I asked Tanama one day. We were engaged in making poisoned arrowheads. She pressed the grated yuca to extract its venom, laying aside the pulp to be used in making bread. I dipped the sharpened fishbones, bound to wooden arrows fletched with bright red feathers, in the venomous juice. “You have not seen our waterfall?” “No,” I said. “Is it nearby?” “Neither too far nor too close,” she said, “and known only to the people of the yucayeque. To get there, you must cross the first river and follow the second downstream until you come to a cliff top and hear a great rushing sound, like Juracan roaring but more steadily.” “And Tiboni?” She laughed. “His mother swore that he was conceived there. It is a popular place for lovers.” “Can we go there?” I spoke without thought. Once the words were out, I had no intention of taking them back.
