event. I was the only individual other than the four struggling males in the center of the assembly floor, however, and I looked down at The Bachelor. His eyes came very close to changing colors, from their usual clay-white to a thin, thin yellow. But I couldn't help him, couldn't interfere.
They shaved his mane. A female carrying two flat, beveled stones came out of the crowd on the eastern perimeter of the field. She gave these to the males. With these stones the males scraped away the last sad mangy tufts of The Bachelor's silver-blue collar. Just as they were about to finish, he gave a perfunctory kick that momentarily dislodged one of his tormentors, then acquiesced in his shame and lay on his back staring at the sky. The entire operation took only about ten minutes. The three males sauntered off from their victim, and the satisfied spectators, aware that the barbering was over, filtered back into the clearing with all their former randomness. But now, of course, they ignored The Bachelor with a frigidity they had once reserved for me. I stood in the center of the clearing waiting for him to get to his feet, but for a long time he didn't move. His narrow head, completely shorn, scarred by their barbering stones, looked unnaturally fragile. I leaned down and offered him my hand. A passing Asadi jostled me. Accidentally, I think. The Bachelor rolled to his stomach,
rolled again to avoid being stepped on, curled into the fetal position—then unexpectedly sprang out of the dust and dodged through a broken file of his uncaring kin.
Did he wish to attain the edge of the Wild? Intervening bodies blocked my view, but I suppose that The Bachelor disappeared into the trees and kept on running.
What does all this signify? My hypothesis is that the Asadi have punished The Baclielor for leading me last night, whether purposely or inadvertently, to the ancient pagoda in the Synesthesia Wild. His late arrival in the clearing may have been an ingenuous attempt to forestall this punishment. Why else, I ask myself, would the Asadi have moved to make The Bachelor even more of an outcast than he already was?
Patience, dear God, is nine-tenths of cultural xenology. Mystified, I pray for patience.
Day 61: The Bachelor has not returned. Knowing that he's now officially a pariah, he chooses to be one on his own terms.
During The Bachelor's absence, I've been thinking about two things: 1) If the Asadi did in fact punish him because he led me to the pagoda, then they fully realize I'm not simply a maneless outcast. They know I'm genetically different, a creature from elsewhere, and they consciously wish me to remain ignorant of their past. 2) I would like to make an expedition to the pagoda. With a little perseverance it shouldn't be exceedingly difficult to find, especially since I plan to go during the day. Unusual things happen so rarely in the Asadi clearing that I can afford to be gone from it a little while. One day's absence should not leave any irreparable gaps in my ethnography. If all goes well, that absence may provide some heady insights into the ritual of Asadi life.
I wish only that The Bachelor would return.
Day 63: Since today was the day of Benedict's ninth scheduled drop, I decided to make my expedition into the Wild early this morning. Two birds with one stone, as Ben himself might put it.
First, I would search for the lost pagoda. Second, even failing to find it, I would salvage some part of the day by picking up my new supplies. 1 left before dawn.
The directional instincts of human beings must have died millennia ago: 1 got lost. The Wild stirred with an inhuman and gothic calm that tattered the thin fabric of my resourcefulness.
Late in the afternoon Benedict's Dragonfly saved me. It made a series of stuttering circles over the roof of the jungle. Once I looked up and saw its undercarriage hanging so close to the treetops that a sprightly monkey might have been able to leap aboard. I followed the noise of the
They shaved his mane. A female carrying two flat, beveled stones came out of the crowd on the eastern perimeter of the field. She gave these to the males. With these stones the males scraped away the last sad mangy tufts of The Bachelor's silver-blue collar. Just as they were about to finish, he gave a perfunctory kick that momentarily dislodged one of his tormentors, then acquiesced in his shame and lay on his back staring at the sky. The entire operation took only about ten minutes. The three males sauntered off from their victim, and the satisfied spectators, aware that the barbering was over, filtered back into the clearing with all their former randomness. But now, of course, they ignored The Bachelor with a frigidity they had once reserved for me. I stood in the center of the clearing waiting for him to get to his feet, but for a long time he didn't move. His narrow head, completely shorn, scarred by their barbering stones, looked unnaturally fragile. I leaned down and offered him my hand. A passing Asadi jostled me. Accidentally, I think. The Bachelor rolled to his stomach,
rolled again to avoid being stepped on, curled into the fetal position—then unexpectedly sprang out of the dust and dodged through a broken file of his uncaring kin.
Did he wish to attain the edge of the Wild? Intervening bodies blocked my view, but I suppose that The Bachelor disappeared into the trees and kept on running.
What does all this signify? My hypothesis is that the Asadi have punished The Baclielor for leading me last night, whether purposely or inadvertently, to the ancient pagoda in the Synesthesia Wild. His late arrival in the clearing may have been an ingenuous attempt to forestall this punishment. Why else, I ask myself, would the Asadi have moved to make The Bachelor even more of an outcast than he already was?
Patience, dear God, is nine-tenths of cultural xenology. Mystified, I pray for patience.
Day 61: The Bachelor has not returned. Knowing that he's now officially a pariah, he chooses to be one on his own terms.
During The Bachelor's absence, I've been thinking about two things: 1) If the Asadi did in fact punish him because he led me to the pagoda, then they fully realize I'm not simply a maneless outcast. They know I'm genetically different, a creature from elsewhere, and they consciously wish me to remain ignorant of their past. 2) I would like to make an expedition to the pagoda. With a little perseverance it shouldn't be exceedingly difficult to find, especially since I plan to go during the day. Unusual things happen so rarely in the Asadi clearing that I can afford to be gone from it a little while. One day's absence should not leave any irreparable gaps in my ethnography. If all goes well, that absence may provide some heady insights into the ritual of Asadi life.
I wish only that The Bachelor would return.
Day 63: Since today was the day of Benedict's ninth scheduled drop, I decided to make my expedition into the Wild early this morning. Two birds with one stone, as Ben himself might put it.
First, I would search for the lost pagoda. Second, even failing to find it, I would salvage some part of the day by picking up my new supplies. 1 left before dawn.
The directional instincts of human beings must have died millennia ago: 1 got lost. The Wild stirred with an inhuman and gothic calm that tattered the thin fabric of my resourcefulness.
Late in the afternoon Benedict's Dragonfly saved me. It made a series of stuttering circles over the roof of the jungle. Once I looked up and saw its undercarriage hanging so close to the treetops that a sprightly monkey might have been able to leap aboard. I followed the noise of the
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