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Prologue

JULY 25, 6:24 PM

AN AMERINDIAN MISSIONARY VILLAGE

AMAZONAS, BRAZIL

Padre Garcia Luiz Batista was struggling with his hoe, tilling weeds froer stuure wore a tattered pair of black deni else Bare-chested and shoeless, thecassava plants His skin, burnt a deep mocha, was tattooed with blue and crimson dyes

Mistaking the fellow for one of the local Yanomamo Indians, Padre Batista pushed back his wide-brireeted the fellow in the Indians’ native tongue “Eou, shori,” he said “Welcome, friend, to the mission of Wauwai”

The stranger lifted his face, and Garcia instantly knew his mistake The fellow’s eyes were the deepest blue, a color unnatural arowth of dark beard

Clearly not an Indian, but a white man

“Be now that the fellow must be one of the ubiquitous peasants from the coastal cities who ventured into the Amazon rain forest to stake a claim and build a better life for themselves “Be welcome here, my friend”

The poor soul had clearly been in the jungle a long time His skin was stretched over bone, each rib visible His black hair was tangled, and his body bore cuts and oozing sores Flies flocked about hi on his wounds

When the stranger tried to speak, his parched lips cracked and fresh blood dribbled down his chin He half crawled toward Garcia, an ararbled, unintelligible, a beastly sound

Garcia’s first i to God would not let him The Good Samaritan did not refuse the ard traveler He bent and helped the hed no h his own shirt, the padre could feel the heat of the man’s skin as he burned with fever

“Couided the man toward thetoward the blue sky Beyond the building, a ragtag mix of palm-thatched huts and wooden hole floor

The mission of Wauwai had been established only five years earlier, but already the village had swelled to nearly eighty inhabitants, a enous tribes Some of the homes were on stilts, as was typical of the Apalai Indians, while others built solely of palreatest number of the e communal roundhouse

Garcia waved his free are, a fellow named Henaowe The short Indian, the padre’s assistant, was dressed in pants and a buttoned, long-sleeved shirt He hurried forward

“Help et this man into my house”

Henaowe nodded vigorously and crossed to thebetween theate and around the church to the clapboard building jutting from its south face The enerator It powered the church’s lights, a refrigerator, and the village’s only air conditioner Sometimes Garcia wondered if the success of his mission was not based solely on the wonders of the church’s cool interior, rather than any heartfelt belief in salvation through Christ