Soul

Folding back her long sleeves, Lavinia thumbed through the sketchbooks and their handwritten footnotes, scrawled in almost illegible fashion.

‘Do you wish this to be a scientific treatise or to be perceived as a book for the layman?’ she asked. She paused at a photographic portrait of a youth leaning upon his spear, his eyes and cheeks covered in red daub, bamboo sticks protruding from his cheeks like tiger whiskers. His direct gaze was a curious combination of intense interest and a complete lack of self-consciousness. This is Adam before the Fall, Lavinia thought, confrontational, defiant, yet hiding nothing. Surprised, she realised the native reminded her of the young Irish coachman.

The Colonel looked over her shoulder and his scent drifted across her: a familiar musk with an undertone of something sharper—the sickening smell of cheap perfume. Lavinia continued to look at the notebook, concealing the anxiety that played across her features.

‘Naturally I aspire to reach many readers,’ James said, ‘although recognition of my work by the scientific community is of the utmost importance.’

‘Then I propose you structure the work as the journey of one man and describe the flora and the behaviours of the animals, insects and birds as they play a role in his quest.’

The Colonel was absentmindedly turning a seashell in his fingers. At Lavinia’s suggestion, he sighed and sank heavily back into his chair.

‘There are several notebooks telling of my time with the Indians, describing their family structures, their eating habits, their hunting, their rituals.’

Momentarily forgetting her anger Lavinia placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘It would capture the imagination of the reader, James. Pagan practices are always of interest. The more barbaric the better; I think it must provide the illusion of moral superiority.’

‘Lavinia, please remember these are rituals not pagan practices.’

He strolled over to a glass case and carefully lifted out a wooden mask. Long dried reeds hung from the carved face, trailing on the ground. ‘I was given this mask by the Bakairi, and a quantity of hallucinogen—ayahuasca—to evoke their gods whenever I might wish.’

‘And have you?’

‘Not yet, but I will, once I have completed my studies.’

He held the mask up to his face for a moment; by the time he dropped it, his expression had altered entirely. A youthful vigour had infused his features but his eyes appeared focused on a place far beyond the room.

‘Their rituals invite their gods—river spirits—to visit and give them spiritual guidance for the following years. The shamans drink the brew of the ayahuasca to invoke the spirits. When the hallucinogen has taken hold of the body and the shaman begins a trance he dons a mask like this. The natives believe the spirit enters the mask and speaks through the shaman. It is quite frightening, and there were moments when I feared for my life. It was only due to the bravery of my young translator that I was allowed to attend at all.’

‘Then this shall be the climax of your narrative. To reach the gods, to communicate directly with these spirits—there can be nothing more extraordinary. Please, James, let me help you. You know your work is an inspiration to me.’

‘Would it make you more content, here in Mayfair? Where there is so much social engagement during the season?’

‘For whose who are invited. I do not yet belong to any salon, nor do I have the female confidantes a young woman of my age requires…’

‘This will change. Lady Morgan shall provide you with associates.’

‘Please, it would bring me great pleasure to work alongside you.’

He looked at her, then pushed a pile of loose papers along the table. ‘These are the notes on each individual mask—each one represents a spirit. Now forgive me, I must take my leave. I am late for an early supper at the Carlton. Apparently Henry Smith is to join Lord Oswald and myself and you know how droll he can be. Don’t wait up.’

As the Colonel made his way down to the entrance hall, he reflected on his foolhardiness in allowing Lavinia entry into the last bastion of his bachelorhood. Still, the exercise would let her explore the nuances of the masculine mind, he concluded, which could only save her from further disappointment.

The grandfather clock—an eighteenth-century pillar of wood, glass and brass—chimed six. Lavinia, glancing down at the mask, thought how irrelevant social conventions became when set against the morals of other cultures. Nevertheless, she regretted losing her chance to confront her husband about the encounter she had witnessed earlier that afternoon.

She lifted the mask. It smelled of the earth, rich and pungent, a faint odour of burnt charcoal spiced with an undertone of something acrid. With a certain trepidation, she placed it over her face then glanced into a looking glass.

The primitive simplicity of its symmetry became a screaming caricature when framed by her black hair, and her lilac gown billowing out beneath created a carnival-like effect. Only this carnival character was not Venetian or Roman, but something far more primal; not a God to whom one prayed but a Goddess from whom one begged mercy.

Tranquillity settled like thick pollen across the books and papers. It was an atmosphere in which Lavinia was quite comfortable; a world of intellectual labour where the forays of a curious mind were expressed in an abundance of small details, each linked in an eccentric grammar of personal meaning and reference.

I arrived some fourteen days ago, after a long trek through forbidding jungle, a relentless swelter of insects and rampant fecundity. My guide, Gilo, an experienced hunter of both Portuguese and Mayan extraction, was patience itself, tolerating my naivety and my dark moods. He was constantly alert to every poisonous leaf or dangerous insect or reptile.

It was a relief to reach the open cut in the forest, a clearing that indicated the presence of fellow human beings. At first I was unsure this was the place—there was little visible to the unpractised eye, but Gilo, squatting down beside me, indicated the vine ropes hanging from trees that served as access to vantage points used to warn of danger.

I will never forget the eerie sensation of being watched but seeing no evidence of the watcher. It is a sensation I have also experienced as a soldier; perhaps we humans have a sixth sense for it. I am convinced that a civilised person must depend upon his primitive instincts in such situations. I knew I was in extreme danger, and I could see from Gilo’s expression that he felt the same, which was of no comfort.

I cannot tell you how long we squatted there in the long grass waiting for some sort of signal of greeting, but it was long enough for the sun to have almost set.

How did it feel to endanger your life like that? It must be exhilarating, an experience that brought all the trivialities of life into perspective, Lavinia concluded. How she craved to accompany James on such an expedition. How wonderful to be so sharply alive!