Back in the gloom of the hut, I lifted the mosquito netting that draped our thin mattress, making sure the metal cans the legs of the bed stood in were brimming with kerosene. On the one night I hadn’t filled them, I woke to a five-inch translucent-green scorpion on the back of my hand, its spiral tail quivering and stuttering. My screams brought the Ayacheran women in, rubbing their eyes and laughing at me as they batted it off with a broom. Afterward they wandered back to their huts, slurring in sleepy Spanish, their children scuffing back to their beds.

I crawled onto my back on the thin mat, inhaling the smell of burning cecropia wood that sifted through the grates of our clay oven, picturing the stone-gray scales of half a dozen armored catfish, their long whiskers sizzling in the embers.

Lying so very still, I thought about the delicacy of everything that lives, how this fine mesh suspended over me—so easily torn—was the only thing between me and every vicious flying insect, every creeping beast. I thought of the parts of America I missed: Dairy Queen, the movies, candy bars, Cheerios, malls, scented soap, libraries, fall leaves, snow; things Omar had never seen, had no interest in seeing.

To calm myself, I closed my eyes and conjured a blizzard. In my mind, snow swirled down a mountain pass, sugaring the pines until the winds picked up and piles drifted against houses and barns, painting everything with the same white brush. I cracked open my mouth to taste the cold flakes on my lips and tongue; I swear the thought cooled me. I fell off into this heaven until I felt a presence near my feet.

Something silky slid across my ankles, followed by a heavy, heated weight over my toes. Solid warmth oozed under my calves.

Still half-asleep, I got to my elbows and looked down my body at the wide, trapezoidal head of an anaconda, neon green with flecks of yellow around her cleft mouth. As if suspended by some mad puppet maker, she hovered at eye level, swaying hypnotically. My eyes followed hers back and forth, my head doing this little dip along with her. I didn’t scream because even as I watched, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing.

I couldn’t tell if she was real.

She encircled my ankles. Pellet eyes locked on mine, her head made its way up the length of my body as she languidly wreathed herself around my legs and oh dear God—why, I don’t know—but I didn’t feel like struggling. She had me. I could feel her eggs, solid lumps just under the satin of her white belly. The meat of her was soft and blood warm; I couldn’t take my eyes off the grace of her as she coiled her ever thicker body around my knees now, wrapped herself around my thighs, pelvis, groin. Head swinging, unsupported, she opened her mouth. Her vermilion tongue snapped out, forked end flickering. She blew her sultry breath on me and said aahhhhhhhhh.