The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

family noted for its gray eyes.

His face was pale, a natural consequence of exposure to the sun for only once a day during the time it takes to step off one-thousand-and-one-hundred-and-fifty-one consecutive paces. His teeth, unlike the typical Englishman’s of that day, were magnificent. He had lost none to the dental decay which afflicted the people of Albion in the mid- nineteenth century. This quality, like the gray eyes, seems to have been a genetic factor. On the other hand, since he was given a number of elixirs during his childhood, the dental health may have resulted from a drug which originated light-years and millennia away.

At the time this story opens, Wednesday, 2 October, 1872, Mr. Fogg seemed to have no relatives. He lived at No. 7, Savile Row, where the only other occupant was his valet. He had acquaintances but no close friends. His sole recreations were the walk from his house to the Reform Club, reading the newspapers, and playing whist. According to Verne, he had been living like a pendulum on a clock for many years. Actually, the “many years” were only four, from 1868 to 1872. But his presence was so full of “thereness” that people thought of him as an old fixture, like the milk wagon or even a house.

Fogg demanded that his shaving water be exactly at 86° Fahrenheit. On this morning, his man, James Forster, appeared at the right time with the water, at thirty-seven minutes past nine. He set the bowl down by the basin, and Mr. Fogg removed the thermometer from its water. It registered 84° F. There was no excuse for this deficiency. Few though his duties were, they must be performed precisely at the precise time. He was to awake his master exactly at eight in the morning. Twenty-three minutes later, he was to appear with a tray on which were tea and toast. Verne does not say that these had to be at a certain temperature, but we may assume that they had to be. Ten minutes later, Forster would remove these. There remained for him only the shaving water at 9:37 a.m. and the dressing of his master at twenty minutes to nine.

At 11:30 a.m., no few seconds given or taken, Mr. Fogg would go out the front door, and he would come back through it as the clocks of London struck midnight. Between his departure and arrival, his servant had little to do. He did have to clean up a little, arrange for a cleaning woman to come in once a week, ensure that his master’s clothes were cleaned and pressed, the beds made, pay a few bills, and so on. Except for the unhuman requirements of the schedule, James Forster was his own master.

Or was he?

Why, for instance, did Forster deliver the shaving water at two degrees less than that required? All he had to do was to check the thermometer. Why didn’t he, when he knew it was so important?

The answer is that he did check it. Mr. Forster had waited until the temperature of the water had dropped to 86° before carrying it out of the kitchen. He knew very well that by the time he reached the bathroom on the third floor, the water would be below the desired temperature. Nor did he look perturbed when informed by Fogg that he was dismissed.

Fogg should have looked upset, since the metronome of his life had been checked. All was out of order, and while it is true that not many people would be disturbed by a mere two degree difference in their shaving water, Mr. Fogg regarded such as serious. But his serene expression changed only slightly. His eyebrows raised as if they were a pair of wings reluctantly flapped by a bird accustomed to gliding all its life. Then the eyebrows came down, and Fogg said, in a voice which was cold but not outraged, “You will leave as soon as I have acquired a new valet. You will inquire at some suitable agency for your successor, and I will interview the applicants. I will be here for that purpose until eleven-twenty-five.”

Forster said, “Yes, sir. Very good, sir. And may I ask about my recommendation?”

“You have been satisfactory up to this moment,” Mr. Fogg said. “I will state that in unmistakable terms for any would-be employers. But I must also state exactly why I was forced to dismiss you.”

Mr. Forster did not reply, but he surely must have been thinking that very few employers would regard two degrees of Fahrenheit as anything serious or even worth commenting on.

Neither man smiled at the end of this conversation, though it’s difficult to understand how they could refrain. Though there were no witnesses and no one could possibly have seen or overheard them, neither let down his guard. If there had been a hidden camera or electronic ears, nothing untoward would have been recorded. Of course, in 1872, neither of these devices existed.

Or did they?

What about the very slight whirring that could be heard in this house when neither man was speaking? To what could that be attributed? And what about the large mirror in Mr. Fogg’s bedroom? Could this possibly be a one-way piece of glass, and could there be equipment behind it, equipment which even 1972 A.D. might find very advanced indeed?

Whether or not the house was bugged, it was certain that Fogg and Forster never said a word or made a gesture which was not expected from people of their class and in this situation. There was nothing to indicate that 2°F. could be a signal for the dismissal of one servant and the hiring of another. Or that the famous bet made in the Reform Club was also the result of this signal.

This may be an excellent reason for Mr. Fogg’s eccentricity of undeviatingness. To fire a man because he offers water two degrees off the standard is to be eccentric. Such behavior in a “normal” man would at once attract attention. But such behavior was to be expected from Mr. Fogg. Indeed, if he had not reacted as he did, he would have been regarded suspiciously by any hypothetical hidden observer.

At twenty minutes before ten, Forster assisted Fogg to dress. Fifteen minutes later, Forster left the house and took a cab to the employment agency specializing in valets, footmen, maids, and cooks for the well-to-do.

Phileas Fogg sat down in his armchair and assumed his habitual posture. His spine was straight; his shoulder blades were firmly pressed against the back of the chair. His feet were close together. His hands were placed palm down on his knees. His eyes were fixed upon a large clock across the room. This instrument indicated not only the customary seconds, minutes, and hours, but the day, month, and year. He did not move except for the rise and fall of chest associated with every living mammal, even Mr. Fogg, when he is breathing normally, and for the blinking of the eyelids. Despite what is said about the unblinking gaze of villains in the penny dreadfuls of 1872 or 1972, no one with eyesight can do without blinking. The results are too painful. And so Mr. Fogg blinked, as he would have voluntarily done even if he had not been naturally required to do so.

He doubted that there were any concealed spies, human or mechanical, in the house, but it was possible. He lived as if he were an automaton-almost like Mr. Poe’s mechanical chess player-for two reasons. One, he had been taught to do so by his foster-father. Two, though he lived quietly, he did so conspicuously. There were few aware of his existence, but these few were very aware. His very standingoutness, however, was the quality to allay the suspicions of the enemy. They would believe that their enemies would be doing all they could to appear normal, to merge into the human herd. Therefore, Mr. Fogg, by his behavior, would convince them that he could not possibly be hiding from them.

Despite this theory, there was some evidence that Fogg was under surveillance. And so Fogg, whether in company or alone, always acted as Fogg should. He had done so for such a long time that he would have found it unnatural to do otherwise.

The image was he, and he was the image.

But this was to change very soon. It may be that the premonition of this, indeed, the certainty, made his heart beat faster.

Perhaps.

But was it not this man who said, “The unforeseen does not exist”? Was he, as he sat unmoving in the chair, using his brain as a computer to extrapolate the most likely of the futures? Did his usual training as a child enable him to switch certain neural circuits and stimulate certain patterns in his brain into computing unconsciously and with all the speed of modern electronic brains? Could he visualize the statistical chances of an occurrence in potentia? Fogg never says so in his log, but there are some statements that sound as if he were referring indirectly to such a talent. If he could do this, then he must have known that he could not be sure that such and such a thing would be inevitable. And so, though in a sense the future contains no unforeseens, it holds no inevitabilities. If it did, and these could be anticipated, one side or the other in this secret war would long ago have acknowledged defeat. In fact, the war might have been over before it began, since computation would show both sides who eventually win.

There was a rap on the door-foreseen? James Forster opened the door and said, “The new servant.”

Why did Forster thus announce the applicant? The new man had not yet been interviewed, let alone hired. Why would Forster speak as if the matter were settled? Was it a slip on his part, and the matter had indeed been