{"id":463,"date":"2025-05-22T07:04:50","date_gmt":"2025-05-22T07:04:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jevelin10.local\/?post_type=fw-portfolio&p=463"},"modified":"2025-07-15T04:13:35","modified_gmt":"2025-07-15T04:13:35","slug":"bootes-waugh-among-the-cannibals-2","status":"publish","type":"fw-portfolio","link":"https:\/\/birdandocean.com\/studio\/project\/bootes-waugh-among-the-cannibals-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Bootes-Waugh among the cannibals, featured selection"},"content":{"rendered":"

[vc_section][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text css=””]Bootes-Waugh among the cannibals, light fiction, 14000 words, login required halfway through.<\/p>\n

The full story is here.<\/a>[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][\/vc_section][vc_section][vc_row overflow=”default” css=”.vc_custom_1746525385622{padding-top: 150px !important;padding-bottom: 30px !important;}”][vc_column][vc_column_text css=””]<\/p>\n

Bootes-Waugh<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

the light-hearted existentialist<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

and the<\/strong><\/p>\n

Secret<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

of<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Cannibal Island<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][\/vc_section][vc_section][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text css=””]\u201cWhatever comes, one hour was sunlit …<\/a>\u201d\u00a0\u00a0 Ezra Pound[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][\/vc_section][vc_section css=”.vc_custom_1747123188316{padding-right: 70px !important;padding-left: 70px !important;}”][vc_row overflow=”default”][vc_column][vc_column_text css=”” el_class=”text_black_indent”]Words. Now that words have returned, how far they remove me from my experience. \u201cWords cannot begin to describe ….\u201d That\u2019s what people say. But, my friend, you ask what happened to me, how I survived and what sacrifices I was forced to make in the scandalous adventure of Cannibal Island, and so I must answer, although I can only answer with words. Catch my soul!<\/p>\n

Even before I awoke I knew I\u2019d washed ashore upon a beach, for I felt my fingers dig into wet sand, and could hear the surf, that soft and soothing roar, grow steadily louder, more insistent, as I gradually returned to consciousness.<\/p>\n

When at last I opened my eyes I experienced a beautiful tropical dawn. Strange, it appeared, as if I\u2019d fallen to Earth from outer space, as if I\u2019d never before watched a sun slowly rising, a world slowly rolling through space toward the light of its sun.<\/p>\n

And what a magnificent sun. What marvellous colour and warmth. Astonishingly strange and new, light and generous. But even now as I write, this sea of words is drowning that experience, diluting it and washing it away. Only when I silence language can I still bring forth a memory of the originary moment, the very moment of my rebirth.<\/p>\n

Yes, I had died! Or so at least it seemed. A storm at sea destroyed everything I was. My small boat, my laptop computer and mobile phone, my books and papers, everything I had \u2013 at the memory ghastly fear overwhelmed me, a deep well of hopelessness, an emptiness so vast it stopped my breath \u2013 but just as quickly the pain and the thoughts subsided, replaced again by sights, sounds, scents of this morning\u2019s sunrise.<\/p>\n

At this time I had no words. Somehow in the wreckage of my life I\u2019d lost language. I saw, heard, felt everything directly. No words, no nouns or verbs or adjectives arrived to attach themselves thereonto. And everything I saw, felt, smelled, heard appeared many times more vivid than I\u2019d ever experienced this world before. Perhaps because language failed reality shone more brightly.<\/p>\n

So I lay, head couched on the wet sand, quiet, immobile, deeply hurt and helpless, while the morning\u2019s warmth lulled me into a gentle, restful sleep.<\/p>\n

Later that same morning, so I surmise for I remained unconscious, a native villager found me and somehow managed to carry me to her home. She was one of a small group of primitives who lived in a clearing not far from the island\u2019s little lagoon or cove.<\/p>\n

It was here in this woman\u2019s bamboo hut that I finally awoke from my crisis, awoke and saw her peering down at me. She knelt on the sand, gazing into my eyes with such kindness, with such commiseration that a few words \u2013 five words only \u2013 of my old lost language sprang unexpectedly to mind: \u201cWell,\u201d I thought, \u201chere we go again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Seeing I\u2019d awoken, the young woman placed a hand upon my shoulder and said meaningfully: \u201cWaka naga doo. Nu goo wawa, hoochikoo?\u201d<\/p>\n

Although I understood not a word of her speech, my heightened awareness of reality allowed me to perceive that in this woman, who looked to be about twenty-six years old and abundantly healthy, with soft brown hair and soulful eyes, I might find a helper, maybe a friend, possibly more.<\/p>\n

Well rested and eager to engage in whatever intercourse was possible between two young people who shared no tongue, I immediately sat up and endeavoured to speak with her, but to my great discomfiture discovered that no amount of willpower could bring to my lips that which my heart so desperately desired: meaningful language.<\/p>\n

Somehow sensing the predicament I was in, she took my hand and placed it upon her breast, just above her heart, then looking me in the eyes with deep sincerity told me: \u201cMa li bu lu lu.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMalibu Lulu?\u201d I said, finding no difficulty at all in speaking this new language.<\/p>\n

With a nod and a bright smile she repeated: \u201cHootchie. Malibu Lulu.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then she placed her hand on a similar part of my body, just above my heart, and uttered the words: \u201cMu cha goo wa wa.\u201d<\/p>\n

Muchagoo Wawa. Apparently this was to be her name for me. Not much impressed with the cognomen she\u2019d chosen, I attempted to select my own epithet, a label more expressive of my unique personal identity, my individual compound of talents and beliefs, hopes and fears, but when I opened my mouth all that come out was: \u201cBingobango Bongo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Again smiling broadly, she gently but insistently replied: \u201cKootchie. Muchagoo Wawa.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried a second time, but for some inexplicable reason merely blurted: \u201cBiggywiggy Dangdang.\u201d<\/p>\n

This meaningless babble caused Malibu Lulu to laugh out loud. However, managing after a moment to regain her composure, she once more repeated, this time decisively: \u201cMuchagoo Wawa.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so the matter of personal names was settled.<\/p>\n

Still kneeling on the sand facing each other, we attempted to deepen the mutual understanding growing between us. Toward this end Malibu Lulu, gesturing with her hands, which were slim and quite gracefully formed, inquired of me: \u201cLongyi numnum?\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time since awakening I became acutely aware of my body\u2019s needs and realized that I would sooner or later have to find some way, in the strange world where I\u2019d been thrown, to satisfy hunger.<\/p>\n

Again Malibu Lulu asked: \u201cHootchie-kootchie? Longyi numnum?\u201d<\/p>\n

And yet, I was not completely certain what each step deeper into this primitive society\u2019s mores and values, its attitudes and behaviors, might mean.<\/p>\n

\u201cLongyi numnum?\u201d she repeated. \u201cHootchikoo?\u201d<\/p>\n

Their manner of dress, for example, tended somewhat more in the direction of minimalism than I was used to, employing as it did, here and there, less than what might be called an abundance of cloth, leaving as it did much skin, as it were, defenceless against the vicissitudes of nature.<\/p>\n

\u201cHootchie kootchie?\u201d Malibu Lulu leaned forward, emphasizing her fulsome inquiries. \u201cNumnum? Longyi longyi?\u201d<\/p>\n

I must have seemed a stupid school child sitting there abashed and gaping, so at last I nodded, rather more enthusiastically than I\u2019d intended.<\/p>\n

\u201cHootchie,\u201d Malibu cried then leapt up and before I knew what was happening had exited the hut and shut the door behind her.<\/p>\n

Shocked, I sat for a long moment struggling to find an explanation. Had I offended her? Had I chased my new friend, my only friend, away? It seemed I\u2019d failed in my first attempt at communication. What had we even been talking about?<\/p>\n

I felt all at sea and with the feeling came a resurgence of the horror of my shipwreck. Shattered images \u2013 lightning, rain thrashing the boat, winds ripping at sheets and sails, tearing away vital parts of my boat and my life \u2013 for several seconds I relived that agonizing disaster. Then, just as before, came nothing. Emptiness. Despair.<\/p>\n

Nausea crept over me. Falling sideways onto the sandy grass inside the hut, I became again immobilized. But in this heart of despair once more the sun rose, I don\u2019t know why or how. Unbidden, unexpected, images of this morning\u2019s sunrise reappeared in my mind \u2013 more than images, though, the feel of that sunrise, the sounds, scents, the comfort, the presence, the possession of that experience, all of this returned.<\/p>\n

Clearly I\u2019d not yet recovered from my ordeal. But lying there on the ground, though only for a short time, I relived a journey into the very heart of despair. And then a return from out of despair. The sun rose, the world reappeared fresh, clear, innocent of all meaning. The nausea subsided. I began to regain a sense of myself along with another fragment of language, for during those moments of being alone with nature I\u2019d miraculously recovered yet another word, one single word, from my lost native tongue. That word was \u201cbelong.\u201d<\/p>\n

I did not belong here. I must escape. I must find myself where I belong.<\/p>\n

Feeling stronger, I arose from the ground and began to consider how I might accomplish the formidable task of survival and escape which lay ahead of me when all at once my efforts were cut short by a woman\u2019s scream.<\/p>\n

Instinctively I knew it was Malibu screaming.<\/p>\n

Rushing to the wall of the hut, I peered through chinks in the bamboo poles. A commotion had the riled villagers. A tall, muscular savage stood facing Malibu Lulu. He pointed at her, then at the hut where I was watching. Six or seven other savages gathered around.<\/p>\n

I ran to the door of the hut, determined to intervene. The shouting increased in volume as I searched for the doorknob.<\/p>\n

Malibu Lulu cried: \u201cKootchie! Kooktchie! Nu bumda.\u201d<\/p>\n

Growing desperate to aid my benefactress in her moment of need, or at least to run away and save myself from what appeared to be an increasingly violent reaction precipitated by my intrusion into this savage little society, I struggled to find the handle which would open the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cMo kootchie bumda,\u201d the tall savage roared. \u201cNu bumda. Nu kitchy niggly!\u201d<\/p>\n

The shouting increased in volume and intensity. Looking more closely through the bamboo rails I saw Malibu was carrying in her hands a large wooden plate holding fruit and other comestibles. The muscular savage lashed out at this tray of refreshments. Malibu Lulu shouted back, all the time protecting her bananas and her mangoes from his grasp.<\/p>\n

I pulled at the bamboo poles, trying to tear a hole in the door of the hut. Then my heart stopped. I saw an object which made my blood freeze.<\/p>\n

It stood on a spot of raised ground at the head of the clearing, where the sand met the trees. I\u2019d seen this kind of thing before, but only in old movies, so had supposed it to be merely a product of overheated Hollywood imagination. I never thought I would come face to face with such a horror in reality. Yet there it was, staring right at me, grinning like a squat, bloodthirsty god.<\/p>\n

The black pot stood three or four feet high. Rounded on the sides, and curled at the top to form a lip, it seemed about three feet wide at its broadest circumference. In appearance it gave an altogether evil impression, exactly what a person expected from a cannibal\u2019s pot, a pot made for savage natives to cook their enemies in.<\/p>\n

Abandoning all hope of tearing a hole in the door of the hut, I threw myself onto the ground and began digging in the sand, attempting to burrow out of my bamboo prison.<\/p>\n

\u201cMo kootchie bumda.\u201d \u201cNu bumda kitchy niggly.\u201d The argument continued outside, tensions rising to a fever pitch. Looking up I saw the large savage swinging his arms, grasping at the tray of fruit. Malibu stood firm, refusing to give way.<\/p>\n

Abandoning my escape tunnel I rose to my feet, grasped two of the door\u2019s bamboo poles in my hands, and shook with all my might. The hut shuddered like a wounded animal. Again I shook, this time adding a roar: \u201cHrrraw!\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence fell upon the villagers in the clearing.<\/p>\n

Peering through the bamboo slats I watched as Malibu Lulu cast a final dismissive glance over her shoulder at the large savage, who stood with hands on hips glaring. The other villagers chattered amongst themselves, some of them awestruck, a few apparently confused, and one fellow laughing inanely.<\/p>\n

I stepped aside as the door of the hut swung inward, sweeping up from the floor \u2013 so that\u2019s why I couldn\u2019t open it. I\u2019d been trying to push it sideways and outward. What\u2019s more, there was no knob at all.<\/p>\n

Malibu stepped inside, still fuming at the arrogance of the large savage. I took the tray of fruit from her hands and set it on the ground. Waving dismissively in the direction of the savage bully outside, I said: \u201cPfff,\u201d in as dismissive a manner as I could muster. Malibu smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmmph,\u201d I continued. \u201cBiffbuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBiffbuff?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBiffbuff,\u201d I repeated with a derisive snort, uncertain whether the word had any meaning but confident at least that it sounded unflattering.<\/p>\n

Calmer, Malibu heaved a sigh, then noticing the hole I\u2019d dug in the floor, which she\u2019d nearly tripped over as she entered the hut, she gave me a wondering look. Embarrassed at my feeble attempt to escape, but also desiring Malibu\u2019s help in another matter, I drew her attention toward an area in the middle of the hut.<\/p>\n

Here I knelt on the ground and spelled in the sand several of the words I\u2019d heard since waking. These I read aloud while pointing to each letter:<\/p>\n

\u201cHootchie. Kootchie. Hootchikoo,\u201d I said with precise articulation.<\/p>\n

Fascinated, Malibu knelt beside me and imitated my motions, saying as she did so: \u201cHootchie. Kootchie. Hootchikoo.\u201d<\/p>\n

I then repeated the process with several more words:<\/p>\n