Read Online The Philosopher's Apprentice by James Morrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Morrow
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listenerâs soul and the Hegelian World Spirit to fall madly and eternally in love.
According to Charnock, the island had the general shape of a human kidney, and my intention was to circumnavigate the cortex before the stars came out. At first my journey proved congenial, and I continued humming âThe Lark Ascendingâ while negotiating the range of dunes that separated the verdant rain forest and the placid BahÃa de Flores. The sky was the deep blue of unoxygenated blood. The air was redolent of orchids and heliotrope. Shells of every variety covered the sandâconch, clam, oyster, scallop, mussel, snailâDarwinian artifacts that my imagination transformed into cobblestones, and I soon fancied that I was strolling the streets of eighteenth-century Königsberg, following in Kantâs footsteps as he explained why the physico-theological argument for Godâs existence did not yield a transcendent Creator but merely a cosmic Architect at the mercy of available materials.
By the time Iâd traveled perhaps three miles, I was no longer a happy hiker. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my scalp, making my brow itch and my eyes sting. Mosquitoes whined in my ears like defective hearing aids. Worst of all, an impediment now presented itself, a sheer sandstone bluff bulking out of the rain forest and jutting into the bay at the point where, if the island were indeed a kidney, the duct would emerge. For an instant I considered making an about-face and returning to my cottage with its mosquito netting and cold beer, but instead some dormant sense of adventure awoke within me, and I strode south into the jungle, the sound of the surf falling away by degrees, from boom to growl to grainy whisper.
Several miles inland, I was astonished to behold the bluff merge with a soaring concrete wall, not quite massive enough to confine a gigantic prehistoric gorilla, but of sufficient height to discourage human traffic, its moss-cloaked bulk continuing south into the jungle before dissolving in mist and shadow. Equally surprising was the taut string rising from behind the wall to join a silken kiteâa golden phoenix with a flaming red tailânow lodged in a kapok tree. I stopped in my tracks. Sobs filled the air. A child was crying. Of all the explanations now flitting through my brain, I quickly discarded my initial, admittedly far-fetched hypothesisâthe child was a prisoner and had launched the kite to signal for helpâand settled on the obvious: distress over a lost toy.
Although athletically incompetent as a youngster, doltish at everything from softball to pitching pennies, a circumstance that provided my schoolmates with much unmerited amusement, I was always a serious tree climber. Confidently I shed my pack and, on the third attempt, leaped high enough to grab a limb. I hoisted myself into the kapok and mounted the branches until one golden wing was within my grasp. I unhooked the phoenix kite, untangled the string, and, descending several branches, inched forward until my feet dangled above the forbidden domain.
A slender little girl stared up at me, her heart-shaped face luminous with gratitude. She wore a pink pinafore fitted over a blue dress daubed with tomboy blotches of mud and moss, and she clutched a wooden spindle around which was coiled the surplus kite string.
âI believe you lost this,â I told my beaming admirer, lowering the toy into her outstretched arms.
âThank you so much!â
She held the kite against her body like a shield, the vertical axis extending all the way to her forehead. I moved to the bottommost branch and, after hanging briefly like a sloth, uncurled my legs, relaxed my grip, and dropped to the ground. No sooner had I recovered my balance than a large and lithe Doberman pinscher appeared from out of nowhere, his amber eyes glowing through his black-on-brown banditâs mask as he patiently awaited the childâs command to pounce on the
According to Charnock, the island had the general shape of a human kidney, and my intention was to circumnavigate the cortex before the stars came out. At first my journey proved congenial, and I continued humming âThe Lark Ascendingâ while negotiating the range of dunes that separated the verdant rain forest and the placid BahÃa de Flores. The sky was the deep blue of unoxygenated blood. The air was redolent of orchids and heliotrope. Shells of every variety covered the sandâconch, clam, oyster, scallop, mussel, snailâDarwinian artifacts that my imagination transformed into cobblestones, and I soon fancied that I was strolling the streets of eighteenth-century Königsberg, following in Kantâs footsteps as he explained why the physico-theological argument for Godâs existence did not yield a transcendent Creator but merely a cosmic Architect at the mercy of available materials.
By the time Iâd traveled perhaps three miles, I was no longer a happy hiker. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my scalp, making my brow itch and my eyes sting. Mosquitoes whined in my ears like defective hearing aids. Worst of all, an impediment now presented itself, a sheer sandstone bluff bulking out of the rain forest and jutting into the bay at the point where, if the island were indeed a kidney, the duct would emerge. For an instant I considered making an about-face and returning to my cottage with its mosquito netting and cold beer, but instead some dormant sense of adventure awoke within me, and I strode south into the jungle, the sound of the surf falling away by degrees, from boom to growl to grainy whisper.
Several miles inland, I was astonished to behold the bluff merge with a soaring concrete wall, not quite massive enough to confine a gigantic prehistoric gorilla, but of sufficient height to discourage human traffic, its moss-cloaked bulk continuing south into the jungle before dissolving in mist and shadow. Equally surprising was the taut string rising from behind the wall to join a silken kiteâa golden phoenix with a flaming red tailânow lodged in a kapok tree. I stopped in my tracks. Sobs filled the air. A child was crying. Of all the explanations now flitting through my brain, I quickly discarded my initial, admittedly far-fetched hypothesisâthe child was a prisoner and had launched the kite to signal for helpâand settled on the obvious: distress over a lost toy.
Although athletically incompetent as a youngster, doltish at everything from softball to pitching pennies, a circumstance that provided my schoolmates with much unmerited amusement, I was always a serious tree climber. Confidently I shed my pack and, on the third attempt, leaped high enough to grab a limb. I hoisted myself into the kapok and mounted the branches until one golden wing was within my grasp. I unhooked the phoenix kite, untangled the string, and, descending several branches, inched forward until my feet dangled above the forbidden domain.
A slender little girl stared up at me, her heart-shaped face luminous with gratitude. She wore a pink pinafore fitted over a blue dress daubed with tomboy blotches of mud and moss, and she clutched a wooden spindle around which was coiled the surplus kite string.
âI believe you lost this,â I told my beaming admirer, lowering the toy into her outstretched arms.
âThank you so much!â
She held the kite against her body like a shield, the vertical axis extending all the way to her forehead. I moved to the bottommost branch and, after hanging briefly like a sloth, uncurled my legs, relaxed my grip, and dropped to the ground. No sooner had I recovered my balance than a large and lithe Doberman pinscher appeared from out of nowhere, his amber eyes glowing through his black-on-brown banditâs mask as he patiently awaited the childâs command to pounce on the
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