The Darwin Conspiracy - Hardcover

Darnton, John

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1400041376 ISBN 13: 9781400041374

Verlag: Alfred a Knopf Inc, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

Blends elements of fact and fiction in a study of the life and work of Charles Darwin, as revealed in his own secret journals, in a novel that chronicles Darwin's travels and scientific discoveries, his youngest daughter Lizzie's struggle to understand her father's bitterness, and the efforts of modern-day anthropologist Hugh Kellum and Darwinian scholar Beth Dulcimer to uncover the truth. 100,000 first printing.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

John Darnton has worked for thirty-nine years as a reporter, editor, and foreign correspondent for The New York Times. He was awarded two George Polk Awards for his coverage of Africa and Eastern Europe, and the Pulitzer Prize for his stories smuggled out of Poland during the period of martial law. He lives in New York. His first novel, the best seller Neanderthal, was praised by the San Francisco Chronicle for being “as informative as it is entertaining.”

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Hugh spotted the boat while it was still a dot on the horizon and watched it approach the island, making a wide, white arc. He shaded his eyes but still he had to squint against the shards of reflected light. Already the morning sun had cut through the haze to lay a shimmering sword on the water.

All around him the birds swooped and darted in the cacophonous morning feeding—hundreds of them, screaming swallow-tailed gulls, brown noddies, boobies homing in with fish dangling in their beaks. A frigate circled behind a gull, yanked its tail feathers to open the gullet, then made a corkscrew dive to grab the catch—a flash of acrobatic violence that had long since ceased to amaze him.

The boat appeared to be a panga, but that was odd: supplies weren’t due for days. Hugh fixed his stare on the dark silhouette of the driver. He looked like Raoul, the way he leaned into the wind, one arm trailing back on the throttle.

Hugh dropped his canvas tool bag near the mist net and started down. The black rocks were streaked white and gray with guano, which stank in the windless air and made the lava slippery, but he knew the footholds perfectly. The heat pressed down on him.

When he reached the bottom of the cliffside, Raoul was already there. He idled the swaying panga a few feet from the landing rock, a narrow ledge that was washed by an ankle-deep wave every few seconds.

“Amigo,” shouted Raoul, grinning behind dark glasses.

“Hey, Cowboy,” said Hugh. He coughed to clear his throat—it had been a long time since he had talked to anybody.

Raoul was wearing pressed khaki shorts, a Yankees cap over his thick black hair at a jaunty angle, and a dark blue jersey with the insignia of the Galapagos National Park on the left breast pocket.

“Just stopping by,” he said. “What’s new?”

“Not much.”

“I thought you will be totally crazy by now.” His English was almost perfect but sometimes an odd phrasing gave him away.

“No, not totally. But I’m working on it.”

“So, how’s the ermitano?”

“The what?”

“Ermitano,” Raoul repeated. “How do you say that?”

“Hermit.”

Raoul nodded and regarded him closely. “So, how’re you doing?”

“Fine,” lied Hugh.

Raoul looked away.

“I brought two chimbuzos.” He gestured with his chin to two water barrels strapped to the mid-seat. “Help me to deliver them.”

Hugh leapt into the boat, unstrapped a barrel, and hoisted it over his right shoulder. The weight threw off his balance and he tottered like a drunken sailor and almost fell into the water.

“Not like that,” said Raoul. “Put them overboard and shove them to the mat. Then you climb up and pick them up.”

The mat, short for “welcome mat,” was the nickname the researchers called the rocky ledge. Raoul had hung around them so long, help- ing out now and then because he admired what they were doing, that he was picking up their lingo.

Hugh finally got both barrels ashore and lugged them up to the beginning of the path. He was dripping with sweat by the time he returned.

“Want to come on shore, stay a while?” he asked. The offer was disingenuous. The water was too deep to anchor—more than eighty feet straight down—and if the panga docked, the waves would smash it against the rocks.

“I can’t stay. I just wanted to say hello. How’re your crazy birds— getting thirsty, no?”

“The heat’s rough on them. Some are dying.”

Raoul shook his head. “How many days without rain?” he asked.

“Today is two hundred something, two hundred twenty-five, I think.”

Raoul whistled and shook his head again, a fatalistic gesture, and lit a cigarette.

They talked for a while about the study. Raoul was always eager to hear how it was going. He had once said that if he came back to earth a second time that was what he wanted to do—camp out and study birds. Hugh thought that Raoul had no idea what it was really like—the solitude, the fatigue and boredom and endless repetition of extremes, boiling during the day and then at night when the temperature dropped forty degrees, lying in your sleeping bag and shivering so violently you can’t go to sleep even though you’re exhausted. Anything can sound glamorous until you do it.

“Say,” Raoul said lightly, “I hear you’re getting company. Two more guys coming out.”

“Yeah—so I’m told.”

Raoul looked quizzical.

“Sat phone,” explained Hugh. “Satellite. I got a call day before yesterday. The thing scared the shit out of me when it rang.”

“Do you know them?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know anybody in the project, really.”

“What are their names?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“No.”

Raoul paused a moment, then looked at him closely. “Hombre, you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“No, I’m fine.” Pause. “Thanks.”

“All that pink skin.”

That was a joke. Hugh had been burned and tanned so many times that his skin had turned a leathery brown. His lips were swollen and cracked, despite the Chap Stick, and his eyebrows were bleached blond.

“You think you ready to share this paradise with other people?”

“Sure thing,” said Hugh, but his voice sounded uncertain.

Raoul turned and looked out to sea. Far away the dark profile of a ship could be seen moving quickly with a funnel of gulls circling it.

“The Neptune,” he said. “More tourists for the Enchanted Isles.”

“Whoever thought that one up deserves a medal,” said Hugh. He could see by the shadow that crossed Raoul’s face that the remark was hurtful. The depth of Equadorean nationalism always amazed him. He smiled, pretending he was joking.

“More work for me.” Raoul shrugged. “Well, tengo que trabajar.” He flicked his cigarette way off into the water and gave a little wave from the hip. “Ciao.”

“Ciao. Thanks for the water.”

“Don’t drink it all right now.” Raoul grinned as he turned the panga, gunned the motor, and pulled out so fast the bow rose up like a surfboard. Hugh stared after him until the boat disappeared behind the island.

He carried the chimbuzos one at a time up the long path that wound up the south face of the volcano and then down past the campsite into the bottom of the crater, where in theory it was a degree or two cooler—but only in theory. On hot days, even here, he had seen the green-footed boobies shifting from one webbed foot to the other on the scorching rocks.

He looked at his watch. Shit. Almost seven o’clock. He had forgotten about the mist net—he was sure he had seen a bird trapped there, maybe two. He had to hurry and free them before they died in the quickening morning heat. Once, months ago, before he got the routine down, he had lost a bird that way. They were surprisingly resilient if you handled them right, but if you...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Alfred a Knopf Inc
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2005
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1400041376
• ISBN 13: 9781400041374
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 303
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar