Brown - The Cup of Nestor

The Cup of Nestor

Simon Browns most recent books are Daughter of Independence, the third book in the Chronicles of Kydan trilogy from Pan Macmillan, and the short story collection Troy, from Ticonderoga Publications.

He lives on the New South Wales south coast with his wife Alison and children Edlyn and Fynn.

About The Cup of Nestor, Simon writes, This story took nearly twelve years to write, and was influenced by a Stephen Jay Gould essay about 19th century scientists. The story didnt turn out the way I expected, which was disconcerting at first, but ultimately more rewarding.

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JUNE 1866

When the Thackeray Expedition arrived by steamer at the river port of Manaus it was welcomed with more grace than curiosity - scientific expeditions being almost as common as mosquitoes in Amazonas - although the fact that the daughter of the expeditions sponsor was in attendance allowed it some extra notoriety. Nevertheless, most excitement was reserved for another passenger on the same steamer; Jenny Lind, the famous Norwegian opera singer, had agreed to suspend her retirement in England to sing in Manauss new opera house. A small detachment from Milans Teatro alla Scala had already been in town for several weeks, rehearsing the repertoire they would be performing for the next six months, and they were on the dock to greet her.

Young William John - student, veteran and hollow man - had left his own cabin in time to watch Lind disembark with all the style and precision of a wading bird. Her admirers clapped and cheered enthusiastically, surrounded her with parasols and fluttering fans, and shepherded her towards the towns best hotel, the white and indomitable Christabelle. John was joined at the railing by his master, Professor Nestor John Saumarez, a small dapper man despite his paunch and the salt-and-pepper moustache that draped across his upper lip like a signature.

And there, untouched by nature, marches culture, Saumarez said in a voice that was both admiring and regretful.

Sir?

Look around you, William. Here we are, several hundred miles inside the Amazon jungle, and what greets us? A town that would not be out of place in Estremadura. He glanced at his student, his eyebrows arching.

Thats in Portugal.

Yes, sir, John said, trying not to sound resentful. Saumarez always assumed his students, lacking his knowledge of biology, were ignorant in all else as well.

I cannot help but applaud Madame Linds progress. She is everything our civilization aspires to: art and artifice, dignity and gravitas, romance and allure. And yet Saumarez raised one index finger, his signal for the imminence of a concluding remark, and yet, for all she represents, for all Manaus represents, there is no accounting of that bounty surrounding us. It is as if Gods very thoughts had no place in our own. He shook his head sadly. Art has no use for science, he added lowly, and that is the shame of our species.

Lind and her party were almost out of sight, their coloured parasols twirling in the sun like tiny flowers spun in the hands of children. The figures seemed to wash in the light for a moment and then they disappeared behind the wall of the Christabelle. With their passing the town became darker, the jungle closer. John held his breath, expecting something more. Perhaps a sign from Saumarezs God, which he sometimes imagined to be part patriarch and part tree, a strange amalgam of religion and nature and equally terrifying in either aspect.

Saumarez touched John gently on the shoulder and said, Do not let me persuade you to despise our race.

Before the weight of the comment could bear down on John, Charles Thackeray appeared from his cabin. He was a tall, well-built and self-made man with a strong desire to be famous for something other than his wealth, hence the expedition. He was followed by his daughter, the long and angular Alexandra, her face as blank as a cloudless sky. Her gaze fell on John and he felt his skin prickle. Thackeray smiled broadly at Saumarez and said in his conniving voice: Whos despising who? How could anyone despise anyone on a day like this? He swept out one arm to encompass Manaus. Just look at this magnificent place! He had not expected an answer, and did not receive one. He was, as usual, smiling with that effortless ease that comes to those who are sincerely convinced they are universally liked and admired.

John wanted to escape Alexandras stare, which settled on him like a judgement. Before he could go, Thackeray grasped his elbow and beamed down at him. You must be very excited about all of this umm

John, father, Alexandra said evenly, as if she was reading from an attendance book. William John.

William, eh? Young students like you dont get an opportunity like this every day.

Once in a lifetime, sir, John agreed hurriedly. Thackeray, pleased with the reply, released his grip and John made his escape.

On his way back to his cabin he passed his fellow student, Nathaniel Slater. Slaters blue, watery eyes regarded him with interest. Was it fine?

he asked.

The disembarking of Miss Lind? Oh, yes, a grand procession. It was an admirable affair.

And our reception? Slater asked nervously. He was extraordinarily shy, and hated attention.

None at all, I should think. Miss Lind has quite taken everyones breath away; there is little left for us.

Slater nodded. I must see about organizing the unloading of our equipment. Professor Saumarez was insistent the equipment be my responsibility.

John nodded gravely, repressing a smile. Can I give you a hand?

Thank you, but I think I will be all right.

Let me know if you change your mind.

Slater promised he would and continued on his way. When John reached his cabin he loosened his tie and shirt. Even though the expedition had been sailing up the Amazon for over a week before swinging northwest into the Negro River to reach Manaus, he was still not used to the heat and humidity. He opened the cabins single porthole, seeking a breeze, but all he got was a view out across the water and in the middle distance a green fringe indicating the far bank of the river. In two or three days, perhaps less if Saumarez could arrange guides and porters, they would be making their way upriver, deeper into the jungle, collecting specimens for Harvard and some of the worlds leading museums. Thackeray was right: it was a unique opportunity for John and the other five students. In exchange for their assistance in catching and sorting specimens, Saumarez would deliver a lecture to the students every afternoon in natures own classroom.

John grimaced. Assuming the heat does not first addle all ourbrains.

He lay back in his bunk and closed his eyes. It was hard for him to breathe in the confines of the cabin, but he did not want to leave and risk encountering Thackeray or Saumarez again. The first was too loud and the second too domineering to be taken in large doses. And then there was Alexandra and her eyes; he was frightened of her, he was embarrassed to admit, and without knowing why.

He turned over in his bunk and tried to will himself to sleep. God knows, he needed it, and would need it twice as much once they were in the jungle, but his own anxiety worked against him. When at last he admitted failure and opened his eyes he saw, without surprise, that everything was changed. Instead of the steamers bulkheads he was surrounded by the thin green foliage of a northern summer, and though he could not see it he could smell and hear the smoke, the burning and crackling of sap wood and cotton and wool, of leather and human flesh. In the distance, too, he could hear the peppering of rifle muskets, the deeper cough of 6 lb Napoleons, the hurrahs and cries of men.

No!

And he opened his eyes and saw the heavy metal hull all around him, smelling of paint and rust and tropical water. He sat up, sighing so heavily it was almost a sob, his skin glistening with sweat.