Read Online The Girl With No Name: The Incredible True Story of a Child Raised by Monkeys by Marina Chapman, Lynne Barrett-Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marina Chapman, Lynne Barrett-Lee
Tags: Biography, Non-Fiction
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have felt some sort of powerful instinct. That I wasn’t like my simian family. That I wasn’t a monkey. That I was simply not built to be swinging through the trees.
I didn’t. I was much too busy clinging on for dear life. But I would learn, as it turned out. And very soon.
8
With my existence now contained within the all-encircling vastness of the jungle, it was perhaps natural that at some point I stopped thinking about the life I’d lived before and began feeling part of my new monkey family. Now that I had access to what I realised was their main home, up in the canopy, I could be with them all of the time, which made my life all the fuller and richer.
The monkeys were incredibly intelligent. They were so inventive, so sensitive to their surroundings and so inquisitive, and, most of all, they were very quick learners. As well as being my friends, the monkeys were now my school class and my tutors, though the knowledge I was acquiring bore no relation to what I might have been taught in school. I was a child, and like all children I wanted to play. And though the young monkeys would always beat me at tree climbing, there was no longer much else they could do that I couldn’t.
But they had incredible energy. They would often tire me out with their games of rough and tumble, and I soon learned that sometimes it was best if I just sat still on the ground as a way to signal that I had no strength left to play any more. Similarly, when they became too rough, I learned how to make the right kinds of noises to show my irritation and send them on their way.
But they seemed to have as much emotional intelligence as they had energy, and if I got cross with them they’d sometimes lie down on the ground beside me, tongue lolling, and make a soft, melancholic sound. It was almost as if they felt guilty for upsetting me, or perhaps it was their way of apologising.
Such nuances of emotion felt every bit as real to me as human feelings, for my monkey family were sensitive and complex. All shades of emotion seemed to exist here: humility and pride, surrender and protection, jealousy and celebration, anger and happiness. I was now finely attuned to their relationships; I could readily see if one of them felt lonely or isolated, or if another craved affection and was hoping for a cuddle, or if another felt aggressive or possessive.
I also became continuously more aware of the diversity of their language, from their strident warning shrieks and howls to expressions of annoyance or joy, to the gentle fluting sounds of their everyday conversations. They were social beings, who lived within a hierarchy of relationships. There were few moments, day or night, that they didn’t spend together, whether grooming or playing or communicating in some other way, and I was just happy to be one of them – to feel included. I felt that I belonged where I was now.
*
For all that I loved to be with the monkeys, one thing I never did was sleep up in the canopy. Not after the first time I tried it, anyway. Reassuring though the idea had seemed in the daytime – I would no longer have to sleep alone – being so high up in the dark was a very different matter. For one thing, the treetops would sway, which was frightening and made it very difficult to fall asleep. If I did, I’d then begin to toss and turn, which was equally unnerving, because I could so easily tip off the edge of my perch. And, of course, eventually, I did.
I wasn’t at the very top of the canopy the night I fell to what could so easily have been my death, but, even so, the fall was terrifying. It was also a great shock, as I had been fast asleep and I hit my head and hurt myself badly. Badly enough that it was something I knew with some certainty that I had absolutely no intention of repeating.
Instead, I returned to sleeping in my hollow tree trunk, though, following the monkeys’ example perhaps, I began to make it cosier. I collected moss to line the base to make my
I didn’t. I was much too busy clinging on for dear life. But I would learn, as it turned out. And very soon.
8
With my existence now contained within the all-encircling vastness of the jungle, it was perhaps natural that at some point I stopped thinking about the life I’d lived before and began feeling part of my new monkey family. Now that I had access to what I realised was their main home, up in the canopy, I could be with them all of the time, which made my life all the fuller and richer.
The monkeys were incredibly intelligent. They were so inventive, so sensitive to their surroundings and so inquisitive, and, most of all, they were very quick learners. As well as being my friends, the monkeys were now my school class and my tutors, though the knowledge I was acquiring bore no relation to what I might have been taught in school. I was a child, and like all children I wanted to play. And though the young monkeys would always beat me at tree climbing, there was no longer much else they could do that I couldn’t.
But they had incredible energy. They would often tire me out with their games of rough and tumble, and I soon learned that sometimes it was best if I just sat still on the ground as a way to signal that I had no strength left to play any more. Similarly, when they became too rough, I learned how to make the right kinds of noises to show my irritation and send them on their way.
But they seemed to have as much emotional intelligence as they had energy, and if I got cross with them they’d sometimes lie down on the ground beside me, tongue lolling, and make a soft, melancholic sound. It was almost as if they felt guilty for upsetting me, or perhaps it was their way of apologising.
Such nuances of emotion felt every bit as real to me as human feelings, for my monkey family were sensitive and complex. All shades of emotion seemed to exist here: humility and pride, surrender and protection, jealousy and celebration, anger and happiness. I was now finely attuned to their relationships; I could readily see if one of them felt lonely or isolated, or if another craved affection and was hoping for a cuddle, or if another felt aggressive or possessive.
I also became continuously more aware of the diversity of their language, from their strident warning shrieks and howls to expressions of annoyance or joy, to the gentle fluting sounds of their everyday conversations. They were social beings, who lived within a hierarchy of relationships. There were few moments, day or night, that they didn’t spend together, whether grooming or playing or communicating in some other way, and I was just happy to be one of them – to feel included. I felt that I belonged where I was now.
*
For all that I loved to be with the monkeys, one thing I never did was sleep up in the canopy. Not after the first time I tried it, anyway. Reassuring though the idea had seemed in the daytime – I would no longer have to sleep alone – being so high up in the dark was a very different matter. For one thing, the treetops would sway, which was frightening and made it very difficult to fall asleep. If I did, I’d then begin to toss and turn, which was equally unnerving, because I could so easily tip off the edge of my perch. And, of course, eventually, I did.
I wasn’t at the very top of the canopy the night I fell to what could so easily have been my death, but, even so, the fall was terrifying. It was also a great shock, as I had been fast asleep and I hit my head and hurt myself badly. Badly enough that it was something I knew with some certainty that I had absolutely no intention of repeating.
Instead, I returned to sleeping in my hollow tree trunk, though, following the monkeys’ example perhaps, I began to make it cosier. I collected moss to line the base to make my