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Verne could not answer, but discipline and his strict upbringing had taught him not to challenge his father’s wishes. At least he would have an excuse to be away from Nantes during Caroline’s wedding. He could not endure seeing her take marriage vows to another man.

He had heard much about Paris, though: the opera, literary salons, coffee shops, and theaters. Perhaps in the City of Light, he would find a home near to his heart, a place that would sing to his creative spirit. Perhaps there, he could forget his misery over Caroline. . . .

#

The next week passed in a blur as he prepared to go to the capitol city. Barely nineteen and still wide-eyed with innocence, Jules Verne went to the largest city in France -- a hotbed of discontent -- on the eve of the bloody and violent Revolutions of 1848.

vii

By any measure, Nemo was a man now, twenty years old according to his careful reckoning with the solar calendar and daily journal. His hair had grown to his shoulders, though he hacked it off with a flint knife; his cheeks and chin were covered with a thickening dark beard.

Dragging out the glider-wings once again, he stood near the plateau cliff and looked behind him at the cone of the volcano. For months, the earthquakes had been growing worse, striking with greater frequency. At unpredictable times the ground heaved and bucked as if a subterranean beast were stirring in its sleep. Something mysterious and unknown lay beneath his island, and Nemo wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was.

Now, as he reattached the fabric to the glider frame, winds gusted up the slopes. Another fine day for flying. After the first risky test of the kite-wings, Nemo had modified and improved his design. He’d added a small rudder, flaps, and cords to control his flight. The craft allowed him to continue exploring the island’s wild parts, but he also enjoyed the pure exhilaration of flight. Even after years ashore, Nemo had never allowed himself to become complacent.

The sky was clear to the ocean horizon. Nemo had spent so many years in solitude that he no longer even thought about rescue. Once he’d stopped tormenting himself with thoughts of Caroline and Jules, his misery decreased.

He’d left Nantes so long ago, yet he could still remember the smell of the Loire in summer, the bustling docks, the coarse bread and pungent cheese he and his father had shared during lunches together, their late-night card games.

He wondered if Verne had gone on to become a success. His redheaded friend would be a lawyer by now. Had Caroline married? Probably. She’d had such good prospects for a rich and well-connected husband. Could she and Verne have married each other?

Rather than think of such things, Nemo finished the tight lashings on the glider kite. Out of habit he gazed across the boundless sea -- and stood bolt upright. He saw the distant silhouette of a large vessel with three masts approaching his island.

A ship!

Nemo weighted his glider down so the winds would not blow it away, then scrambled pell-mell along jungled paths until he reached the meadow overlooking the sheltered lagoon. Here, he’d long ago piled mounds of dry wood for a signal fire.

Though the ship would still take hours to reach the island, he hurried, breathless and flushed with excitement. Expert now, Nemo used his flint and steel to strike sparks, and within minutes, the bonfire was ablaze, a dazzling signal that raised smoke into the sky. The ship had to see him. He was saved!

For the first time in years, Nemo thought of rescue, of fellow human beings. The young man didn’t even know if regular society would accept him anymore. Some poor wretches -- such as William Dampier, the original inspiration for Robinson Crusoe -- had become more like animals than men after being stranded on desert islands.

But Nemo could learn again. He had the imagination and the drive. Once back to civilization, he could be cleaned up and dressed in finery. He could return to France, give speeches, wave at the crowds, an adventurer and hero.