Gerald Durrell - THREE SINGLES TO ADVENTURE

When you consider the history of the South American Indian, starting with the refined and Christian cruelties of the Spaniards and working down to the present day, when the Amerindians have had their country wrested away from them and are forced to live in reserves so that they may be better protected against the blessings of civilization that cause such havoc amongst them, when you consider this treatment, it is astonishing that you can come into any sort of contact with them at all. They would, perhaps, do better to emulate the reprehensible, though not unwarranted, attitude of their relations in the Matto Grosso, who greet all white men with a shower of well-directed poisoned arrows.

Eventually, having extracted a promise from the father that he would try to get specimens for us, we shook hands all round once again, and the youth paddled us back across the lake. He smiled at us as we stood on the bank, swivelled the canoe round and paddled off across the silent lake, leaving a streamer of black ripples on the smooth water.

Our walk back to Adventure was most exhausting, for we wanted to get back before dark, and to do this we had to hurry. The second sand reef seemed to have increased in size since we crossed it, and the sand appeared to have become twice as soft and clutching to our tired legs. At last we reached the woods on the further side, and looking back we saw the whole reef lying gleaming in the setting sun, like a frosted mirror As we turned to enter the wood Cordai stopped us with an upraised hand and pointed at the trees some thirty feet away I looked and saw a sight I shall never forget, a startlingly beautiful sight that held me spellbound The wood was not at all tropical in appearance, in fact it looked more like a strip of English woodland The trees were not very tall, with slender silvery trunks and glossy green leaves. Thick, short undergrowth grew between the trunks, and this, together with the leaves on the trees, was turned golden in the rays of the setting sun In the upper branches of the trees was a group of five red howler monkeys, brilliantly lit against this background of greenery They were large and heavy creatures with strongly prehensile tails and sad chocolate-coloured faces They were clad in long, thick, silky fur of a colour that defies description It was the richest and most brilliant mixture of copper and wine red, shining with a metallic lustre that is rarely seen except in precious stones and some species of birds To see such vivid coloration in a group of monkeys struck me speechless.

The troop was composed of a gigantic male and four smaller individuals that I presumed were his wives. The old male was the most vivid of the lot, and he sat in the topmost branches of a tree, in the direct rays of the sun, so that his coat shone as though it was on fire. He sat there with a melancholy expression on his face, plucking the young leaves and stuffing them into his mouth Having eaten enough, he swung himself to the next tree by means of his tail and arms and disappeared among the leaves, followed by his troop of glittering females As we made our way through the shadowy woods and along the banks of the canals where the little frogs called, I made a mental vow that I was going to get one of those glossy, fantastic monkeys, even if I had to pay a king's ransom for it.

There is to be found in South America an extremely interesting family of animals known as opossums. They are interesting principally because they are the only marsupials, or pouched animals, known outside the Australian regions. Like the kangaroo, and other members of the Australian fauna, the opossums carry their newly-born young in a pouch of skin on the belly, though this form of transport seems to be falling into disuse among the South American marsupials, for in most species the pouch is not large and is only used to hold the young –when they are very tiny and helpless, and in others it has almost disappeared, being represented only by longitudinal folds of skin covering the teats. With these latter species a new form of transport has arisen: the babies are carried on the mother's back, their tails lovingly entwined with hers. In general appearance the opossums resemble rats, though they vary in size, some being the size of a mouse and others as large as a cat. They have long, rat-like noses, and, in some species, long, naked, rat-like tails; but the difference between a rat's tail and an opossum's becomes obvious when you see an opossum climbing a tree: the tail seems to take on a life of its own, twining and coiling among the branches and holding with such strength that the animal can hang by it if necessary.

There are several species of opossum found in Guiana , and they are known collectively as uwaries. The commonest sort is the Didelphys opossum, which is disliked by everyone in Guiana. It has adapted itself to a changing environment with the skill of a brown rat, and it is as much at home among the back-yards of Georgetown as it had been in the deep forest. It has learnt also to be a complete scavenger, and no dustbin is free from its investigations; it will even enter a house in search of food. Its large size and fierce character have made its regular attacks on chicken runs something to be reckoned with, and it is this habit more than any other that has earned it the hatred of the local population. In Georgetown I had been told many stories of its depraved tastes and its disgusting attacks on innocent chickens, but the result was that I began to feel a sneaking regard for this animal that, though harried and hunted and killed wherever found, still managed to earn a bandit's living in the city.

On arrival in Adventure I had questioned the local hunters on the subject of Didelphys opossums, and when I told them I was willing to buy specimens of this despised animal they looked at me as though I was mad. An English farmer would wear much the same expression if some foreigner evinced great interest in (and willingness to buy) specimens of the common rat. However, business is business, and if I was mad enough to pay good money for uwaries (uwaries, mark you! ), then the hunters were not going to destroy what appeared to be a heaven-sent market for creatures that had, hitherto, appeared to be completely useless vermin.

The first Didelphys opossums turned up early one morning.

Bob and Ivan had gone for a walk along the canals to see what fish and frogs they could catch, and I had stayed behind to clean and feed our now considerable collection of animals. A hunter arrived with three of the opossums in a sack and explained at great length and with vivid pantomime how he had captured them at considerable risk to himself in his chicken run the previous night. On looking into the sack all I could see was a lot of brownish-yellow fur, and from the inside arose a chorus of whining screams and cat-like spittings. I decided that it would be prudent not to remove the creatures for examination until I had a cage ready to put them into, so I told the hunter to come back in the evening for his payment. Then I set to work and converted a wooden box into a suitable crate for the beasts. Meanwhile an ominous silence reigned in the sack, broken only by an occasional cracking sound. I had just put the finishing touches to the cage, and was donning a large pair of leather gauntlets before moving the opossums into it, when Bob and Ivan returned from their walk.

"Ha!" I said proudly.

"Come and see what I've got."

"I hope it isn't another anaconda," said Bob.

"No, it isn't. It's three uwaries."

"Uwaries, sir?" asked Ivan, looking at the sack.

"Are they all in there?"

"Yes. Shouldn't they be in a sack, or something?"

"Well, sir, I'm afraid they may fight. They are very bad tempered animals," said Ivan lugubriously.