“So,” Jake said, “let’s see what Cano is making for dinner.”

“God, please tell me he’s not cooking bugs and roots and shit.”

Jake laughed heartily.  “Well, don’t get your mouth set on a cheeseburger.”

Dinner, much to Falcone’s considerable relief, was not bugs.  But, as Jake prophesied, it was not a cheeseburger, either.  It was, however, not bad.  In fact, some of it was pretty good.

They sat cross-legged around the fire with Jake translating as Cano explained Indian hunting, fishing, food procurement, and cooking.  For this evening’s meal, he had utilized both the bonfire and a more traditional stone pit.  Some feet away, it had been dug out and layered with thin branches, large rocks sprinkled with river water, and thicker dry wood.  A fire was built and burned down until the rocks became red-hot.  Banana leaves were then placed on top, followed by the meat and another layer of leaves.  While the meat was seared and smoked, Cano had prepared manioc meal and yucca, which he toasted on the fire.  He also grilled a large tucunaré—peacock bass—brushed with cooking oil extracted from palm fruit.  Desert was a selection of fruits flavored with purple acaí paste and cane sugar.

They scarfed all of it up hungrily, even going for seconds.  Jake and his associates ate with a satisfaction tempered by seasoned bush experience, but Falcone and Niles ate with unrestrained relish.  Wiping meat juice from his chin, still chewing, Falcone said, “This is good.  Really.  What is it?”

“Yeah, it’s good.  What is it, like wild boar or something?”

“It’s monkey.”

Falcone coughed up his last swallow, scrambled to his feet, and headed into the brush gagging.  Jake managed to keep his composure, but Tangeman and Petropoulos fell into each other laughing.  When Falcone returned, Tangeman said, “Sorry, man.  Sometimes it’s better not to know,” and handed him a bottle of water.