of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 2, ch. 5)
by Tom Stuckey
V
The following day the elders of the tribe gathered in the maloca, the main building of the village—a tall A-frame building with a woven, leaf roof that was held together by strong beams made out of tree trunks. Icaro counselled Chief Akunsa in the current matters of “the White Jaguar” as Lisa was now being referred. “We should ask the white woman what she is doing here, and what it is that she wants. If she is a part of another missionary expedition, like the ones that they do? She must be dealt with.” The shaman pointed into the distance in a gesture that was spaciously vague but did not fail to make his point. The outside had finally made it in, like a white, wiggly sperm that had gotten down stream and through the wall of an egg and was now an unwanted pregnancy. “I will handle the white woman, personally,” the chief declared. Though Akunsa was in charge of the camp, Icaro was in touch with the spirits, both good and bad, so his presence was commanding, his words swaying. Belief in the spirits was as real as the air and water of the rainforest. Just as the spirits lived as a part of that forest, they were of the earth—not words for the politics. The people of the tribe walked the thin line of deadly beauty every day, cogent that at any moment they could be spirited away. Icaro observed the chief in a way that he had never done before, like Akunsa was a white man. “Maybe it lays in us all.” The chief looked puzzled, as if challenged but unaware by what.
“You have doubt in my ability with the White Jaguar?”
The shaman continued to look out across the hazy air with the same look. They both were dancing in the spirits, in darkness and light, moving around in the smoke that they both billowed from their mouths—the long, hand-rolled cigarettes with their little, flaming cherry tips dangling, each like a buzzing firefly that followed their mouths with loyalty. “We will see what she has come for, and if she gets it,” Icaro responded.
*****
A little way across the invisible tribal boundary, out on the river bank, a small child played with her friends. They took turns jumping from the water’s edge, letting the current take them just a little, before splashing back to the shore’s safety. Both the boy and girl had long black hair, both naked, both with smiles as big as their jaws would allow. They did not worry about the biting fish or the big cats, that was left up to the mothers who were gathered nearby discussing the White Jaguar. “She is bad news. Did you see the way she looked at Akunsa? I tell you, she has a bad spirit.” There were no official leaders amongst the women (and no real need); the tribe’s people were peaceful in every way, each helping out their neighbours no matter their conditions of wealth. That being said, some minds were naturally better at sensing danger than others, and Artemis (for whatever reason) had one; therefore, she was dubiously bestowed the role of de facto leader by the group. She led the patrols of the forest in search of loggers and drug traffickers; she was nimble, strong, and ruthless in her striking. “My sister, the one who left to marry, told me that their tribe had been visited by outsiders. That they had taken her child and many others. But first, they sent a woman.”
*****
“OK, bring me the woman,” the chief commanded, “so she can explain herself to us.” Akunsa had stopped calling her the White Jaguar—a clear sign to all the other elders of his distraction and growing affection for her—but he could not be reasoned with at this point. There was nothing else like a woman, except maybe death, that could hold such a powerful denial over a man.
Lisa had a terrible night with little sleep—any moment of reprieve filled with the most vivid of nightmares—only to awaken to one that was very real. She was allowed to wash and put on new clothes, and to have breakfast, alone. Then, she was led into the maloca where she was presented to the elders. “What is it that you are doing here?” the chief, who was speaking in his native tongue, inquired. Lisa could not understand what he was asking without the benefit of his supplemental miming. Some people freeze, some people run, Lisa engaged, hoping for the best.
“I came from England. I wanted to see and meet your people, pure people, people of the forest. Along the river—burrrr—and through the forest—shwoosh shwoosh—I walked and ran—bounce bounce bounce. I have been travelling all my life since a little girl (lowering a flattened hand down to her knees) and consider the world my home. I’d like to stay with you. I am no threat. He is strong and the others don’t believe. If I could just be allowed to be free, I will show you, birds. I will be good to you (smiling). He is looking at my breasts. I do not belong to any religion (making the sign of the cross), I want to stay with you. Here.”
The men looked unconvinced, except one. In convocation, Akunsa quietly spoke with Icaro and the elders and then announced, “You will stay with us.” He pointed to the ground, the subtlest of smiles and a hint of teeth peeking from a corner of his mouth betraying his stoic countenance.
*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book II) on August 26, 2025, at 6PM CST.
Photo of Tom Stuckey
BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England. His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.