“But then you have to kill them.”

He stroked my hair. “Then I have to kill them. I imagine the face of the person they’ve killed, or the damage they’ve done to our animals, or what they might do to one of us, and I shoot.”

We watched the men gather at the beach, loading the boats for the hunt. He pulled me toward him, kissed me quickly, chastely. “I’d better go, Lily.”

I sat up, hoping to stall him. “Read me your assignment first.”

“As soon as you tell me a secret about yourself.”

I sighed, having momentarily forgotten our deal. “When I was living with Tia, she’d buy this cheap gallon block of ice cream, always vanilla, not because we liked vanilla so much, but because we could never all agree on a flavor. She’d cut it up in eight equal sections when she got it home. We’d sit around and watch her cut it like little wolves. If I wasn’t home, one of the other kids would grab my share, and I’d come home to this empty box of ice cream on the counter. I’d open it up all the way and lick it clean. Even now when I get the chance, I eat so much ice cream I make myself sick. Okay? Is that a good enough secret?”

“Thank you,” he said in English as he pulled out a ratty piece of paper.

“ ‘Tatinga,’ ” he began solemnly. “ ‘Tatinga people are a tribe that is the kind that live in one place. They do not move their houses. They make a place on the land for vegetables, for fruits, for yucca. When rubber traders come, a long time ago, they use the people as slaves, even rape, even murder them, anything to bleed rubber from the trees for American tires. Many make themselves dead to escape. The ones who live, run deep into the jungle to survive. They move and move. Now, men of opportunity come and poison rivers for gold, or kill too much game, or wrong game, or make roads to get mahogany. And game never crosses a road. So now Tatinga and other tribes are no-mad-ic.’ ” He looked up at me for confirmation of the word. “ ‘They move but do not like it. Who likes to move all the time? Tatinga know how to love the jungle, so the jungle is not afraid and gives back game, fruits, plants. They do not take too many tortoise eggs, for then how are there more tortoises? They do not cut down ironwood trees, where do mother macaw put her babies then?

“ ‘My father and I hunt with Tatinga when I am young. Then, we have the same problem with jaguars, but Ayachero works with Tatinga, like friends. We say to each other, who has seen the jaguar that steals the chickens? How to track so no one is killed? Where is the best place to build a platform? Who mans the platform, and when? The jaguar does not care if he eats an Ayachero man or a Tatinga man. Both taste delicious to him.