of vast fingers, and in others it just spread out flat and smooth and treacherous. Odd places, it appeared as grotesque stunted trees, seeming extraordinarily kinked and gnarled—the whole quaking vilely at times.
“At first, it seemed to us that there was no single portion of the surrounding shore which was not hidden beneath the masses of the hideous lichen; yet, in this, I found we were mistaken; for somewhat later, coasting along the shore at a little distance, we descried a smooth white patch of what appeared to be fine sand, and there we landed. It was not sand. What it was I do not know. All that I have observed is that upon it the fungus will not grow; while everywhere else, save where the sandlike earth wanders oddly, path-wise, amid the grey desolation of the lichen, there is nothing but that loathsome greyness.
“It is difficult to make you understand how cheered we were to find one place that was absolutely free from the growth, and here we deposited our belongings. Then we went back to the ship for such things as it seemed to us we should need. Among other matters, I managed to bring ashore with me one of the ship’s sails, with which I constructed two small tents, which, though exceedingly rough-shaped, served the purpose for which they were intended. In these we lived and stored our various necessities, and thus for a matter of some four weeks all went smoothly and without particular unhappiness. Indeed, I may say with much of happiness—for— for we were together.
“It was on the thumb of her right hand that the growth first showed. It was only a small circular spot, much like a little grey mole. My God! how the fear leapt to my heart when she showed me the place. We cleansed it, between us, washing it with carbolic and water. In the morning of the following day she showed her hand to me again. The grey warty thing had returned. For a little while, we looked at one another in silence. Then, still wordless, we started again to remove it. In the midst of the operation she spoke suddenly.
“‘What’s that on the side of your face, dear?’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety. I put my hand up to feel.
“‘There! Under the hair by your ear. A little to the front a bit.’ My finger rested upon the place, and then I knew.
“‘Let us get your thumb done first,’ I said. And she submitted, only because she was afraid to touch me until it was cleansed. I finished washing and disinfecting her thumb, and then she turned to my face. After it was finished we sat together and talked awhile of many things for there had come into our lives sudden, very terrible thoughts. We were, all at once, afraid of something worse than death. We spoke of loading the boat with provisions and water and making our way out on to the sea; yet we were helpless, for many causes, and—and the growth had attacked us already. We decided to stay. God would do with us what was His will. We would wait.
“A month, two months, three months passed and the places grew somewhat, and there had come others. Yet we fought so strenuously with the fear that its headway was but slow, comparatively speaking.
“Occasionally we ventured off to the ship for such stores as we needed. There we found that the fungus grew persistently. One of the nodules on the maindeck became soon as high as my head.
“We had now given up all thought or hope of leaving the island. We had realized that it would be unallowable to go among healthy humans, with the things from which we were suffering.
“With this determination and knowledge in our minds we knew that we should have to husband our food and water; for we did not know, at that time, but that we should possibly live for many years.
“This reminds me that I have told you that I am an old man. Judged by the years this is not so. But— but—”
He broke off; then continued somewhat abruptly: “As I was saying, we knew that we should have to use care in the matter of food. But we had no idea then how little food there was left of which to take care. It was a week later that I made the discovery that all the other bread tanks— which I had supposed full— were empty, and that (beyond odd tins of vegetables and meat, and some other matters) we had nothing on which to depend, but the bread in the tank which I had already opened.
“After learning this I bestirred myself to do what I could, and set to work at fishing in the lagoon; but with no success. At this I was somewhat inclined to feel desperate until the thought came to me to try outside the lagoon, in the open sea.
“Here, at times, I caught odd fish; but so infrequently that they proved of but little help in keeping us from the hunger which threatened.
It seemed to me that our deaths were likely to come by hunger, and not by the growth of the thing which had seized upon our bodies.
“We were in this state of mind when the fourth month wore out. When I made a very horrible discovery. One morning, a little before midday. I came off from the ship with a portion of the biscuits which were left. In the mouth of her tent I saw my sweetheart sitting, eating something.
“‘What is it, my dear?’ I called out as I leapt ashore. Yet, on hearing my voice, she seemed confused, and, turning, slyly threw something towards the edge of the little clearing. It fell short, and a vague suspicion having arisen within me, I walked across and picked it up. It was a piece of the grey fungus.
“As I went to her with it in my hand, she turned deadly pale; then rose red.
“I felt strangely dazed and frightened.
“‘My dear! My dear!’ I said, and could say no more. Yet at words she broke down and cried bitterly. Gradually, as she calmed, I got from her the news that she had tried it the preceding day, and— and liked it. I got her to promise on her knees not to touch it again, however great our hunger. After she had promised she told me that the desire for it had come suddenly, and that, until the moment of desire, she had experienced nothing towards it but the most extreme repulsion.
“Later in the day, feeling strangely restless, and much shaken with the thing which I had discovered, I made my way along one of the twisted paths—formed by the white, sand-like substance— which led among the fungoid growth. I had, once before, ventured along there; but not to any great distance. This time, being involved in perplexing thought, I went much further than hitherto.
“Suddenly I was called to myself by a queer hoarse sound on my left. Turning quickly I saw that there was movement among an extraordinarily shaped mass of fungus, close to my elbow. It was swaying uneasily, as though it possessed life of its own. Abruptly, as I stared, the thought came to me that the thing had a grotesque resemblance to the figure of a distorted human creature. Even as the fancy flashed into my brain, there was a slight, sickening noise of tearing, and I saw that one of the branch-like arms was detaching itself from the surrounding grey masses, and coming towards me. The head of the thing—a shapeless grey ball, inclined in my direction. I stood stupidly, and the vile arm brushed across my face. I gave out a frightened cry, and ran back a few paces. There was a sweetish taste upon my lips where the thing had touched me. I licked them, and was immediately filled with an inhuman desire. I turned and seized a mass of the fungus. Then more and— more. I was insatiable. In the midst of devouring, the remembrance of the morning’s discovery swept into my mazed brain. It was sent by God. I dashed the fragment I held to the ground. Then, utterly wretched and feeling a dreadful guiltiness, I made my way back to the little encampment.
“I think she knew, by some marvelous intuition which love must have given, so soon as she set eyes on me. Her quiet sympathy made it easier for me, and I told her of my sudden weakness; yet omitted to mention the extraordinary thing which had gone before. I desired to spare her all unnecessary terror.
“But, for myself, I had added an intolerable knowledge, to breed an incessant terror in my brain; for I doubted not but that I had seen the end of one of those men who had come to the island in the ship in the lagoon; and in that monstrous ending I had seen our own.
“Thereafter we kept from the abominable food, though the desire for it had entered into our blood. Yet our drear punishment was upon us; for, day by day, with monstrous rapidity, the fungoid growth took hold of our poor bodies. Nothing we could do would check it materially, and so— and so— we who had been human, became— Well, it matters less each day. Only— only we had been man and maid!
“And day by day the fight is more dreadful, to withstand the hungerlust for the terrible lichen.
“A week ago we ate the last of the biscuit, and since that time I have caught three fish. I was out here fishing tonight when your schooner drifted upon me out of the mist. I hailed you. You know the rest, and may God, out of His great heart, bless you for your goodness to a— a couple of poor outcast souls.”
There was the dip of an oar— another. Then the voice came again, and for the last time, sounding through the slight surrounding mist, ghostly and mournful.
“God bless you! Good-bye!”
“Good-bye,” we shouted together, hoarsely, our hearts full of many emotions.
I glanced about me. I became aware that the dawn was upon us.
The sun flung a stray beam across the hidden sea; pierced the mist dully, and lit up the receding boat with a gloomy fire. Indistinctly I saw something nodding between the oars. I thought of a sponge— a great, grey nodding sponge— The oars continued to ply. They were grey— as was the boat— and my eyes searched a moment vainly for the conjunction of hand and oar. My gaze flashed back to the— head. It nodded forward as the oars went backward for the stroke. Then the oars were dipped, the boat shot out of the patch of light, and the— the thing went nodding into the mist.