They lay the rotten pith down and crack it open with rocks. Inside, white creatures the size of golf balls are rolling around. At first I think they’re mice.

A little girl scoops one up in her hands and shows it to me with a smile. It’s a humongous grub. I smile back at her as I choke down nausea.

A large bushel basket’s worth of grubs is gathered up and lugged back to the huts with great anticipation. I’m wondering how I’m going to be able to force myself to eat the loathsome larvae. But they’re not served up right away.

Before the banquet, there’s a performance. The warriors who found us, wearing war paint and brandishing weapons, act out a dramatic version of the event. They sing and dance and mime how they spied our canoe, how they aimed their blowguns and we surrendered, and then the great miracle of Eko drawing her picture in the air.

The women and kids listen, enthralled. I watch the spellbound children and realize that since they don’t have any TV or movies, this is their entertainment and education rolled into one.

Finally it’s time for dinner. I’m famished, but I’m also dreading this particular meal. But Eko was right—we’re their guests and if this is their delicacy, we have to find a way to eat it.

First the heads are bitten off the still-squirming grubs, and their guts are yanked out. Then they are wrapped in leaves and roasted. With great fanfare the first two grubs of the day are pulled from the fire and handed to Eko and me.

I unwrap the leafy package and hesitate. It’s sizzling but it still looks alive and very … grubby.

I glance at Eko. I’ve seen her face bull sharks and Dark Army assassins without blanching, but as she holds the leafy grub taco she looks like she could throw up for a week. Hey, I’ve finally found the Ninja Babe’s weak spot!

Bon appétit, Eko, I shout out to her telepathically, and force myself to take a bite. At first I gag, but the truth is, it’s not utterly awful. It tastes like low-grade Canadian bacon. I smile and take another bite, and our hosts whoop and whistle.

Then I turn dramatically to Eko, drawing the attention of the whole tribe to their female guest. Your turn, I remind her telepathically as they all watch expectantly. Remember to join the clean plate club, Eko.

Her panicked eyes flick to me and then refocus on the greasy white grub like it’s a grenade that may detonate at any second. Her hands shake as she raises it to her mouth. Somehow she manages to produce a feeble smile for the onlookers as she opens her mouth and takes a tentative bite.