Z: Beyond the Xingu by Diana Ashley
 
Z:  Beyond the Xingu is based on the true story of Percy Fawcett’s search for a lost Amazonian civilization.  The book interweaves the lives of two people who inhabit different worlds and eras.  The modern-day character of Sylvia is strangely affected by tales of the explorer; she represents the many people throughout the world who have been compelled to research, or even search for, Colonel Fawcett over the years since his disappearance in 1925.  Below are excerpts from their stories.
 
From Fawcett, Chapter 2 Fawcett awoke from a deep sleep with the hairs on the back of his neck standing stiff. His body was suddenly rigidly alert, but his mind was dull and confused as he struggled to full wakefulness. Where was he, and why was he so terrified? That strange, unfamiliar smell— was that what had awakened him? He remembered he was in Bolivia, yes, in an open-sided hut on the Beni River... but what was that odor? He turned his head toward the soft light of the candle-lantern; within arm's length from his hammock was a jaguar, watching the flickering candle, entranced by it. Fawcett froze. His gun lay within easy reach— no one in these forests slept without a gun at the ready— but he dared not make a move for it; the jaguar was too close. He lay perfectly still, trying to breathe quietly, hoping the animal wouldn't be aroused by the scent of perspiration which seemed to explode from his adrenaline-flooded body. For if it turned on him, he was finished; there would be no time to get off an effective shot. There was nothing to do but lie as quiet as the dead. He felt that even his eyes, open and staring, might somehow attract the attention of the animal and spur it to attack, so he closed them, and tried to calm his racing heart. Breathless seconds passed like hours, as he waited for the ominous, low growl of an enraged beast, praying not to hear it. After a few minutes, he had no idea how many, he could stand it no longer and cautiously cracked one eye. The hut was bathed in the gentle glow of the candle-lantern, as before, but there was no jaguar to be seen. It had left so quietly Fawcett’s straining senses hadn’t detected the merest sound. He drew a long breath and looked around; the hut was indeed empty of all life but his own and a few humming insects. He reached one tremorous arm out for his gun and cradled it to his chest. As his heartbeat gradually slowed to near-normal he began to wonder, dazedly, if there had been a jaguar there at all, or only a surreal vision.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From Sylvia, Chapter 5: Who is calling me? Sylvia sat upright in bed. Why can’t I see anything? Who awoke me, and where am I? I’m not at home... The darkness was profound, and she had no idea where to find a light. Someone was calling her name, several voices. She arose and moved blindly toward the sound. Somehow she found a door, opened it, and stepped outside where there was enough faint starlight to discern a line of Indians, maybe seven, or seventy; she couldn’t see the beginning or end of the line. They wore feathered finery, like chieftains might, and they were facing her, looking at her hopefully. “We are Shivante,” she thought one of them said. “We need you! Please help us.” Sylvia stared at them uncomprehendingly. “Will you? Will you help us?” Some of them held out their hands in appeal. Abruptly she found herself lying in bed, her mind foggy. As she awoke, her heart began to race. Was someone calling her? She listened; all was still but the noisy frogs, and it was very, very dark. Oh, it was only a dream. I am— I am in the Pantanal, at a ranch... Where’s the light? I need some light... She remembered a kerosene lamp, on the night table. She remembered the generator was turned off at nine p.m. Fumbling for matches, her hand made contact with her flashlight, the same little light that went to Amazonas with her, and she thought it might be a better idea. The bright flame of the lamp would drown her night vision, and she wanted to take a look outside.