In the classroom were half a dozen kids, classmates whose names he barely knew. The Colonel didn't allow just any person to set foot in his house, a thorough research about their antecedents was necessary, which intimidated possible friends.

The Portuguese Language teacher had barely arrived when the Principal, a retired first-lieutenant of the Imperial Marine, knocked on the door. Without waiting for an answer, he walked in and was already saying he needed “some minutes from the class.”

“Students, good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Principal!” was heard the chorus.

Visibly satisfied with the mechanical precision of the answer, he proceeded:

“It is a great shame that there are so few of you today, but it is understandable, given the proximity of the vacation. As is common knowledge, since the first ‘Rondon Project,’ in nineteen sixty-seven, the War Ministry, under the Emperor's direct command, has been successfully sending students to the most remote areas of the Amazon Basin Forbidden Human Permanence Forest Area. In all this time, we have never lost a single man, military or civilian, student or teacher, to that ‘green hell’ while we catalog hundreds of new species of fauna and flora, besides doing the geographic and hydric surveys of the region.

“Despite this year's delay and the substantial budget cut, we have been bestowed with a vacancy in the expedition, which will do the geographic survey of the head of the Padauari river, where… uncommon geologic formations have been photographed.

“I would like to remind you that the stories of giant snakes, demons with their feet turned backwards, women that turn into fish, indians who devour men and things like that are pure fantasy, things from subversive, republican leaflets. And, despite the war that practically decimated the pre-Imperial population, there are, indeed, signs of remaining tribes, living isolated in the interior of the Forest Area. However, security is total, and our military, as you know, disposes of the most advanced weaponry available in the world, and if there has never been anyone who could stand up to us, it's not a bunch of bugres and beasts that will inflict us fear.

“Besides… oh! They’re here!”

At that moment, the students looked at the door and found themselves face to face with something they had never seen, except in Geography and History books — an indian. Or, at least, a young woman who looked like an indian — dark skin with a subtle reddish tone and very straight black hair which fell a little below her shoulders. Her eyes were slightly almond, also black, and she had two (two!) earrings. Túlio wouldn't be able to describe any other detail of that first meeting — it was impossible to unglue his eyes from that surreal sight, but, still, he couldn't grasp the scale of what was happening before him. He had imagined that all indians had been killed in the Civilizing War!

“Good morning, folks!” said the man standing next to the indian, who, if he weren't a teacher, would be… a teacher. Silver hair, which shouldn't have seen a comb in days, topped by a white straw hat. Light gray linen suit, old and uncared for shoes, which made Túlio imagine a severe look from the Colonel. He shouldn't be over fifty-five years old.

“I am Professor José Antônio, from the Geography Department of the Imperial University, Cuiabá campus. This is Ms. Maria de Fátima, student of the History course…”

“Bugra!” was heard from the back of the classroom.

Túlio didn't need to turn around to know that the jocose tone in that voice was accompanied by an expression of disgust. In all their History books, indians were pictured as cannibalistic savages that had killed hundreds of brave Brazilian soldiers. The Colonel himself had once scolded him and shouted “…don't do me that bugre job again!” Still, he couldn't have any negative feeling towards that almond-eyed indian with a face that, now, displayed the purest hatred.

Professor José Antônio began to react, but the indian was faster — with four large steps, she arrived at the funny student's desk. His look of scorn gave place to an expression of dread.

“Oh, Jesus, she'll eat me! Help!”

“Che rojukát!” yelled the indian.

She threw a punch that, by the sound, must have broken the terrified student's nose. His blood ran thick while Professor José Antônio and the Principal ran to help the poor guy.

As if she were on a fashion catwalk, the indian returned graciously to the classroom door, turned around and hid an amused giggle. Only Túlio was looking at her, the others were too worried about their classmate and the Portuguese Language teacher had passed out. She winked, and Túlio had to lower his head, staring directly at his shoes. He felt a sudden heat burn his face.

“You need to control that bugra! I will call the Indigenous Control Department!” the Principal shouted.

“Oh, come on, Quirino! She is a citizen of the Empire since the approval of the Recognition Law, twenty years ago!” said Professor José Antônio. “And the INCOD doesn't exist since you were removed.”

“Shut up, Zé Antônio, and help me take this student to the infirmary!”

They walked out supporting the student, who hesitated when he saw the indian at the door.

“Come on, Airu… don't make things worse.” Professor José Antônio's voice came out in a tone between rough and amused, making the Principal even more nervous. The veins on his neck seemed to bounce. But the indian gave way and the three left in a hurry. The other students took the chance and also ran away. They didn't seem very comfortable in Airu's presence.

Túlio now saw himself in a strange situation — the indian at the door, casting a funny look at the Portuguese Language teacher, who lay passed out on the floor next to his desk, while he was sitting, fully conscious that she could attack him and destroy his nose at any moment. It was hard to breathe.

“He deserved that, don't you think?” she said, now looking at Túlio.

“He did, of course…” His voice came out squeaky and forced him to clear his throat. “You… talks… my tongue?”

“Apparently, better than you.”

Túlio blushed again. That was already getting awkward.

“I won't kill anyone. I just said that to give the brat a lesson.”

“Oh… ok…”

“Look, we've gotten off to a bad start. Let's try again: nice to meet you, my name is Maria de Fátima.” As she talked, she came walking towards Túlio, who, without another option, stood up and awaited his destiny. She stretched out her arm, offering her hand for a greeting.

Túlio took the indian's hand, still reticent, and was surprised by the temperature — it was hot, like his own! According to the stories, indians' bodies were icy like their hearts, cold like discarnate spirits.

“You are warm…”

“Everybody is.”

“Yes… of course… hi… I'm Túlio.”

“Nice to meet you, Túlio. So you are the one who's coming with us?”

“Going with you? Where? What are you talking about?”

But he didn't have time to know greater details of that confusing conversation. The Principal showed up at the door and called him, “Come on, Túlio, let's get this over with. And, hey! Wake up, Jardel! For the love of God, man, pull yourself together!”

Túlio and Maria de Fátima left in a hurry, following the Principal through the hallways of the School of Minas to his office, on the second floor. Before they arrived, Túlio recognized the man that was coming in the opposite direction to theirs. The large and self-assured steps, the noise of the soles of the lustrous shoes, the impeccable uniform, the thick and well-kept beard, the cap over his head… it was Colonel Lobato!

He halted with the shock of recognizing him in such an unusual place. He had never seen him somewhere other than the townhouse and the military parades. The Colonel didn't change his expression, as of habit. He looked at the boy from the top of his almost two meters: “Do not let me down.” He restarted walking until Túlio lost sight of him behind a corner of the corridor.

“Come on, Túlio, we are waiting for you!” the Principal shouted, already inside the office, accompanied by the indian Maria de Fátima and Professor José Antônio.