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Fabio Lins  

Suddenly he woke up taking a deep breath. Terrible dream, terrible! He wasn't himself in it. Heck, he even wasn't human! He was taller and his hair was fire. His feet were completely turned to the back. Whe he walked his footseps gave the impression he was going to the opposite direction. And he was almost naked in the streets (oh he hated these recurrent dreams!). This dream had come again and again in the last three months. That was bizarre. He got up and walked to the bathroom still half-sleeping. School daily torture would start again. Life is pretty painful when you are ten, you know. Due to his Xavante inheritance, he was called "little indian shit" and names like that by his "friends". They told him they would put fire on him just like it was done to an indian in Brasília few years ago. When they did this he stood proud and said what his grandpa had taught him: "You silly ones! The True People will take revenge on you if you do so! My People!" And usually after that they simply laughed and beat him. Then, he had to watch math classes and learn the history of the white people. He was tired of that. Tired.

   He lived in Rio de Janeiro. His parents had come because they said that now life was in the big city, not in the forest. That was five years ago. Only his grandpa protested. He liked his grandpa a lot. He would bring him confort and would tell him the old tales. That was the kind of history he wanted to know. That night his grandpa called him to sit next to him in the hammock. He was smocking his old pipe. "Rupawe" - he said - "Tonight your grandpa will change into the Jaguar and come back to his village." The boy stared at him with some fear in his eyes. "But grandpa, you can't! I need you! I need you! I need your stories of our people! Ineed your help against the bad boys from school!" The boy started crying loudly. The old man with a little wood stick for earing hugged his grandson and said sweetly: "Enough, enough little Rupawe... You've had enough of my stories and the stories of our people that our ancestors have made. It is time for you to have your own stories. I know, I saw, that you have been having some dreams isn't it?" Rupawe sobbed. "Y-yes..". His grandpa smilled: "And in these dreams you are not yourself..." Rupawe felt something move inside himself. "B-but how..."  "Don't ask now, child. Both of us will finish this night as something different. You ARE different. Never forget this. Hate forgetting, memories are everything! Tonight some friends - real friends - will come to take you with them. I foresaw this. Don't fear them, even if they look... strange to you... wait... listen... learn! They are more like you even than me and your parents. Those that will come tonight are real friends, but this is not true for all of their kind. Today your great journey begin, my child." They talked about many other things that night and Rupawe still cried a lot. Finally his granpa told him that he was tired and wanted to sleep. Rupawe went to his bedroom.

   Later Rupawe would not be able to say what was the exact time that everything happened. In fact, it all seemed to happen in another time not included in the common one. That might be possible. The point is that some time in the middle of the night he was half awake. He was looking through the window from his bed to the moon on the sky. The legends said the Moon was a brave warrior, brother of the Sun. That was a beautiful story. Rupawe turned to the other side. Scared he jumped out of the bed to the opposite wall: "Shit! Hell! Who are you? Don't kill me! Away from me!! MOTHER! DAD!" There was a tall thin man, hands on his back lying on the wall looking at him serenely. Next to him, the most beautiful young indian girl stood smiling. And also there was this little black boy hopping around.

to be continued...