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 Bachelor 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. I left before dawn.
The directional Instincts of human beings must have died millennia ago: I 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 helicopter to our drop point. From there I had no trouble getting back to the clearing. Today, then, marks the first day since I’ve been in the Wild that I’ve not seen a single member of the Asadi, and I continue to miss The Bachelor . . .
Day 68: I went looking for the pagoda again. Very foolish, I confess. But the last four days have been informational zeroes, and I had to take some kind of positive action. I got lost again, terrifyingly so. Green creepers coiled about me. The sky disappeared. How, then, did I get home, especially since Benedict’s helicopter isn’t due for two more days? Once again, the suspicious tickings of leaf and twig: I followed them, simply followed them, confident again that The Bachelor is still out there and steadfast in my decision to make no more expeditions until I have help.
Day 71: The Bachelor is back!
Day 72: The Bachelor still has very little mane to speak of, and the Asadi treat him as a total outcast. Another thing: The Bachelor, these last two days, has demonstrated a considerable degree of independence in his relations with me. He follows me less often. He no longer hunkers beside my lean-to at all. Does a made structure remind him of the pagoda to which he led me and for whose discovery to an outsider he was publicly humiliated? I find this new arrangement a felicitous one, however. A little privacy is good for the soul.
Day 85: The note on yesterday’s supply bundle: ‘Send up a flare tomorrow night if you wish to remain in the Wild. Eisen is seriously considering hauling you out of there. Only a flare will save you. My personal suggestion, sir, is that you just sit tight and wait for us. Your good friend and subordinate, Ben.’ I’ve just sent up two goddamn flares. Day 85 will go down in cultural-xenological history as Egan Chaney’s personal Fourth of July.
Day 98: I’m holding my own again. I’ve survived an entire month without venturing away from the assembly ground. Most of my time has been devoted to noting the individual differences among the Asadi. Since their behavior, for the most part, manifests a bewildering uniformity, I’ve turned to the observation of their physical characteristics. Even in this area, though, most differences are more apparent than real; beyond the principles of sex and the quality of the mane (length, color, thickness,
