It had been the hottest summer she could remember. The heat of the sun had caused most the creaks surrounding the village to dry out almost completely. What had been left were only pools of muddy water. Looking back, she remember very well how her mother had started to look worse by the day, but at the time she had been too caught up in her own world to notice.

“‘nida, Mi bebé, venga aquí.” “Un minuto, mama,” she said. “¡No, ´nida, ahora! ” Onida sighed as she gathered her toys. She did not feel like going inside already. The shadow of the large sequoia tree had not even coincided with the creak yet. Carefully Onida placed her wooden animals in a small box by the front door as she let her eyes adjust to the dim light that the single candle shed in the small hut. “‘nida, tiempo es. ¡Obtenga a su padre!,”

Large clouds of dust drew up where Onida´s feet made contact with the barren soil of the road to the workplace. Her long legs ached from working so hard, but she did not have time to rest. The image of her mother was burnt into her mind. Her hair and face wet with perspiration and her eyes wide with pain as she rocked from side to side holding her tummy. Onida did not know what her mother had meant when she told her it was time, but she knew that something was wrong.

“Papa, papa.¡Apure! Es mamá, ella está enferma,” she yelled as she spotted the little shed. No sooner had she said the words, or her father and two brothers dashed outside, passing her by within seconds. She struggled to keep up with them as sharp pains shot through her sides, persistent to be there for her mother. Her airways filled with dust, making her cough and wheeze, causing her to momentarily lapse as her foot was trapped behind a root. Blood trickled down her knees, but there was no time to waste. The hut was already visible in the distance and Onida scrambled to her feet.

Suddenly a piercing scream tore through the silent village. Onida had no doubt where it came from and she hesitated briefly as she reached the door. The small room was packed and she had trouble finding an unoccupied corner. When her eyes were adjusted to the darkness, she discerned her family, the chief and another man she did not recognize. The room smelled like a strange mixture of herbs and an irony scent that reminded her of the butchers place. She let out a gasp as she got closer to the bed and realized the sheets were soaked in blood. “¡Salga, de aquí! ” someone yelled at her, but she was unable to take her eyes off her mothers jolting body, let alone go outside. “Mama, mama,” she cried while she fought to stay, but she was no match for the large man that carried her outside.

Onida never realized that would be the last time she saw her mother. Two days later, there was a modest ritual burning for her mother and her stillborn baby brother, but she did not believe it was her mother, that was inside the pyre. She could still remember so clearly, when she finally gave up looking for her mother.

Her father had returned from work early that day. As soon as she saw him walking towards their little hut she had dropped her toys and run towards him to tell him the adventures of her wooden animals. Her father pushed her aside brusquely and snarled at her to go away. She smelled something on his breath very similar to the special liquor of annual summer festival and she did not understand why he was so unkind on what appeared to be a happy day. “Pero…” she heard the slap, before she felt the stinging sensation spread across her cheek. Tears welled up in her eyes as she carefully touched the tender skin. Onida looked to her father for an explanation, but he had already turned his back to her.

That day had signalled a new life for Onida, a life in which she would often sleep outside under the stars, alone with her wooden animals. It did not cool down a lot during the night and as long as she stayed near the village, she would be safe; safe from her father and safe from wild animals.

It was the end of her days as a child. Her father demanded she took on all responsibilities that formerly were her mothers. She worked feverishly, but never was she able to meet his demands. The beatings became part of her life, although she never got used to it. Onida yearned for the days her mother was still alive. She longed for a saviour, but she knew she was on her own. Only a few weeks after the funeral her bothers had left for another village and only now, she started to understand their motives.

She did not know how much time had gone by when one day a small airplane landed close to the village. It had been the first time the villagers encountered anything like it and they kept a safe distance. Onida too, was careful. She crouched in the bushes near the plane. Once its motors stopped turning, the noise was gone and she heard voices of a man and a woman. She leaned forward trying to grasp what they were talking about but it sounded like gibberish.

Onida had been so engrossed in the scene before her, that she jumped as she felt a hand grabbing her roughly by the shoulder. She turned around, looking straight into her father’s bloodshot eyes. He shook her violently by the shoulders, too far gone to even notice the plane. Onida cringed as he hissed curses at her. A well-aimed kick in the stomach made her double over in pain and for a moment his grip loosened. Without thinking, she backed away through the bushes until she found herself on the open area where the giant bird-like device was. She could see her father struggling to stay upright as he attempted to work his way through the bushes, until suddenly he froze as if he had come face-to-face with a predator. Instantly he spun around, staggering for a moment until he hit the ground. Quickly he got on all fours and crawled away.

“Hey there, little one.” Onida turned on her heal to face the unfamiliar voice. A woman, about 2 feet as tall as herself, met her gaze. She had never seen anyone remotely like her. Her blue eyes and pale skin frightened Onida. Again, the woman talked to her, but it still made no sense at all. “Hola,” a man’s voice said. The bulky man had appeared next to the woman and was holding a little booklet in his hands. “¿Oo--stayed es boo-eh-nos?” the man offered. The accent sounded strange, but Onida understood. She cast a quick glance towards the village and then back to the pale people. Could these people be the rescuers she had been waiting for for so long?

“Ayúdeme. Por favor, tómeme con usted” she said. They did not answer her and she asked them again to take her with them once more, this time slowly and over articulated. The man was frantically flipping pages in the little booklet, but remained quiet, other than a few words he spoke to the woman now and then, that Onida did not understand. “¿Nece-see-ta oo-stayed a-you-da?” the man finally asked. “¡Si, si!” she said with relief. “¿Cómo?” the man said. “Tómeme con usted,” Onida repeated, “¡Tómeme!” She had made up her mind. Going with these people could not possible be worse than living her life as it was. “No come-pren-day.” The man said as he made an apologetic gesture. Onida’s heart sank, how could she possibly explain to them how they could help her.

Suddenly everything happened at once. Onida felt the projectile before she actually saw it. Joyous clamours rose from the bushes as they hit their mark. The pale people were running around, anxiously fidgeting with the large bird. They were screaming to each other about things Onida was unable to understand. Her forehead throbbed where the stone had made contact with her head and she leapt for safety as another caught her in the back. The villagers were becoming more confident, throwing more projectiles from a closer distance. The air was filled with the sound of their war chant, along with the dull sound the rocks made as they connected with the plane. She knew that once they surrounded them they would be lost. Without warning, the monotonous droning was back, causing the villagers run for safety in the dense undergrowth. “¡Chee-ca!” the man yelled to get her attention. Onida turned and watched as they both went into the bird. Rapidly the woman extended her hand, inviting her to join them.

That had been 30 years ago. Bill and Marianne, as she learned later, had been there to study the existence of the broad butt-frog. They flew her to Bogotá, from where they put her on a plane to California, where she was met by friends of Marianne. She was only supposed to stay for a couple of weeks, but the elderly couple and Onida soon became inseparable. They would stay up late at night talking about what would happen next, until someday they asked if she would like to stay with them.

Now she was back at the place she left behind all these years ago. Reluctantly she swung her legs over the edge of the plane as she lowered herself to the ground, letting her toes touch the damp soil. The humidity beat against her skin soaking her shirt, making it cling to her body. She heard the humming of a cloud of mosquitoes and the gentle sloshing of the Amazon River and for a moment, sentimental thoughts flooded her mind. At home, it would be quiet too at times, but never did silence sound this peaceful.

She looked back to the plane and waved to the pilot that he could take off. A large part of her wanted to go back on the plane so she knew she had to make sure the plane left before she would actually do so. The powerful whirring of the jets momentarily replaced the silence and then it was quiet again. Onida had only been there for a minute and already the nostalgic feeling was gone as a feeling of discomfort crept into her mind. The tribe had not showed itself while the plane was there, but she knew they would appear within a short time.

She turned around and shielded her eyes against the bright sun to study the village. It was clear the villagers had abandoned their activities the moment they heard the plane: a roasted boar had been left outside on the spit, several wooden toys lay in the dirt and there were tools left by workmen. To a stranger it would appear as if the Paumari had deserted the village, but Onida could feel their stares. She heard whispers going back and forth between the little hurts, until finally they left the comfort of their homes.

Onida did not recognize most of the villagers, but her stomach revolted as she spotted her father. She was not sure whether he had actually shrunk or that it was because she had grown, but he no longer looked like a threat to her. He was leaning on a stick, his shoulders hunched and she realized he was just a pathetic old drunk. A lean, muscular man with a red feather in his hair came up to her. The chief was young and she was unsure whether he would be able to help her. She did not recognize him and she was quite sure he did not know her either. In fact, her father probably did not recognize her like this. She did not resemble the little girl that left so long ago anymore. Her black hair was cut short so that it barely fit in the tiny ponytail and her bangs were trimmed stylishly like Sally Field’s. The kaki shorts she wore gave way to smooth legs and a pair of Nikes. The linen shirt she wore was so drenched that she had no doubt the cream bra that protected her ample breasts showed underneath. Onida laughed inwardly, even she would not have been able to recognize herself.

“¿Dónde Luna es?” she asked the chief. She hoped he had been around long enough to know of the existence of the legend. Onida suppressed a giggle as she realized what a fool she would seem if he had not heard about the Daughter of the Moon before.

A brief look of surprise and condemnation crossed his stern features. The muscles in his contracted causing his already easily prominent cheekbones to stand out more. Onida knew that she had breached a taboo, but she refused to let it go. It surprised her that all of a sudden she actually wanted to write this article. She really wanted to find out what the legend was about.

“¡Por favor, Padre! ¿Dónde está ella ?”