Anna Kavan

excerpt by permission of Peter Owens Publishing

Mercury

The densely massed foliage of the jungle swells like a sea of huge black cushions against the last phase of the night sky, where a faint transparency is already perceptible in the east. One after another the big bright stars are losing their brilliance; they fade and go out one by one.

The nebulous lightening of the east extends and intensifies, opening out into a great rose-gold fan, its incandescent sticks being the advance rays the rising sun shoots ahead over the horizon-blazing upward streams which produce an effect not unlike that of the aurora borealis, except that they substitute heat and colour for icy dazzle.

Life is just beginning to stir in the depths of the dim leafy ocean below. When suddenly, from the deepest and darkest thickets of this tropical forest unexplored by man, comes an extraordinary musical chiming, as of innumerable crystal bells; an amazing sound, utterly unexpected in that place, melodious and of limpid purity, which is only the prelude to the still more astounding chorus that follows. All at once, many voices, none of them human, burst into song together rising and falling in eerie harmony; their sound doesn’t belong to this world at all. At the same time the sun leaps into the sky, gilding the sides of tree-trunks and branches and lighting gold flames on myriads of leaves.

Only somebody up in the sky would be able to watch the stir that begins now in the topmost branches of the certain trees, which seem to be blowing about in a strong wind, restricted to these trees alone, as the mysterious singers start moving, singing as they go, towards another outburst of similar singing not far away. From the ground it’s quite impossible to see them leaping lightly from tree to tree; they are the whole time completely hidden by the dense foliage, the violent swaying of which, only visible from above, affords a clue to their size, as well as tracing their rapid progress.

The legend of the dog-headed man is said to have originated in these rare man-sized lemurs which are called Indris, now almost extinct, found nowhere but in the forests of this one remote tropical island. With perfect balance and muscular control they fly through the air like birds in great effortless bounds, all their movements soundless in spite of their size, and as sure and accurate in the dangerous tree-tops as a human being’s on solid ground. When the two choirs meet there is no need of adjustment, they simply continue singing together in perfect unison, so that the surrounding forest rings with their combined voices.

Even the youngest of them join in, though they, out of sheer high spirits, have been indulging in all sorts of pranks and acrobatics as they travelled along, using the lianas a airy swings and walking precarious tightropes on the slenderest loftiest boughs, but never letting these gymnastics delay the others.

The song has a distinct, regular rhythm, sinking to a gentle croon between the mounting waves of the central refrain; which is consistently repeated throughout, always clearly distinguishable, although with numerous variations and elaborations of the main theme, the singers showing great virtuosity in this proliferation of musical sounds. The uncanny strangeness of the singing totally unlike man-made music, has its own fascination. But the most extraordinary thing of all is the way the song-in spite of its wordlessness and its inhuman quality-seems closely related to all forms of life on this planet, towards which it expresses an attitude entirely different from ours, as if giving a glimpse of another, quite different life, which could be lived here on earth-possibly even is being lived already somewhere in secret…Attempting to translate into human terms, one can only say the singing is the symbol of aspiration…of that deeply felt longing for something or somewhere else…with which we react instinctively to the violence and cruelty endemic in our existence.

The concert ends as suddenly as it began. Not once during the performance have the Indris been visible from the ground; and they are no more visible now, screened by the many leaves of the tallest and largest trees, where they recline at ease or play in the branches, with many affectionate interludes innocent caresses and kisses exchanged in a spontaneous overflowing of their general happiness and goodwill. The goodwill extends to their whole environment: in feeding each other with flower petals they detach the blooms with the utmost delicacy-not a leaf is accidentally damaged, not a twig broken or bent. Now that their singing is over, they are as silent as they are unseen, so noiseless in all their movements that a human watcher could actually be under the tree where their varied activities were taking place, and still remain unaware that the lemurs were anywhere near.

They have no enemies in their jungle world. And one naturally shrinks from naming that ferocious enemy who must have taught them their protective invisibility, so that they pass their whole lives unseen, never leaving the inmost secrecy of the forest. Their happy harmless community seems content with this hidden existence, spending the hours among the crowding massed leaves in peace, playfulness and affection, until the setting sun gives the signal for their second concert: which starts off with the same suddenness, and incorporates many of the same harmonies as the first, but is by no means a mere repetition of the dawn chorus. Indeed, as it continues, so many modifications are introduced that the result is a quite different complex of musical sounds, and conveys a quite different feeling…subdued, even melancholy….

Constantly falling cadences keep suggesting the end of something. The plaintive melody builds up a sense of loss, of finality, of nothing more being left, which is profoundly sad.

Yet, in the midst of the mournful passages, again and again there’s a reprise, the original refrain reappearing as an assurance that there’s been no break in continuity, and reaffirmation of the singers’ former declaration of otherness… other values… introducing a hopeful note at the very point where a tragic climax might seem imminent and inevitable.

But then, immediately afterwards, somber low notes restore the later version, so that two different conclusions are presented simultaneously and without any perceptible bias towards either…. In the end one is left to choose between them; a choice implying the non-existence of a fixed of final form of reality, for which is substituted the idea of all eventualities being equally plausible or unlikely.

Anna Kavan
excerpt by permission of Peter Owens Publishing