Remembered memory: Every morning a little local jungle urchin would bring me a bat he had caught the night before. He would stand in front of me and spread the bat's wings out as far as his little arms could reach. The bat would squirm and writhe then finally settle into a comfortable position. Its eyes would open and in an ethereal sweet voice (English--with a Brazilean accent like Astrud Gilberto) would make a proclaimation. Sometimes it was a mysterious riddle: "Why would God lead you here just to feed you jungle jam?" Sometimes it was an aphorism: "He who washes his hands, also has a clean heart." The boy would throw the bat into the jungle canopy and with the brushy sound of angel wings it would dissappear.
