Rogue Angel 47: River of Nightmares by Alex Archer Read Free Book Online

they earn the right to eat human flesh. The Kayabi, like the Apiaká, used to practice ritualistic cannibalism.” Almeirão frowned. “And the next time I tell you that you don’t want to know something—”
    “We’ll not press,” Ned concluded. “Some of those box tattoos look like they were inked recently, Annja. Look at the redness.”
    “Come! They have invited you to the midday meal,” Almeirão said. “These people do not have a lot. It would be rude to—”
    “Of course we will join them,” Annja said.
    “Depending on what’s on the menu,” Ned quipped, as he traced a boxy outline around his mouth.

Chapter 8
    “My cook is providing a treat to the village,” the captain said. “But, Annja, you cannot eat until after the men have had their fill. It is the Kayabi way. Men first, women get the leftovers.”
    The midday meal was served in the large hut, and Marsha had replaced Wallace, who said he wanted to go through his recordings and do a little editing. In truth, Annja suspected he didn’t want to eat whatever the Kayabi were serving. A man so finicky should not be so quick to accept assignments to exotic places, she thought.
    Annja inwardly seethed at the blatant gender discrimination the tribe practiced, but she held her tongue and sat outside the doorway next to Marsha, both of them watching what transpired inside. Just once she’d like to feature a tribe where the women made the rules and men had to eat the leftovers.
    Almeirão’s contribution included a platter of pancakes. “This is cupacu, a local dish made from tree pulp,” he explained for Annja’s benefit. Marsha filmed the men eating. “Cupacu is one of my cook’s specialties. The pulp, it can also be made into juices, jellies, and I have had cupacu liquor.” A pause. “Too much of the liquor a few too many times.” He also provided a few bowls of freshwater crab, which was served in the shell with the claws attached. Annja’s mouth watered, but she stayed silent.
    The Kayabi offered up a sort of mash, that Almeirão called “manicoba.” He looked to Annja. “It takes a long while to prepare. Manioc leaves are ground, cooked, served with manioc flour and sweet pepper. You ladies will undoubtedly get to try some of this, but my crab and cupacu...it seems these men will not leave any of that.”
    “So unfair,” Marsha whispered.
    “They can’t understand you,” Annja said. “You don’t have to talk so low.”
    “I’m not saying this is unfair to us, sitting outside like stray cats waiting for scraps. It doesn’t matter to us. We’re here for a visit, tonight or tomorrow we leave, and this—” she pointed at the men still eating “—this will be only a bad memory. I’m talking about how unfair it is to the women in this place. How can they live like this?”
    “I’ve seen worse,” Annja said. “Besides, we’re not here to start a revolution, just observe.”
    “And ask about monsters.” Marsha let out a hissing breath that fluttered her bangs. “Doesn’t mean I’m not bothered.”
    “It’s good that you’re bothered.”
    “So many people are naïve. They don’t realize that oppression still exists. Is our program going to show any of that? Even a hint?”
    “We will.” Annja rose. The men had finished eating and motioned the women and children inside to dine on what was left.
    Almeirão pulled Annja aside. “Jywa and some of the other men, they say there is a village around the turn in this tributary. It takes them a day to reach it in canoes. They say there are two white people like you there, that it is a dreaming village. Sometimes Jywa dreams there when he has something to barter. He says maybe if you dream you will find your monsters. Dreams lead to things.”
    “Dream?” Annja sat and reached for a leaf she smeared with the manicoba. She put the leaf in her mouth and used her teeth to scrape the mash off, like she would if she were eating an artichoke appetizer at a fine restaurant. It