It was unpleasant, but I was very pleased that the state of constipation had been reversed. Richard was on the roof lying out under the stars. He had taken an extra-strong dose of sanango, his favourite nerve-agent. ‘You oughta try it,’ he said cheerfully, next morning. ‘I’ll get Francisco to make you up a batch. It clears your head like nothing else.’ ‘I’ve had enough of Francisco’s medicine,’ I replied, ‘and, after all, I’m saving myself for ayahuasca with the Birdmen.’ Richard wasn’t listening. Sliding his knife from its sheath, he poked at something in the rot above my hammock. ‘That’s all we need!’ he exclaimed. ‘Horrendous damp rot,’ I said. ‘Never seen anything like it.’ ‘Not the rot… the nest.’ ‘Nest? ‘ ‘Arachnid. Looks like it’s just hatched. In a day or two this boat’ll be running with wolf spiders. It wouldn’t be a problem if we had some fuckin’ rats on board!’ Some say that these hairy brown spiders get their name from their wolf-like technique of chasing and hunting their prey.
