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THEN IT HAPPENED!
IT was the kind of tropical morning whose sheer beauty drugs the senses. The Kuluene reflected an azure sky. The sun’s rays turned the dancing drops of spray from waves and streams to diamonds which sparkled, winked, and twinkled. The world lay bathed in dewy freshness. Birds, drunken with the exhilaration of the new day, trilled and shrilled. Monkeys whistled from the jungle depths. Suddenly, against the background of velvet green jungle, there they were. Seven Kalapalos stood- at the river’s edge, waving a greeting. The canoes passed, and a little further on came to a great, wide river flowing majestically into the mainstream. Its width of two hundred meters made a grand ninety-degree curve to the north entering the Kuluene. At last they had actually reached the “Seventh of September River” (named for Brazil’s Independence Day).
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