Sole told me the story of how the Matsigenka believed the
virakochas, the white people, came into the world. Some people were digging for shiny metals, she said, when the virakochas suddenly poked their heads up out of the mud. The astonished diggers
desperately shovelled the earth back on the emerging creatures but it was futile: the virakochas came pouring out too fast for their efforts. Hastily summoned, Tasorintsi, the blowing spirit, rose
up and rained down many arrows on the heads of the virakochas – killing a great number. It seemed the flow had been staunched and Tasorintsi left, warning the Matsigenka never to dig any more
holes. Thereafter, things looked like they might be OK . . . But then, one day when Tasorintsi was far away in the forest, the virakochas unexpectedly started to pour out of that hole again. And
this time, they came so quickly that there was nothing that could be done – even when Tasorintsi returned. The virakochas, it turned out, had been created underground by Tasorintsi’s
great rival: the evil trickster, Kentivakori.
FIVE
I
We were surprised to enjoy a sweet pancake breakfast prepared not by Jorge but by Estrela, who was staying behind with Lothar and was delighted to see us go. There was
then half an hour of dispersal before we assembled on the jetty and climbed into the canoes. We were excited – glad to be leaving the Station, glad to be together again, and glad, too, for a
purpose besides our own pleasure. We would be travelling all together as far as Laberinto. And from there, Sole would accompany Yolanda with Virima down to the river city while the rest of us would
travel upstream on one of the specially chartered overnight boats to Machaguar.
Sole had spent the morning constructing Yolanda a bed in the bottom of Tord’s canoe – pulling out seating planks, securing a simple frame so that it would not slide, and then laying
down bedding, sheets, pillows. Tucked away somewhere, she had a thick cylinder of my banknotes and she had slipped one of my cards into her tatty old hiking boots. I was paying for their passage
and whatever hotels and medical treatment were necessary. There was some additional business that Sole had in the river city – though she would not tell me what exactly and behaved instead as
though she were buying me some big secret of a birthday present. Her mood had improved with each day following the soldiers’ departure. And for my part, I had not realized how dependent on
her happiness my own had become until it now returned.
We would lose working hours, of course: all of that Friday, the Saturday morning lab-time and much of the Monday for the return. But since one trip was absolutely necessary and the other was
likely to do us good, my decisions had been easily made. As we set off, I heard a Paradise tanager calling somewhere close by – a high-pitched whistling sound – earnest, childlike. An
augury, I thought, though of course I did not believe in auguries.
They were waiting on the shallow muddy headland above the reeds. Kanari and his brothers carried Yolanda down to the boats on an improvised stretcher. Nothing was said but hope
now hovered in the air and there was a certain operational fortitude in the faces of the boys as they lifted their sister gently into the boat.
Jorge left Tord’s canoe for ours to make room, bringing his precious case of beer with him. Tord, meanwhile, stood upright by his tiller, doing nothing, and yet performing this ministry
with such a sedulous and determined attitude of pastoral care that he would have us all believe that the afflicted of the world had ever been his personal charge and that their best chance on
Earth, as in Heaven, lay solely with him. (Who can blame the Achuar for shrinking the missionaries’ heads?) There was no point in my offering yet more hands to get in the way – so I
remained in our boat and watched Virima and Sole ease a near motionless Yolanda off the stretcher and
virakochas, the white people, came into the world. Some people were digging for shiny metals, she said, when the virakochas suddenly poked their heads up out of the mud. The astonished diggers
desperately shovelled the earth back on the emerging creatures but it was futile: the virakochas came pouring out too fast for their efforts. Hastily summoned, Tasorintsi, the blowing spirit, rose
up and rained down many arrows on the heads of the virakochas – killing a great number. It seemed the flow had been staunched and Tasorintsi left, warning the Matsigenka never to dig any more
holes. Thereafter, things looked like they might be OK . . . But then, one day when Tasorintsi was far away in the forest, the virakochas unexpectedly started to pour out of that hole again. And
this time, they came so quickly that there was nothing that could be done – even when Tasorintsi returned. The virakochas, it turned out, had been created underground by Tasorintsi’s
great rival: the evil trickster, Kentivakori.
FIVE
I
We were surprised to enjoy a sweet pancake breakfast prepared not by Jorge but by Estrela, who was staying behind with Lothar and was delighted to see us go. There was
then half an hour of dispersal before we assembled on the jetty and climbed into the canoes. We were excited – glad to be leaving the Station, glad to be together again, and glad, too, for a
purpose besides our own pleasure. We would be travelling all together as far as Laberinto. And from there, Sole would accompany Yolanda with Virima down to the river city while the rest of us would
travel upstream on one of the specially chartered overnight boats to Machaguar.
Sole had spent the morning constructing Yolanda a bed in the bottom of Tord’s canoe – pulling out seating planks, securing a simple frame so that it would not slide, and then laying
down bedding, sheets, pillows. Tucked away somewhere, she had a thick cylinder of my banknotes and she had slipped one of my cards into her tatty old hiking boots. I was paying for their passage
and whatever hotels and medical treatment were necessary. There was some additional business that Sole had in the river city – though she would not tell me what exactly and behaved instead as
though she were buying me some big secret of a birthday present. Her mood had improved with each day following the soldiers’ departure. And for my part, I had not realized how dependent on
her happiness my own had become until it now returned.
We would lose working hours, of course: all of that Friday, the Saturday morning lab-time and much of the Monday for the return. But since one trip was absolutely necessary and the other was
likely to do us good, my decisions had been easily made. As we set off, I heard a Paradise tanager calling somewhere close by – a high-pitched whistling sound – earnest, childlike. An
augury, I thought, though of course I did not believe in auguries.
They were waiting on the shallow muddy headland above the reeds. Kanari and his brothers carried Yolanda down to the boats on an improvised stretcher. Nothing was said but hope
now hovered in the air and there was a certain operational fortitude in the faces of the boys as they lifted their sister gently into the boat.
Jorge left Tord’s canoe for ours to make room, bringing his precious case of beer with him. Tord, meanwhile, stood upright by his tiller, doing nothing, and yet performing this ministry
with such a sedulous and determined attitude of pastoral care that he would have us all believe that the afflicted of the world had ever been his personal charge and that their best chance on
Earth, as in Heaven, lay solely with him. (Who can blame the Achuar for shrinking the missionaries’ heads?) There was no point in my offering yet more hands to get in the way – so I
remained in our boat and watched Virima and Sole ease a near motionless Yolanda off the stretcher and
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