Fifty Degrees Below - Kim Stanley Robinson [79]
Sometimes he couldn’t stand that, and he scanned submissions to The Journal of Sociobiology instead. Maternal sentiment not innate, one paper said; this asserted because women in northern Taiwan, also European women in the medieval and early modern period, gave away their own children on a regular basis, for economic reasons. Maternal sentiment therefore perhaps a learned response. Frank had his doubts, and besides all these conclusions were long since outlined in Hrdy, a source the paper’s authors seemed unaware of. That ignorance and the huge generalizations given the evidence probably would doom this paper to rejection.
Abstract, conclusion; abstract, conclusion. Female brown capuchin monkeys throw things if they see other monkeys getting more than they got from an equivalent exchange. Aversion to inequity therefore probably very deep-rooted, evolutionarily. Sense of fairness evolved. Thus cooperative groups, long before hominids. Monkey ethics; interesting.
First primate found and identified, in China, 55 million years old. Named Teilhardina, very nice. One ounce; fit in the palm of your hand. Amazing.
Groups of female baboons could coerce new male members of the troop into more peaceful behaviors. Females of the Japanese quail Coturnix japonica tended to choose the losers in male-male confrontations. Maybe that’s why Caroline likes me, Frank thought, then grimaced at this traitorous self-judgment. It was postulated that for the female quail, choosing the loser reduced the risk of later injury, the males being rough during sex. Previously-mated females more likely to choose losers than virgins were.
On he read, his face thrust forward into the laptop so eagerly that his nose almost touched the screen. There could not be another person on earth who read these things with more intense interest than he did, for to him these were questions of immediate practice, influencing what he might do later that very day. To him every paper had the unwritten subtitle How Should I Live Right Now?
When his wristwatch alarm beeped the question always remained unanswered. Time to get up and invent the evening.
Run a round of frisbee, drop in on the bros, play chess with Chessman, visit the Quiblers, sit in Kramer’s or Second Story to read, have an ouzo at Odysseus. For about a month he played chess with Chessman almost every night, becoming a regular mark, as Zeno put it, as Chessman was getting unbeatable. He played more than anyone else, he was a pro, and it might be that he was getting really good; Frank didn’t play well enough to be sure. Paradoxically, the youth’s style had become less aggressive. He waited for people to extend a little, then beat them. The games took more time, and maybe that was the point; it gave people hope, and thus might create more repeat customers.
In between games they sat by a kerosene lantern, nursing coffees or beers. Chessman read paperbacks under the lamp, books with titles like One Hundred Best End Games. Once it had been The Immortal Games of Paul Morphy, another time The Genius of Paul Morphy. Frank chatted with the others. It was another iteration of a conversation they had had many times before, concerning the inadequacies of the National Park Service. All their various conversations were like performances of long-running plays, alternating in repertory style. Laughs in the usual places. The bros laughed more than anyone Frank knew, but it was seldom happy laughter. They were shouting defiance. Vocalizations were as important to people as to gibbons. The daily hoot, oooooooooop!
So they sat there, telling stories. Awful things from Vietnam, a rare item in their repertory, but sometimes Zeno and Fedpage and Andy got a horrible urge to reminisce. More often they described