excerpt
Suruapo
I had entered the valley of death and I didn’t seem to be able to find
my way out.
For four months I would remain in Guacaipuro’s village, neither
as a prisoner nor as a guest, more like a kingly ornament for his
amusement. I would see Apacuana as often as I could, but I would
usually take care not to display affection, for her sake as much as my
own. She shared a hut with her great-grandmother, Matyba, and her
great-grandfather, Padumay, the toothless piache who had helped
me after my ordeal with the ants.
I would spend the majority of my time learning their language.
For hours every day I played with the children, trading my daily
regime of Scripture study for an immersion in their games. In this
way my vocabulary rapidly increased to a point where I no longer
needed Tamanoa as a translator.
The more I learned their language, the more the idea of a new life
in that pristine land began to exert its pull on me, and the more I
understood that Apacuana’s people would have to change as much
as I would have to change. The future was not me, or Apacuana. The
future was Tamanoa.
Apacuana had gone through much for me, asking for nothing,
giving everything. I wanted to be near her. I started looking for
opportunities, or fabricating them, just for the joy of her company.
Libros Libertad 