The following is an exclusive excerpt fromUnsheltered, the new book from award-winningauthorBarbara Kingsolver(The Poisonwood Bible).
SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS (from Chapter 4)
Thatcher returned from his meeting to find Polly inconsolable.
The dogs, she shrieked, missing for hours.
Credit: David Wood; Harper Collins
Thatcher took off his hat and prepared to tread cautiously.
The two hounds had come with the house, an unexpected gift.
It was Polly who knew their hearts.
She claimed they held different temperaments: Charybdis was Congregationalist, while Scylla was Baptist.
But their principal inclination was to run away to the neighbors house and lie flanking the door like sphinxes.
Day after day Polly fetched them back and scolded them for disloyalty.
Todays crisis surpassed the ordinary.
Polly was sure they were being held captive by Mrs.
Treat, he repeated.
The lady doesnt strike me as treacherous.
They visit her every morning because she lures them.
She gives them titbits.
Mother wont let me feed them anything special at all.
Through the open parlor door Thatcher could see the corseted bulwark of his mother-in-law at her desk.
Spirits flowing in the Italian quarter.
Thatcher lowered his voice.
Are you positive she has them, Polly?
It will be too embarrassing if Im bringing a false charge.
Reluctantly he went, hat in hand, apologies rehearsed.
He knocked on the front door and made himself wait.
Thatcher was poised to abandon his mission and frankly disappointed to hear a faint voice encouraging him to enter.
He wandered into the parlor where Mrs.
Treat sat at a desk near the window, a book lying open before her.
He sensed he was intruding on some private ceremony.
She seemed in proper order in a brown day frock, but oddly, she did not get up.
Her eyes darted toward him but she held herself perfectly still.
Hat in both hands, held to his chest like a shield.
I live next door.
Of course you do.
I am Mary Treat.
Im sorry my wife and I havent called in.
Settling into a house should not be a turmoil and yet we turn over a new one every day.
This morning I am commanded to come inquiring about our hounds.
Oh, and here they are!
They lay under the desk at her feet.
One lifted a cocked head briefly, then dropped its chin to the floor again with a sigh.
kindly sit, Mrs.
Treat urged, sounding deeply unhappy to offer the invitation.
I dont need to trouble you.
If I could just relieve you of
No, hey do stay a few minutes.
I need the diversion, more desperately than it’s possible for you to imagine.
He looked around at the room, nicely wallpapered, comfortably used.
A pair of very muddy womens shoes stood on the hearth drying out from some misfortune.
Bookcases lined one wall.
Treat was rumored to have run off to New York with a suffragette.
Thatcher put himself down on the settee facing Mrs.
Treat at her desk.
These are unusual, he said.
Would you call them terraria?
She gave him a long study.
Her eyes were an uncommonly dark brown, deep as wells.
You are the science teacher, or will be when the high school opens.
I was just there now, preparing for opening of the term.
Then I will make a confession.
Her face slipped into a slight grin, the first sign of a thaw.
The ferns are a ruse.
I put them in so my lady friends can admire the little gardens without being shocked.
Which they would be, if they knew.
Each jar is the home of a large spider.
Thatcher took care with his tone of voice.
Tower-building spiders of the genus Tarantula.
They make more interesting pets than even your excellent hounds, Mr. Greenwood.
I wouldnt doubt it, he said.
Vividly she rose in his memory, the lady facedown in the grass.
His wife watching her through the parlor window.
Rose believed their neighbor was mad.
Do you capture them with persuasion, or stealth?
I dig them out of the ground with a trowel, and settle them into these candy jars.
The spiders dont seem to mind the relocation.
They go on about their business.
Thatcher felt his day had taken a turn for the better.
And what is their business?
He peered into the jar and found the neat octagonal turret made of sticks as fine as string.
The complete domicile would have fit in his hand.
What an absolute marvel.
In the blink of an eye Mrs.
Treat became a new person.
The little builder would agree.
She is terribly house proud.
Her favorite position is sitting on the top of her tower with her legs folded under her.
Can you see her there?
Thatcher got up and inspected every jar on the table, finding in each one the perfect little turret.
But not a single landlady.
I confess I cant.
They dont seem to be at their posts.
Im afraid your entrance has frightened them all.
You might not see one today.
Thatcher turned around and studied Mrs.
Treat for some sign that she was having him on.
She looked earnest, her dark eyes vivid.
Will they come out again, after I leave?
Theyre completely accustomed to me.
But if a stranger comes in the room they always seem to know it.
Are they all females?
He sat down again.
If I offer them husbands, it doesnt end well.
I apologize for intruding on your sorority.
One must not become too isolated from human society.
Indeed, he thought.
Im afraid I didnt plan very well.
You couldnt know I was coming.
She shifted in her chair.
I mean for my experiment.
I did not think ahead.
Thatcher turned his hat in his hands, a little alarmed, mostly curious.
Did you not see?
Im allowing this Dionaea to have a bite of me.
yo come have a look, its a good specimen.
They thrive in the marshes in the Pine Barrens.
I think the poor soil in those swamps encourages the flora to adapt themselves to carnivory.
She was not idly holding her place in an open book.
Treat was allowing the tip of her finger to be digested by a carnivorous plant.
Gracious, he said.
I was asking myself that question when you came in.
It may be a problem for the psychologist.
I resolved this morning to be a voluntary prisoner for five hours at least.
I pulled up my comfortable chair here, and gathered plenty of reading matter.
Normally I can be happy to sit reading from dawn until dark.
But in less than fifteen minutes I found I couldnt concentrate for the pressure on my finger.
How long have you and this plant been locked in combat, Mrs.
I feel ashamed that I cannot control my nerves.
Thatcher could not stop himself smiling.
Perhaps I could bring you a cup of tea.
Oh Mr. Greenwood, Im too much in your debt already.
Youve extended my resolve for an extra quarter hour.
But it would be my pleasure.
In the interest of science.
What outcome do you anticipate?
Surely you dont mean to sacrifice a digit?
That would be a feast to go down in the Dionaea history books, wouldnt it?
But I dont think my little friend is up to the task.
Together they took a silent moment to regard the little plant acquiring its species first taste of human flesh.
