of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 2, ch. 7)

by Tom Stuckey

VII

Some of the elders wanted Lisa to take part in Yahay, the hallucinogenic ceremony (at least the Chief Akunsa did), while most of the others were against it. Icaro said, “She won’t be able to handle it.” Before the ceremony, Lisa had to be prepared, which meant the women of the tribe had to cleanse her, by giving her an emetic that made her sick for the entire day. Lisa was also washed in the river before being brought to the maloca that evening.

She was barley clothed, the women giving her the traditional dress for the ceremony of light foliage. Akunsa nodded to Icaro to begin, the last of the light making its way back through the grass, vines, and up and out through the treetops, leaving night in its blackness and making the fire redder and angrier than it had ever been. The shaman, in full dress, began to chant unintelligibly, drawing upon the spirits; his face was serious and deadly. He handed a little, clay bowl to Lisa that contained a thick, green paste, which she tentatively ate. Lisa was no stranger to hallucinogens; she was confident in her ability to handle the demons—her demons— that were sure to come.

The beat of the drums started and did not stop. The moon drew across the sky as the shaman danced. Akunsa watched Lisa as she began to move her body to the echoes in her head, to the ones that were coming. It was her dad, he was there snarling at her like a dog, and she screamed, “FUCK OFF, YOU DOG! YOU ARE A COWARD!” She continued to move and talk and writhe. She saw Akunsa now with the head of a horse—a white head with a long, white mane with big, glass eyes that were black. The horse wanted her to ride him, so she took him and rode up and down, taking the cock and spitting on it, rubbing it with her breasts and looking into the big, black voids that were his eyes. She squeezed her vagina together, nearly pulling off his penis, sucking it up, and then releasing it as she slid herself down. Fire flew through the night sky and landed as meteors onto the huts of the village, which burned as rats ran from the structures and jumped into the river. The horse neighed and breathed hard, and its heart beat like it would explode, until it did. Everything stopped.

*****

The next morning, she woke to find that she was not alone, Akunsa was next to her; he looked as white as a ghost and obviously had not been to sleep. His eyes were stuck in a permanent, fixed stare at nothing. All her belongings were by her side, and a few of his also by his. It didn’t take too much recall for Lisa to figure out what had happened and that now he was to leave the tribe, with her, The White Jaguar.

*****

The walk out was more pleasant than the walk in. It was always like that after a difficult experience. The sweetness returned to the air, and the colours to the surroundings. This was not the case with Akunsa, however, as he was dressed in some beach shorts that Lisa had lent him that made him look like a lost tourist, and with each step a little more fear came into his heart, and sadness, for he had been banished from his home and his people. He had never before travelled further than the river’s edge, and now they were way past it and going to pick up a boat and then a plane, the angels in the sky, and then maybe a taxi to a skyscraper and then internet porn in a cheap hotel. Maybe disease would be faster than the transport in getting to him, but Lisa could not (and did not) try and convey this to him. In fact, she did not know what would come of him as she did not plan on travelling with him for any length of time, maybe just until they reached civilisation. His trip would be the most severe of all trips, however. There was no doubt about it.

Lisa stopped thinking and (like sometimes happens) a song popped into her head. She began to sing it gently, it was the one about going to get her man until she was satisfied, at least that’s how she remembered it, but Lisa had forgotten the lyrics, so she whistled the rest of the song instead.

*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book II) on September 9, 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.