Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
phibians lumber uneasily into the depths, terrified by the shadow, which at the end of the afternoons
and in the early mornings lengthens, extending itself mournfully on the surface of the river. Men run
totheirweaponsand,inafurybornoffear,crossthemselves andshootathimpitilessly.Judascannot
pass even the poorest hut without receiving a hail of bullets and a stoning.
The bullets salute him all around, they thrash him, water streaked by rocks surrounds him in un-
dulant circles—the raft rocks, and following that motion, Judas waves his arms and appears to thank
in clumsy bows the bitter manifestations of shots, pungent sarcasms, cries, taunts, and especially the
curses, which revive in the worn-out words of backlanders this curse, which has echoed for 20 cen-
turies:
Get outta here you bum! Get!
AndJudasdoesn'tstop.He'sawaybythetimethewatersrise—freedfromhispersecutors.Heslips
silently into a slough, straight and long, he turns at the gentle bend of a deserted beach. Suddenly, as
he traces another turn, another hut, women and children are startled by him at the riverbank and race
headlong up to the shack in sobs and wailing. And soon after, from above the rifle shots, the stones,
the mocking, and the curses.
Two or three minutes of alarms and uproar until the wandering Jew passes out of the range of the
rifles, ever descending . . .
And he keeps floating downriver, and finally he no longer continues in isolation. He allies himself
with his comrades in misfortune, other frightening effigies on the same diminutive rafts delivered by
randomcurrentscominginonallsidesfromthetributaries,variedintheirfeaturesandgestures:some
are very rigid, tied to the posts that support them, some floppy, shifting with every swale like drunks,
somearmsraisedandthreatening,blaspheming;othershumble,curvedinposturesofprofoundabjec-
tion. And sometimes, yet more wretched, those who dangle at the end of a thin and curved mast . . .
hanged. Thus they pass in pairs, descending, vaguely descending the river.
Sometimestherivercapturestheminanimmensecircle,awhirlpool,itscurrentturningasittravels
in slow circuits along the margins, tracing the ample spiral of an imperceptible and treacherous eddy.
Thevagrantspecterspenetratethesevastenclosuresofstagnantwater,rocking,andgetstrandedthere
for a while. They amass and circle in slow and silent review—they mix together; they cross for the
firsttime theimplacable andfalsegazeoftheirmake-believe eyesandconfoundthemselves inacon-
vulsive agitation of paralyzed movements and rigid postures. There is the illusion of stupendous tu-
multwithoutsound,andofastrangecouncil—frantic,lockedtogetherinsecrets,inmuffledinaudible
voices.
Later, little by little, they disband and disperse. Following the current, which straightens out from
the meanders, they go in single file, or one by one at random, processionally, to the river below, des-
cending, descending, ever descending.
. . .
And so da Cunha interpreted his maps. But because there were other charts in play, and
other interpretations of history, these too had to be engaged. He would do so in both art-
icles and supplements, as he wrote and rewrote western Amazonia into history.
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