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168 pages

English

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Max is a young lecturer in anthropology who always saw himself living in the jungle studying never-before-contacted tribes, but at every step he has been thwarted. One day in a second-hand bookshop he discovers a couple of handwritten pages stuck in a book. They seem to have been written by a Victorian adventuress who really had once lived with an unknown tribe in the Amazon. Determined to discover more, Max is dragged into a world of mysterious suicides, pagan sects, child prostitution and police harassment. But as he uncovers fabulous stories of intrepid women following their dreams he also finds love with a talented young photographer desperate to know who she really is. As cultures and moralities collide Max finally gets to live in the Amazon - though not for the reasons he would have wished.CABALLITO is much more than a mystery story about identity, detection and the pursuit of dreams. It is also a vision of an alternative society, one in which there is no such thing as fatherhood, where childhood innocence has no meaning, and where communities openly share everything including each other. Once upon a time it was how all people lived - and a few still do. Baker (author of the modern classic in evolutionary biology SPERM WARS) infuses CABALLITO as he did his previous novel PRIMAL with all his acknowledged expertise on human sexual psychology and behavior.

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Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

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Publié par	HARD NUT Books
Date de parution	11 décembre 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788469565018
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0374€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Caballito
By Robin Baker
Copyright © RobinBaker 2012
www.robin-baker.com
Robin Baker has asserted his right under the Copyright,Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Firstpublished in English in 2012
Robin Baker is represented by:
TheSusijn Agency
3rdFloor, 64 Great Titchfield Street, London, W1W 7QH, UK
www.thesusijnagency.com
ISBN 978-84-695-6501-8
CoverDesign by Robin and Amelia Baker
Images used all licensed under Creative CommonsAttribution 3.0:
Edwardian Lady: detail from vintage postcard,photographer unknown
Torch-bearers: detail (retouched) from ‘Beltane FireFestival’ by SixSigma
Damselfly drawn from originalby Robin Baker
Published under the HARDNUT imprint
Dedication:
To all the staff,students, villagers, poachers, beer-drinkers, dart-players, cricketers,‘ghosts’, free-spirits and lovers who together created the magic that was WoodchesterPark, Gloucestershire
1972-1992
Table of Contents
Caballito
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
‘There’s a madwoman in the Ladies.’
‘Wino? Bag-lady?’
‘No, she’s young. Nearly as young as us. Really pretty, too.Brownish skin. Long black hair. But she’s just standing there, stark naked,staring into the mirror with this sad look on her face.’
‘Her clothes are in the toilet. There’s water all over thefloor.’
‘Oh my God! Don’t look. She’s coming out.’
‘What are you four staring at?’
‘Nothing,’ we said in unison, looking away, Leo and Iwide-eyed, Gemma and Aisha trying to stifle giggles. But as soon as the womanturned her shapely back on us and struggled onto one of the tall stools nearthe bar, we stared again.
The flushed and overweight landlord appeared, brushinghimself off as from a visit to the cellar. On seeing the woman, he froze, hisface slowly turning crimson. Then he started shouting and swearing at her, butwhen all she did was laugh and demand a coffee he picked up the bar phone.
The police arrived – a man and a woman. The man seemedangry, speaking to the naked woman as if he knew her, as if she had done thisbefore. But she refused to be covered or to leave quietly, so he dragged herkicking and shouting from the room.
‘Imagine doing that,’ said Aisha.
Gemma blushed. ‘Well, actually. After last summer’s exams …’
‘Right across the Downs and back,’ chuckled Leo. ‘How’s thatfor a streak?’
Gemma looked at me and Aisha. ‘Not ever?’
‘Those two? Of course “not ever.” All that“naked-in-the-jungle” rubbish. It’s just not in them.’
I bristled. ‘Yes it is. And one day I’ll prove it to you.But it’s time and place, Leo. Doing what the locals do. And in case you haven’tnoticed, around here the locals wear clothes.’
‘And a great shame it is too. Don’t you think, Max? Eh? Afew more like madwoman, that’s what we need. I wonder what the police are doingwith her?’
Chapter 2
An earth-trembling thunderstorm drove me to shelter in asecond-hand bookshop just a few hundred metres from my home. Browsing to fillthe time, I was tempted by a copy of Coming of Age in Samoa by MargaretMead, the once-famous American Anthropologist. ‘Why the cellophane wrapping?’ Iasked the shop owner.
He winked at me. ‘Because of the photographs.’
‘So which edition is it?’
‘First, I think.’ His eyes were wide, his face sincere.
I laughed. ‘1928! It can’t be.’
He took the book from me, then made a show of examining itthrough the cellophane. ‘Sorry. My mistake. 1961, this one.’
‘Can I take off the wrapping?’
‘Best not.’
‘How much?’
‘A pound.’
‘How about fifty pence?’
‘Done.’
Back in my apartment, the contents of the ‘book’ spilledonto the floor. But when I tried to put the pages back in order, I found thatmany were missing. There were no photographs either. As a book it wasworthless, but it soon didn’t matter. The bookmark was value enough.
It wasn’t a real bookmark, more two sheets of writing paperfolded together to serve as such. When unfolded, one side of each sheet borehandwritten prose scribed in the most beautiful italic lettering. Yet somebodyobviously hadn’t approved because on each sheet two lines had been drawn fromcorner to diagonal corner to form a single large censorious ‘X’:

I let the book fall apart again, this time deliberately, allover the floor. Then I shuffled the printed pages with my bare feet, lookingfor further sheets of handwriting, but there weren’t any.
***
While finishing a coffee at my apartment window, I lookedout across the Bristol Downs to the Suspension Bridge. The morning rush-hourwas in full flow, and it was raining. I sat in front of my word processor. Chapter15: Future Work the screen said; nothing more.
‘Last chapter? Always the most difficult,’ my PhD supervisorhad once told me, trying to console me, to spur me on.
Rain began lashing the window pane, enticing me back acrossthe room to stare out at the people scurrying on the pavements beneath,struggling with their umbrellas; at the cars and buses too, with their headlightson full and their windscreen wipers working at top speed. I smiled to myself.According to the weatherwoman, it was raining even harder in Liverpool.
‘But there aren’t any undiscovered stone-age tribes,’ Leohad once scoffed. ‘And even if there were, you’d never find them. And even ifyou did, they’d kill you as soon as look at you. Why the hell would they letsomebody like you live with them?’
‘No, you’re wrong,’ I growled back at him. ‘There arestill uncontacted tribes. About a hundred, it’s reckoned. Mainly in therainforests of Brazil, Peru and Indonesia. Governments even know roughly wherethey are but they’re protecting them. It’s just a question of slipping throughthe defences, that’s all.’
‘And you think you’re the person to do it?’
‘Sure! Why not?’
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Gemma, ‘is why you thinkit’s such a big deal. Surely loads of people have lived with rainforest tribesand written about them. That’s what Anthropologists do, isn’t it?’
‘But that’s the point. They always go to study, not to live.They wear modern clothes, take medicines, introduce technology, bring tools andprovisions to barter for information, ooze approval and disapproval. It all hasan influence. You have to become one of the people. Embrace everything: their technology;their nakedness if need be; and their morals.’
‘Morals! Now I get it,’ laughed Leo. ‘You want to screwnative girls. Why didn’t you just say so? I’ll come with you.’
Only Aisha had taken me seriously, lying in my arms,cocooned beneath my duvet, reluctant to crawl out into the dank chill of mybedroom to start another day. We would discover a tribe together, we told eachother. Live a stone-age life together; write about it together. But now threeyears on she is a headmaster’s wife somewhere, and I have a thesis to finish.
Suddenly inspired, I strode from my window back to the wordprocessor and typed a whole paragraph. Then I read it through, deleted everyword, and wandered round my flat again. The rain outside was easing. A largelorry drove by beneath my window, a badly-loaded lorry, probably from the M4Motorway. I picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number in Liverpool. ‘HiGemma. Did I get you up? How are your ankles?’
‘Oh, Hi Max. No, it’s OK. My ankles? Panic’s over.Swelling’s nearly gone. Just one more week of taking it easy, the doctor says –unless I can persuade him to make it two.’
I chuckled. ‘How’s Leo coping?’
‘Leo cope? Don’t be silly, Max. Anyway, how about you? Foundanybody to share that massive bed of yours yet? That new tenant of yours on theground floor you got so excited about?’
‘Total disaster. Turns out she hates hairy chests. Shewanted to take a razor to me.’
‘Unlucky! But maybe it’s for the best, eh? How’s “FutureWork” coming along?’
‘It’s not. I daren’t write anything in case I’m actuallyexpected to do it. But that’s not what I want, Gem. It really isn’t.’
‘Then tell him.’
‘Oh, sure. And have him give the fellowship to somebodyelse.’
In my final undergraduate year, an eminent Professor hadurged me not to “waste” my upcoming postgraduate years living in some remotejungle, but to write computer models about tribal evolution instead. ‘All life,all history, all explanations can be digitised,’ he enthused. ‘You’ll be apioneer in the anthropological world, my boy. This work will make your name.Our names.’ He had been waiting, he said, for a first-rate student to appearwho also had a talent for mathematics and computing. And now, with my PhDnearly complete, he was so “enthralled” by my work that he desperately wantedme to continue. The fellowship was mine, if I wanted it.
‘Look, Gem … The reason I’m phoning … You know thatcourse-module on Suffragette Literature you did at uni. You didn’t come acrossa woman called Cicily who changed her name, wrote loads of stuff and had famouslovers, did you?’
Chapter 3
‘Hi, stranger,’ said Gemma from the open door as Iwalked up the path, her appearance a shock though not a surprise.
‘Hi, Gem.’ I threw my holdall into the hallway and gave hera long hug. ‘You look great.’
‘Liar!’ She closed the door behind me.
I had to tell her. ‘Do you know how many badly-loadedlorries I saw on that journey? Ten! Bristol to Liverpool, just a hundred andfifty miles – ten!’
She gave a gentle smile and placed her hand on my arm. ‘It’sbeen two years, Max. Let them go. Move on.’
We went into the kitchen. ‘So what’s so important about thisaccountants’ conference that Leo has to leave you on your own this week of allweeks?’
‘I