Page 6 land ownership

Owls, such as the young snowy owls on the previous page, have for centuries been symbols of both wisdom and mystery. To many cultures their piercing eyes have conveyed a look of intelligence. Their silent flight through darkened landscapes in search of prey has projected an air of power or wonder. For this chapter and this book, owls are an engaging example of a living organism from the world of biology—the study of life. BIOLOGY AND YOU Living in a small town, in the country, or at the edge of the suburbs, one may be lucky enough to hear an owl's hooting. This experience can lead to questions about where the bird lives, what it hunts, and how it finds its prey on dark, moonless nights. Biology, or the study of life, offers an organized and scientific framework for posing and answering such questions about the natural world. Biologists study questions about how living things work, how they interact with the environment, and how they change over time. Biologists study many different kinds of living things ranging from tiny organisms, such as bacteria, to very large organisms, such as elephants. Each day, biologists investigate subjects that affect you and the way you live. For example, biologists determine which foods are healthy. As shown in Figure 1-1, everyone is affected by this impor- tant topic. Biologists also study how much a person should exer- cise and how one can avoid getting sick. Biologists also study what your air, land, and food supply will be like in the near future. SECTION 1 OBJECTIVES ● Relate the relevance of biology to a person’s daily life. ● Describe the importance of biology in human society. ● List the characteristics of living things. ● Summarize the hierarchy of organization within complex multicellular organisms. ● Distinguish between homeostasis and metabolism and between growth, development, and reproduction. VOCABULARY biology organization cell unicellular multicellular organ tissue organelle biological molecule homeostasis metabolism cell division development reproduction gene Copyright © by Holt, Rinehart and Winston. All rights reserved. Biology, the study of life, directly applies to your health, life, and future in ways as simple as daily food choices. FIGURE 1-1 6 CHAPTER 1 Biology and Society By studying biology you can make informed decisions on issues that impact you and our society. Every day newspapers, television, and the Internet contain issues that relate to biology. For example, you may read that your local water or air supply is polluted. How will that pollution affect your health and the health of other living things? You may hear about new technologies or tools that biolo- gists have invented. How will we control how those technologies and tools are used? Biologists actively work to solve these and other real-world issues and problems, including improving our food supply, curing diseases and preserving our environment.

A solution is composed of a solute dissolved in a solvent. In the sugar water described in Figure 5-1, the solute was sugar and the solvent was water, and the solute molecules diffused through the solvent. It is also possible for solvent molecules to diffuse. In the case of cells, the solutes are organic and inorganic compounds, and the solvent is water. The process by which water molecules diffuse across a cell membrane from an area of higher concentration to an area of lower concentration is called osmosis (ahs-MOH-sis). Because water is moving from a higher to lower concentration, osmosis does not require cells to expend energy. Therefore, osmosis is the passive transport of water. Direction of Osmosis The net direction of osmosis depends on the relative concentra- tion of solutes on the two sides of the membrane. Examine Table 5-1. When the concentration of solute molecules outside the cell is lower than the concentration in the cytosol, the solution outside is hypotonic to the cytosol. In this situation, water diffuses into the cell until equilibrium is established. When the concentration of solute molecules outside the cell is higher than the concentration in the cytosol, the solution outside is hypertonic to the cytosol. In this situation, water diffuses out of the cell until equilibrium is established. Observing Diffusion Materials 600 mL beaker, 25 cm dialysis tubing, funnel, 15 mL starch solution (10 percent), 20 drops Lugol’s solution, 300 mL water, 100 mL graduated cylinder, 20 cm piece of string (2) Procedure 1. Put on your disposable gloves, lab apron, and safety goggles. 2. Pour 300 mL of water in the 600 mL beaker. 3. Add 20 drops of Lugol’s solution to the water. CAUTION: Lugol’s solution is a poison and eye and skin irritant. 4. Open the dialysis tubing, and tie one end tightly with a piece of string. 5. Using the funnel, pour 15 mL of 10 percent starch solution into the dialysis tubing. 6. Tie the other end of the dialysis tubing tightly with the second piece of string, forming a sealed bag around the starch solution. 7. Place the bag into the solution in the beaker, and observe the setup for a color change. Analysis What happened to the color in the bag? What happened to the color of the water around the bag? Explain your observations. Quick Lab www.scilinks.org Topic: Osmosis Keyword: HM61090 mb06se_homs01.qxd 11/27/07 8:52 AM Page 98 HOMEOSTASIS AND CELL TRANSPORT 99 When the concentrations of solutes outside and inside the cell are equal, the outside solution is said to be isotonic to the cytosol. Under these conditions, water diffuses into and out of the cell at equal rates, so there is no net movement of water. Notice that the prefixes hypo-, hyper-, and iso- refer to the relative solute concentrations of two solutions. Thus, if the solution outside the cell is hypotonic to the cytosol, then the cytosol must be hyper- tonic to that solution. Conversely, if the solution outside is hypertonic to the cytosol, then the cytosol must be hypotonic to the solution. Water tends to diffuse from hypo- tonic solutions to hypertonic solutions. How Cells Deal with Osmosis Cells that are exposed to an isotonic external environment usually have no difficulty keeping the movement of water across the cell membrane in balance. This is the case with the cells of ver- tebrate animals on land and of most other organ- isms living in the sea. In contrast, many cells function in a hypotonic environment. Such is the case for unicellular freshwater organisms. Water constantly diffuses into these organisms. Because they require a relatively lower concentration of water in the cytosol to function normally, unicel- lular organisms must rid themselves of the excess water that enters by osmosis. Some of them, such as the paramecia shown in Figure 5-2, do this with contractile vacuoles (kon-TRAK-til VAK-y ̄ ̄o ̄ ̄o-OL), which are organelles that remove water. Contractile vacuoles collect the excess water and then contract, pumping the water out of the cell. Unlike diffusion and osmosis, this pumping action is not a form of passive trans- port because it requires the cell to expend energy. Copyright © by Holt, Rinehart and Winston. All rights reserved. (a) (b) Vacuole filling with water Vacuole contracting TABLE 5-1 Direction of Osmosis Condition External solution is hypotonic to cytosol External solution is hypertonic to cytosol External solution is isotonic to cytosol Net movement of water into the cell out of the cell none H2O H2O H2O H2O H2O H2O The paramecia shown below live in fresh water, which is hypotonic to their cytosol. (a) Contractile vacuoles collect excess water that moves by osmosis into the cytosol. (b) The vacuoles then contract, returning the water to the outside of the cell. (LM 315) FIGURE 5-2 100 CHAPTER 5 (a) HYPOTONIC Cell walls (b) HYPERTONIC (a) ISOTONIC (b) HYPOTONIC (c) HYPERTONIC Other cells, including many of those in multicellular organisms, respond to hypotonic environments by pumping solutes out of the cytosol. This lowers the solute concentration in the cytosol, bring- ing it closer to the solute concentration in the environment. As a result, water molecules are less likely to diffuse into the cell. Most plant cells, like animal cells, live in a hypotonic environ- ment. In fact, the cells that make up plant roots may be surrounded by water. This water moves into plant cells by osmosis. These cells swell as they fill with water until the cell membrane is pressed against the inside of the cell wall, as Figure 5-3a shows. The cell wall is strong enough to resist the pressure exerted by the water inside the expanding cell. The pressure that water molecules exert against the cell wall is called turgor pressure (TER-GOR PRESH-er). In a hypertonic environment, water leaves the cells through osmosis. As shown in Figure 5-3b, the cells shrink away from the cell walls, and turgor pressure is lost. This condition is called plasmolysis (plaz-MAHL-uh-sis), and is the reason that plants wilt if they don’t receive enough water. Some cells cannot compensate for changes in the solute con-

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

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