DAY 58. A SKULL IN MY PLATE

I slept well. No waves, no high-speed yachts around. In the morning it grew very cold, and the river was covered with thick fog again. Maybe the dry season is upon us. It is just about time.

Man, it is cold. Luckily, I had sealed my belongings from the rain yesterday. I am out of water, so I am literally sitting on a bottle, because that is how I filter water: the filter is screwed onto the container, and I am pressing it down with my knees holding a bottle under it. Maybe I will get some water from a well today. There are plenty of wells here. This is not Peru, where sometimes they drink water straight from the river. I have heard of that, too.

My health is generally all right, although all this constant water has recently started eating at the skin on my feet again. The skin on my little fingers is peeling off and my ears are hurting again. Antibiotics and peroxide are good, but nothing can be achieved without my immune system being back to normal. Also, my cough has returned as well, as it is now hot in the evenings and cold at night and in the morning. It is no big deal; I am sure I will make it through the next eleven days somehow. My diet is better now, and it is nice to know that there are two kilos of fish fillets stored under my bed.

As usual, I entered the harbour of Alvarais and started looking around for a place to safely dock my canoe.

That was when I was greeted with a friendly wave from the doorstep of one of the houses on the water. This was the beginning of my acquaintance with Pedro and Anna’s family.

I explained to them that I wanted to replenish my supply of water and bread, in response to which they unhesitatingly shared their water with me. They also treated me to some thick juice made from acai berries, which grow only in the Amazon jungle. They grow on tall palm trees, which are plentiful in the settlement.

I had hoped to buy some bread, but it was not easy to do shopping on a Sunday, as almost everything was closed. Realising this, Pedro offered me a ride on his moped to a shop that was open 24/7.

He was particularly pleased that I was so interested in his hometown, which looked very nice indeed. It had neatly stacked houses, including brick ones, tarmac roads and all the necessary facilities. I was especially surprised by the presence of cars and school buses – in a settlement of 15,000 people in the middle of the Amazon! I think the people must be very proud of their town.

Having replenished my food supplies, we returned to the house on the water, where I was given some ripe avocados for the road. Here they have a slightly different colour: they are lighter than the ones I had eaten in the mountains of Peru and Chile. Well, it will be interesting to compare.

I thought of going further down the river, for it was only midday, when I was offered to stay until next morning and eat some soup. How could I refuse? Pedro took me to a large boiling cauldron (10-15 litres large). He opened the lid so that I could assess the upcoming treat and….. I saw it. There were some bones and a completely human-looking skull boiling in the cauldron. The question hung in the air, ‘Que?!’ What? As if sensing my hesitation, Pedro reassured me, ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s a monkey!’ A monkey? No, that is not what I had thought at all! I thought it was… A monkey, really. Monkey soup.

Did I refuse? Ha! We sat down at the table. In the plate in front of me were slices of red meat and broth. Nothing unusual – until Pedro took the skull and hands of a monkey (with five fingers) out of the pot. When our meal began, I tried to mask my burning curiosity, but when they suck on the bones and open the skull to get to the brains… ahem. It was not easy to mask my keen interest. It looked like Pedro was eating a baby. I am an unpretentious person and I am hard to shock or impress, but that was quite a sight to behold. As for the taste, the meat tasted like calf. I literally swallowed the contents of the plate, but I refused to have a second serving. I think I understand how cannibals live now. It must be a very routine thing. It was explained to me that monkeys are hunted like any other game; they are seen as food of the poor.

I fished right from the doorstep and met Pedro’s son-in-law, Valcelino. He owes this unusual name to his ancestors, the indigenous people of the river. Together we caught a dozen different fish for pickling.

In the evening Pedro suggested something unusual to me – he offered to take me to the evening mass at the local church with him and Anna. We had discussed religion earlier. He knew very well that I was an atheist (which I never hide from anyone, because honesty is the foundation of any relationship), but he said that it was not a problem for them, they would be very grateful to me if I did not refuse. Well, that is some new experience. I will attend.

It was Sunday evening, and the people of the settlement dressed up in their best clothes; sometimes they looked quite colourful. The women have put on dresses and heels and the men put on dress shoes. It looked as if they were going to attend a wedding, not listen to a Sunday mass. Pedro brought me on his moped to a large building where we were warmly welcomed.

I see that the event has already started. There is a girl singing on stage and a whole band playing live music behind her. That is interesting. In front of Pedro and me there are three rows of benches, with women and children sitting on the outermost ones and the rest of the congregation in the centre. There are plenty of vacant seats, but my guide had the nerve to take me straight to the centre pew in the front row. There we are. We sit down. There are at least a hundred pairs of eyes behind me, and the crowd clearly became animated at the sight of me. I am a stranger and a white man, so I must be quite a curiosity.

I feel a little uneasy. ‘I guess the demons are starting to come out!’ – I joke to myself in the quiet of my mind. It is ironic, isn’t it? I have exactly 666 kilometres to go to Manaus if I believe my navigator. On this day, I eat a monkey first and now this. Well…

The girl’s singing is heart-felt, one wants to believe her. It is nice, powerful music. If it were not for the temple walls around us, I would have thought they were just singing love songs – I cannot understand all the words in Portuguese, but I can clearly hear something about love and God. Then the concert ends, and other people come on stage. They wear suits and they possess status. Some speak convincingly (especially that tall dark-skinned young man), while others do not. At first, I felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but the last hour has convinced me that there are no more dangerous wolves than those who talk about important things from high podiums.

I feel some movement on my right shoulder. Is an angel or a demon sitting there? Huh. It seems like this shoulder is intended for an angel in cartoons. I turn my head cautiously. Nope, it is just an ant.

The performance ends with a stately man of age speaking with fervour about the torment of hell, Satan, punishment and, of course, redemption. This is when the collection of donations begins. Pedro also heads for the donation box.

.

Even though the mass went about just the way I expected, I did not regret going there at all. It was an interesting experience. I had also pleased Pedro and Anna a little, and that is worth a lot. It was well after dark when we returned to the house, where I fished some more successfully and went to bed. This was a busy day.

Around midnight I woke up to a strange anxiety. A frightening silence enveloped the neighbourhood, broken only by the barking of dogs. Something was scaring them, too. Something was wrong. I tried to sleep – and I could not. I lay in the boat, thinking. I looked out again to look around and saw lightning without thunder. It flashed across the sky quietly. It explains everything. Immediately I unfold the tent and seal my diary in a plastic bag. As if by a switch, a gusty wind appears, followed by a powerful tropical downpour. I have prepared for it just in time!

11 June, ~41 (2520) km covered.