“A man like any other, recently married and living with his wife’s relatives. They were suspicious of him. One night, the rain began to drum on the leaves. The hut seemed to rise up into the sky, held there by that lovely sound. The man looked at his beautiful wife, whom he had touched only a few times as yet, and said: ‘We could sleep under the rain.’ They were words of love: his first, and as it turned out his last. The woman scowled and didn’t reply. The man turned toward the forest again, imagining they were alone, and said: ‘I would like to learn the rain song.’ But his brothers-in-law were spying on him. From the darkness of the hut, together with their sisters, they watched the man’s movements as he listened to the torrential rain. In a low voice, the woman had told them: ‘He wants to sleep under the rain.’ And added: ‘He must be joking.’ Silence fell, a heavy silence. Then, an evil glint in his eyes, one of the brothers said, ‘Fine, if he wants to learn that song, he’d better do it now…’

“Come the dawn, the man was exhausted from the pleasure the rain had brought him. His wife and brothers-in-law leaped on him; they were needlessly brutal. They dragged him outside and tied him to a post that was part of an old abandoned house. The rain fell without a break. All day and all night the drops beat down on him. He had the impression his body was riddled with holes from the water. He was delirious. At the same time and in great detail his mind was elaborating the plan he would put into action were he to survive. The rain that had been his most exquisite pleasure went on torturing him with no respite. The only parts of his body he could feel were a few shreds of mosquito-bitten skin. When dawn came, his wife and brothers-in-law returned and untied him. The man was all but dead. He didn’t say a word. They never spoke of that night again. Little by little, the man recovered his strength. Now he could go hunting again.

“He said to his wife: ‘Come hunting with me. It’s been a while since we ate meat.’ And he began weaving a big wicker basket to carry the game. He asked his wife to crouch down so he could take the measurements for his basket. ‘It’ll need to be big, this time,’ he muttered to himself. When he had finished, he asked his wife to get in the basket to check it was the right size. The wife got in and it fit like a glove. Then the man tied his wife’s hands and feet and she heard him explain: ‘When I said I wanted to sleep under the rain I meant that I wanted your body. Now I am going to smoke you, I shall cut you to pieces and serve your tasty flesh to your parents, your brothers, and your sisters. Don’t yell out now, as I didn’t yell out under the rain.’ The man cooked his wife on a low flame. Then he cut her up as one cuts up an animal. He mixed the flesh with pieces of peccary meat and other game that he had killed hunting. At the bottom of the basket, he left his wife’s feet together with her bracelets, necklaces, and earrings. On top was her liver.