RETREAT, Merit - Odin 9 Options

[Psyche]

RETREAT

I stepped guardedly onto the gravel driveway, showing plenty of leg in the process. My intention was to attract attention, needless to say. There was an outsized black spider crawling out from under the car, but I didn't pay any attention to it. Just back from the Amazon excursion, where I'd had to deal with all sorts of pests and insects as part of the deal.

I was wearing my Sophia Loren sunglasses, the one's with the incrusted strings of sparkling diamonds. Yesterday, I'd had a thick blonde plait attached to the crown of my head with a black velvet clasp. The stylist had done a first-rate job, so I felt quite confident that I'd be a smashing success at the Countesses' weekend gathering. I adjusted the plait over my shoulder as I emerged from the car. A butler gingerly removed a red scorpion from my shimmering hair. He flipped the creature over a hedge.

The drive on the four-lane highway had been harassing, with heavy traffic and the sun pouring in on my face, plus the continuous squish-squish of clouds of butterflies and bugs on the windshield; the chauffeur had had to pull up at rest-stops and wipe it frequently. But now I felt more relaxed as I negotiated the marble stairway to the ornate porch on my stiletto heels. Sniffing, the butler followed behind with my suitcase and canvas bag. That bag was a bit of an embarrassment; I'd fully intended to purchase some fancy brand luggage. As I advanced up the steps, I felt relieved that I'd remembered to de-louse my bag the night before.

Karl was waiting by the drawing-room windows, looking ever so handsome in his tweeds and light tan skin. His even, white teeth flashed in the midday glare, so that, for only a moment, he reminded me of some character in a movie I'd seen, somewhere, sometime, didn't really matter, except that a shiver went down my spine and was quickly forgotten. The bat on his wide shoulders swooped in uncertain flight towards some dark green bushes, evidently blinded by the noon haze.

The Countess, Karl's mother, held out her thin, wrinkled arm adorned with gold bracelets gleaming in the midsummer air. Her arthritic fingers sported myriad rings, each with a stone so brilliant that it was difficult not to squint while placing my hand delicately in hers, so as not to disturb anything that might be subject to disarray. As it was, in spite of my extreme care, she austerely flipped a large grey moth off her silky left sleeve. Its hesitant flight landed it on a velvet cushion, where it laid back its wings and apparently either went to sleep or died.

I so wanted to make a good impression, on this my first visit to Karl's country home. I had no intention of appearing to be some dowdy, low-ranking secretary from Buenos Aires, which indeed I was. I know I have good legs, so I'd decided beforehand to wear a skirt with sexy slits on either side. The fact that several insects appeared to be crawling up and down my thighs didn't really matter.

After the polite greetings (and a discreet pinch on my bottom from Karl...), we entered through the French windows into the surprisingly hot interior. A blinding glare came at me from huge chandeliers and a number of crystal and jade vases of assorted shapes and sizes. In spite of my S.L. sunglasses, I found the brilliance of my surroundings overwhelming, as if something was not quite right, yet still perfectly beautiful and in good taste, though somewhat flawed.

I heard Karl whisper to his mother, the Countess: “We marked out new territory in the Amazon for The Company. No resistance at all from the natives, they just retreated further into the bush. They’re in poor condition, won’t offer resistance. The government doesn’t control our boundaries, no real problem there. Your shares will rocket, I recommend you double your stakes in The Company, Mother.”

While this barely perceptible conversation continued, all sorts of doubts and feelings were troubling me; I even felt I might faint, any moment. The lighting in the spacious rooms was becoming more and more brilliant, so hurtful, in fact, that I was forced to shove my sunglasses off and cover my eyes, which had begun to weep uncontrollably. I wondered whether I'd been affected by an unexpected attack of pinkeye, or even worse, perhaps some totally unknown disease picked up during my recent treks through the Amazon with Karl.

So unbearable was the glare, by now, that I snatched at an embroidered, crumpled napkin from a Louis XV table to cover my eyes, overturning a Ming vase in the process. I pressed the napkin hard, so hard against my eyes and nose, that I could scarcely breath, began to gasp desperately… And at that moment I appeared to leap up to a sitting position on some sort of bedding, and there were dozens of faces looking down at me, pointing at me and speaking in a strange tongue; faces with white, yellow and red paint, dark faces with rolling white eyes, and I saw that several naked men were holding long spears in their hands... Lush, dark green overhanging lianas swayed in the air, through which a ray of sun hit me directly in the face as I lay sweating on some rush matting, the canvas bag under my head....

Slowly, I remembered everything. The previous morning, Karl had made some excuse to reconnoitre our camping area in the jungle, taking a few aids along with him. I’d waited for hours. Near sundown there was still no sign of him. Eventually, I’d examined our belongings, only to realize that none of Karl’s gear remained in our tent!

Frightened and totally ignorant of my whereabouts, I’d gathered my backpack, canvas bag, water bottle and other essentials, and hastened through the undergrowth in the direction my small compass seemed to indicate would be the correct one. None of the remaining aids were to be seen, so I used my hatchet to wildly cut a path through the bush. Night descended on me pretty quickly and I crawled, exhausted, into my sleeping bag, at the end of an absurdly short tunnel I’d carved for myself through almost impenetrable vegetation.

Now, terrified, yet resigned to whatever fate held in store for me, I gazed into the eyes of the unfamiliar, dark men who’d arranged me on the rush mat in a small clearing, their spears pointing earthwards in a non-violent attitude. In a few minutes, some women wearing only beads appeared from the bush. They brought me food and soothing brews…

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I write in my dairy every day. According to my calculations, I’ve been with these indigenous people a year, by now. Life is not bad. I’ve gotten used to the food, but try not to watch the preparations for our meals. My smart denims rotted long ago; some of the younger women surprised me with vivid bead necklaces to hang around my waist, laughing at my reluctance to show nakedness.

Very soon, I began to notice that most of the children were sickly looking, some even had stunted little legs or arms. Others had spreading white patches on their skin, or infected sores on their faces. At least three of them were blind. The grownups, though energetic and cheerful, had persistent bouts of diarrhoea and vomiting, usually with fevers, even deliriums. Some would lie in their rush tents for many days, too weak to move. The elders and chiefs appeared to be free of these ailments, but would look solemn, consult with their medicine man, then shake their heads despairingly. The medicine man was kept busy preparing potions or else organizing healing rituals for the sick.

We’ve retreated further into the jungle twice during these months. Although I was never the first to hear any worrisome sounds, I would observe the men-folk getting extremely agitated, putting their ears to the ground repeatedly and then sitting in a close-knit circle, talking seriously with the chiefs and elders. It was only after some time that I understood that they’d heard the roar of machines in the distance, and soon we would all see fire dancing over the tree tops. The flares seemed to lick the canopy in huge tongues, as if the whole Amazon were burning. The blaze came from high metal towers, set at intervals, a technique I’d heard from Karl was used to burn waste gas.

I was seeing a display of oil extraction from the heart and lungs of South America, going on since decades ago and still advancing. Each time we moved our settlement, I saw blackened rivers, totally despoiled open spaces -some the size of a football field- as well as wildlife flopping miserably in thick oily mud.

More recently, powerful corporations began building more highways and sawing down acres of centuries old trees, apparently with the intention of sowing soy bean crops, as well as maize for bio-fuels. They only seemed to add to the destruction already caused by the oil companies.

I’ve had ample time to reflect on these issues, now that I’ve been abandoned on the other side of the fence, so to speak, viewing civilization from a different angle. It makes me shiver uncontrollably in the warm humidity. When Karl had proposed the excursion into the Amazon, he’d given me to understand that he wanted to observe, close-up, the wondrous extension of forest brimming with astonishing wildlife. ‘This lungful of air for the planet’, as he explained in a voice that sounded only slightly sarcastic. He’d mentioned a company once or twice, but I thought he was referring to some “green” organization he was working for. I’d been surprised at the sort of equipment he brought along, and asked many questions, too many, it seemed, for my own good…and too late!

Meanwhile, I’ve convinced some of my new friends to sculpt a pointed wooden ‘pen’ and mix a dark fluid for me to be able to jot down my thoughts and experiences. My ballpoint pen wore out long ago. I don’t know what I’ll do when my diary finishes. Maybe I won’t care by then. Several in the group are learning to write and speak in English, as well, but most of the time we communicate in their language, which I’ve learnt rapidly. That’s fine with me. It’s the children I feel so sorry for. Will they even reach adolescence? And will it be worth their while? Such questions simply overpower me.

Although I might have attempted, on several opportunities, to reach the rough red roads and narrow rail network carved brutally through the jungle, to join up with so-called civilization again, the idea hasn’t tempted me at all. None of the Amazonian people would have detained me, I’m sure of that. They’re naturally happy-go-lucky, despite their perilous situation.

In this latest retreat, with my indigenous friends, I don’t dream about Karl and the outside world anymore.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.

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"Who overcomes
By force hath overcome but half his foe"

John Milton, "Paradise Lost"

[Cleo_Serapis]

Thank you for your entry into Odin's Opposition!

Perhaps you'll rise up, drink from the Well of Wisdom and be crowned the 'bringer of victory'?

Best of luck in the battle!

~Mosaic Musings Staff

[Cleo_Serapis]

Congratulations Sylvia on your Merit placement!

You have risen up, drank from the Well of Wisdom and have been crowned the ‘bringer of victory’!

Well done!

[Psyche]

Thank you, Cleo!
What a lovely surprise for a hot Monday morning! (Southern Hemisphere!!).
I'd never won a Merit till now....mmmm.....
Hugs, Syl ***